An Outsider's Impression of San Francisco

Many years ago I sat in a Barcelona airport waiting for my flight and talking with a man who had traveled extensively around the world. I asked which place was the most beautiful he'd ever been. His response: Istanbul and San Francisco. 

Since then I have made it a goal to visit both those places. But as the years have passed, I started to doubt if San Francisco was the Mecca it used to be. It seemed that every story I heard of the City by the Bay was either of its increasing homeless problem, crime, or high cost of living. 

Finally, twenty-nine years after my conversation in the airport, I was able to make it to San Francisco. We only spent two days, but here are a few of my observations. 

Golden Gate Park.

Zoomed-in view of San Francisco from Alcatraz Island.

I will say right off the bat that San Francisco was absolutely beautiful. He was right about that! The first thing we did when we came into town was drive across the Golden Gate Bridge to a viewpoint at Marin Headlands. Transitory fog engulfed the bay, but when it finally moved out we had sweeping views of the bridge and San Francisco skyline. Both were amazing. I was intrigued by the blue of the bay, the ingenuity of the bridge, the verdancy of the rolling hills, the mystery of the fog and the smell of the sea on the wind. 

I continued to be impressed when we went to Golden Gate Park, the West Coast's version of Central Park. Fog was there too, along with tall wind-swept trees, lots of green grass, ponds, flowers, ducks and even bison. I was further impressed when I learned from a worker that this whole area used to be sand dunes and the early settlers started by planting trees along the coast for a wind-break, and eventually worked their way inland. 

But . . . there was a caveat in this Garden of Eden: Don't leave your car. Yes, the worker told us this too. He warned that car break-ins were rampant and that if you leave your car too long unattended, you run the risk of someone breaking in and stealing anything of worth. I will admit that this bit of information made me a little anxious during the rest of our stay, but luckily for us, we were never victims. 

On the "red line," making our way to the city center.

From the corner of 28th Avenue and Anza Street, looking toward Lone Mountain and University of San Francisco.

Public transportation here was disappointing. I thought that because San Francisco was progressive and liberal, then their public transportation system would be very much akin to that in Europe. In my opinion, I was very wrong. 

The first time we parked our car and came to a rail station, we spent forty-five minutes trying to figure out how to pay our fare. There was no counter with a real person behind it. None of the passengers passing by seemed very friendly or helpful. We couldn't just plug in our credit card and buy four tickets. We eventually learned that we had to purchase a “card” and put money on it, but how much we knew not. After three tries it canceled our credit card and we had to use another one. What a nightmare! For a while I thought we'd end up missing our ball game—But we finally figured it out. 

We took the red line to the city center where we had to switch trains to Oracle Park. I thought it would be straight forward with signs pointing to our connecting train like there is in Europe. Maybe I was blind, but I couldn't see it. We ended up back above ground where we ran into a very nice gentleman who went out of his way to get us to our destination. He was the nicest local person we met during those two days. 

Our evening at the ballgame displayed once again the magic of the city. We had an upper balcony seat where we could look out over the bay. There was a lively atmosphere in the stadium and from what I could tell, much of the music they played came from local musicians or songs about San Francisco (for example Journey, Lovin' touchin' squeezin'; Starship, We built this city; and Metallica). 

Oracle Park is a beautiful stadium that sits next to San Francisco Bay.

When listening to critics talk of San Francisco, they will emphasize the homeless issue and “feces in the street.” I will be honest, I didn't see much of that and there was no incident when I felt in danger. The only time I recall seeing homeless people was near the corner of Embarcadero and Market Street where we saw a couple tents on the sidewalk. Admittedly we only spent two days in the city and stayed mostly on touristy streets. 

Alcatraz was just as good as I hoped it would be. Not only did it have a fascinating history, but the view from the island, including the boat ride, offered spectacular views of the city and Golden Gate Bridge. 

Alcatraz Island.

Over and over in my mind I couldn't believe the genius of the architecture of the city. The Bay Bridge, which we could also see from Alcatraz, was a double-decker bridge. I knew there were also tunnels that ran beneath the bay. Nearly every building in the city was built on some sort of hill. And to think that it was nearly obliterated during the 1906 earthquake and they had to rebuild it! 

During our last evening on our way to the hotel, we had another memorable experience. At the far end of the subway car in which we traveled, a homeless man stood by himself. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to finger something in the center of the cloth. Then he plugged one nostril and started snorting whatever was in the handkerchief. I am no expert on drugs, but it appeared he was snorting cocaine. It wasn't exactly the environment I was excited to have my daughters in. 

San Francisco trolley.

We survived our two days in San Francisco. We did not get injured or robbed. We learned that it was indeed a beautiful city. It also had a shady side that demanded caution, although I thought the stereotypes were a bit embellished. 

Hotels in San Francisco were very expensive. We considered a room in Oakland, but decided it was far too crime-ridden. So we decided on Colma, a suburb just south of San Francisco. I thought it would be more laid back and calmer, but it wasn't. I was nervous to leave my car out in the parking lot overnight.⸺When it was time to check out and leave town, I will admit that there was a burden lifted from my shoulders. I was happy to escape San Francisco in one piece. ♠

 

San Francisco skyline and Golden Gate Bridge from Marin Headlands.

