21 April: when transit systems attack…

I had planned a little light tourism this morning, with the hope of taking a few pictures for the blog. After a leisurely breakfast, I returned to the room, repacked my bags and sallied forth for a few hours in the city by the bay. First, a ride on the trolley. Line F is San Francisco’s historic trolley car line, with an excellent collection of PCC’s to choose from, painted in the colours of various American cities.

PCC’s were used across the US, in Canada and even in Mexico City, and so effective were they that when attempts were made to replace them with exciting new ones manufactured by Boeing, they easily outlived their rather unreliable replacements (one should be grateful that Boeing’s aircraft are somewhat more reliable!). They’re incredibly popular with tourists but also serve the locals too.

At Fishermans Wharf, I stopped to take a few pictures of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge before heading for my favourite treat in San Francisco, a scoop of Swenson’s Ice Cream from the original parlour. Of course, part of the treat is that the best way to get there is by cable car… so in classic style, I hitched a ride on the running board and scooted up and over the top of the hill for my scoop of Black Raspberry Marble and yes, it’s every bit as good as it sounds…

And that’s where things started to go awry. On the way back to Market Street, we were held up for a few minutes, which became ten, then twenty. The cable car in front of ours had broken down, thus quite effectively closing down the service… Oh well, never mind, these things happen…

I rushed back to the hotel to clear my room before heading to Colma for one last visit with Walter, Felba and family, only to be delayed by the complete absence of a J-line trolley. Ho hum, quick reroute and a late arrival accordingly.

Next, back into town for a last dash through the shops before heading back to the hotel for my luggage and the journey to the airport. Naturally, a tourist takes this opportunity to walk in front of a bus, blocking traffic on Market Street, and delaying my last trolley - painted in Cincinnati colours (canary yellow with three green bands).

I have at least made it to the airport and, as a homage to my next destination, I’m playing the city’s greatest chanteuse on my laptop… yes, I’m listening to Kylie (who else?). The Boeing 747 is waiting, but I feel a glass of chardonnay coming on…