San Francisco, U.S.A.- Detective Mansquito and My Meltin' Month

Years ago, I was traveling on route to Hong Kong, and I had a layover in San Francisco. There wasn’t much adventure to it, and I don’t know why I mention it except to say that I remember that we flew very close to water and landed mere feet away from the ocean. I also unknowingly gave up my window seat on the next flight in the false belief that having a seat in the middle would be the wiser choice. After all that I flew to Hong Kong, and said goodbye to San Francisco. Riveting tale, right? I told you there wasn’t much adventure to it. What I took away from my layover was that while I had technically been in San Francisco, it would hardly suffice as a real visit, and would best be ignored. I also learned not to give up a seat by the window.

With a hard lesson learned, I vowed one day to return to the city of San Francisco and venture away from the airport where true adventure no doubt lay in wait for me. Truth was, I wanted to see the city in the worst way, and while it is technically a violation of my parole to tell you this, here is the reason why: I love bad cop movies. Strange reason to see a city, am I right? But that was the internal engine that drove my desire to see the city by the bay. Before you judge me harshly though, consider this: few things are more comical, more cliché than a cop movie set in San Francisco.

Case in point: A few years ago the Sci-Fi channel came out with a movie called “Mansquito” and I had a blast with it. “Do you know how much you’ve cost the taxpayers, Detective Mansquito?” I’d ask. Or this one: “You’re this close to losing your badge, Mansquito. If it wasn’t for your high case-closing rate, I’d have your hide in front of the Chief of D’s”. Or this gem: “You’re a loose cannon, Mansquito, and one of these days, you’re gonna get your partner killed with your antics.” Every time I did this rather odd and strangely off-putting tirade I thought of Dirty Harry, and I always thought of San Francisco. I also always took the joke too far… hence the aforementioned parole.

Was I apologetic? I was not. I apologized for nothing, and I did not blame myself. I was only human. No, I blamed the fine city of San Francisco. It was just so doggone interesting, which led to all those bad cop movies. And when I found out that I would be going to San Francisco, I was eager to return, if only to finally see the places where Detective Mansquito risked his pension.

Filled with such random thoughts, I landed at San Francisco Airport. Again, the runway was mere inches from water. I quickly learned that the only flat land to be had was miles away from the city and had to be next to the ocean. The city itself was very hilly, perfect for all those car chases, and the reason for the world famous San Francisco Trolley. The Trolleys ran on electricity, and I’m not kidding about this: Any jokes about Rice-A-Roni were strictly enforced. Don’t tell the jokes, because you do not want to be arrested in San Francisco. Instead of bread and water, I imagine it’s granola and soy milk. As if being arrested wasn’t bad enough.

Which brings us solidly to one of the main tourist attractions: Alcatraz. It was this big. Not a whole lot of room. I got claustrophobic just looking at it. And then you had the bay. I was told it had sharks. This isn’t personally proven, because I was told it had sharks. Add fog to that mix, and you had a recipe involving prison, sharks, and fog.

I went in August. Please keep in mind that August in Texas is when every Texan rethinks what it must be like to live in the earth’s core. So as a Texan in San Francisco in August, I was prepared for perhaps a drop in temperature, perhaps a little reprieve, but not much. In the afternoon the San Franciscan weather was warm, but in the evening it took a dive and ended in the 50’s and 60’s, even sometimes dropping into the high 40’s. Mark Twain once said, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” He had a point. The wind whipped in from the bay, with nothing but hapless Texans to slow its progress, and the end result was that I was cold. I actually heard the weatherman say, “Tonight will be cloudy with a 70% chance of layer your clothing”. All of this was a little unnerving for a Texan who considers August his meltin’ month.

In the daytime, the August weather was more of what I was accustomed to, and I took those opportunities to sweat in public and roam around the city. I rode the trolley, took pictures of their famous bridge, and bought dried fruit from some Democrats. It was a successful time of meandering.

I do have to mention here that it was unnerving to see how many homeless I encountered. Not since GuangZhou have I seen so many without homes. I must have had some compassion etched on my face, because on many occasions I was approached, even though the group I was with were seldom if ever asked. On several occasions they would push my friends aside to get to me in order to ask for some money. It broke my heart then, and it is equally disturbing now, to see so many people without homes and begging for their next dollar. I couldn’t really take much of it and I quickly learned in order to be safe and keep some kind of sanity it wouldn’t be wise to travel in dark places at night, and because I prefer my roaming on foot, I had to curtail that practice. Nighttime found me eating at restaurants close to the hotel and traveling primarily by taxi if at all.

Another thing I learned about San Francisco that is worth mentioning: the restaurants were incredible. Because I was in the downtown area, and in California, the prices were steep, but nothing someone who has lived in Hong Kong couldn’t handle. I had the finest breakfast I’ve ever had at Dottie’s café, famous for everything on the menu, but especially the muffins, and especially the omelets, and especially the breakfasts, and especially everything on the menu. I also had the finest Thai food on this continent at a place called “Basil”. It reminded me of the heady days where I vacationed in Thailand and had to avoid getting a dish that stared back at me. The risk at Basil was non-existent, and the food was absolutely incredible.

One last thing before I’ve hopefully convinced you to visit San Francisco: It wasn’t Oakland. That should count for something, especially because if I squinted my eyes just right, sometimes I could see the famous Oakland tire fires. It was of great comfort while in San Francisco to remind myself that I wasn’t in Oakland. While this had the overarching effect of lowering the bar, it only increased my enjoyment of being somewhere else.

So, summing up, I loved San Francisco. It was everything I had hoped for and more. I could easily imagine bad 70’s music accompanying me everywhere I went, which probably went a long way in accounting for the good time that I had. The biggest reason, though, was that everyone I met was incredibly kind and helpful. I admit that perhaps some of this would have been curtailed had I worn my “Keep It Pithy” t-shirt, but it is important to give credit where it is due. The people of San Francisco were, at least in my brief, non-scientific survey, absolutely wonderful and accommodating. I hope that if you have the chance to visit this wonderful city, they will impress you as they did me. I also hope you won’t run into trouble. Remember, no Rice-A-Roni jokes.