Oracle Park

I didn't think we were going to make it on time after trying to navigate the San Francisco public transportation system. I couldn't even buy a ticket and there were no employees in the station! But we managed to figure it out and after another transfer made possible by a nice old gentleman, we were on our way! 

Now we were on a packed subway car mixed with Dodger and Giants fans. All stood side by side, donning their jerseys and caps. It was a display of pride and loyalty. 

Fans crammed inside a subway car.

We don't go to professional ballgames very often. We live too far away. Anytime we do it's a novelty and I relish every moment. Personally, I prefer baseball over other sports. There is a sense of national pride and tradition that makes it meaningful to me. 

We stepped off the train and instantly stood in the midst of the action. Long lines stood to buy tickets or enter the gates. Aroma from vendors grilling fat hotdogs floated through the air. Some people, including myself, admired the statue of Willie Mays, directly in front of the main entrance. There were other statues located around the ballpark, including greats such as Willie McCovey, Orlando Cepeda, Gaylord Perry and Juan Marchial. I would have loved to have walked around the park and looked at each one, but our fiasco with the train system delayed us so much that we didn't have time. 

The Willie Mays Gate at Oracle Park.

Vendors selling hot dogs outside the park.

Statue of Willie Mays.

We entered the Willie Mays Gate and walked up a series of long ramps, shoulder to shoulder with thousands of others. We searched for our seats which were behind third base, but on the upper deck. Finally we found our entry, just as a booming Pavarotti voice sang the National Anthem. 

The view from our seats was amazing! From our perch we could see nearly the entire stadium and beyond. Behind right field was San Francisco Bay where we could see boats and all the way to Oakland. The right-field wall was distinct, made with bricks and arches to resemble the old Polo Grounds in New York. 

Oracle Park in San Francisco, California.

The family.

I remember watching ballgames on television as a kid, and especially those at Candlestick Park here in San Francisco. It was also located on the bay, close enough that small boats could wait beyond the fence for a home run to be hit. At that time I made it a goal to some day make it to Candlestick. Of course, that didn't happen and they tore it down. But its replacement, Oracle Park, felt just as spectacular. 

Oracle Park first saw action in 2000, and over the years has had several different names. It has a capacity of 41,915. The deepest part of the field is right-center, where it is a whopping 415 feet from home plate. This section is called “triples alley” due to the bad bounces that tend to happen here. 

Levi's Landing in right field resembles the brick wall at the Polo Grounds in New York.

The game started with a banger when Mookie Betts for the Dodgers had a lead-off home run. I haven't followed the sport very well for years, but Mookie Betts was one of the few names that sounded familiar. Although it came from the visiting side, the crowd lit up with excitement. Dodger fans seemed to be as well represented as those from the Giants. 

The starting pitcher for Los Angeles was Julio Urías, a Mexican-born player whom I had never heard of. Right away I could see that he was good. He was a lefty, so we watched from the backside as he wound up and lifted his right leg.  I was fascinated with how he twisted his torso, almost to face the batter. Then he would unwind, releasing his energy with a long stride toward home plate, and deliver a 95 mph fastball. He was very good and the Giants found it difficult to get on base. 

Julio Urias, a Mexican-born pitcher for the Dodgers.

Even if you're not a baseball fan, it is exciting to attend a Major League ballgame for the environment alone—especially with a large and enthusiastic crowd. This one didn't disappoint. I think that anytime a team from Los Angeles travels, they are hated and draw strong emotion. During this game, the chant “Beat L.A.” emerged multiple times. Of course, that didn't settle too well for the many Dodger fans in the stadium. The group behind us started their own parody of the chant: “East L.A., East L.A.!” I couldn't help but to lean back and smile. 

One goal of mine was to buy everyone in the family a ridiculously expensive snack from the concessions. For myself, I chose one of the big fat Polish hotdogs that I saw others eating. It was so big it barely fit in my mouth. They topped it with a plethora of diced peppers and onions. Even though it was a mess, it was worth every dollar. 

As I previously mentioned, I don't keep up with baseball well enough to be familiar with many of the players. But one name for sure struck me—Yastrzemski. Mike Yastrzemski is the grandson of Hall of Famer, Carl Yastrzemski. The younger plays right field for San Francisco. Although there was nothing spectacular about his play on this night (he was only 1 for 4), it was fascinating to watch him, knowing that greatness was in his blood. 

Mike Yastrzemski, grandson of Hall of Famer, Carl Yastrzemski.

By now the sun had set behind us into the depths of the Pacific Ocean, and stadium lights came on. The bay was completely black except for a few lights from the boats. A mist of rain swept through from time to time, but not enough to dampen anything. By this time the Giants were slipping further behind, needing a miracle if they were to have a chance. 

Then came the top of the seventh when Max Muncy (another guy I've never heard of) walloped a grand slam over the left field fence. This was the nail in the coffin. L.A. was now up 9 to 1. Some of the more sensible Giants fans began to file out to get a head start on the post-game rush. 

We, however, stayed until the end. I was going to relish every minute of it. We sat in open-air with the smell of the bay drifting in. There was still an excitement in the air, even though the home team was about to lose. The chants of “Beat L.A.” were nowhere to be heard. 

It was a madhouse after the final pitch. I didn't think we'd make it out without something happening to us. But somehow we made the train. Once again, Dodger and Giants fans, now beleaguered, stood side by side on a crowded subway car. ♠

 

A spectacular evening at Oracle Park in San Francisco.