Cable Cars and Matrimonial Cakes – Day 4 of our Trip

On our previous trip to the US, both IsraeliDad and myself were severely struck with jet lag. At least I think it was jet lag, very likely aggravated by stress, a fair amount of cultural shock amd even illness (I came down with a fever three days into the trip). We were fortunate
enough to have been able to spend the first ten days of our trip (roughly half of it) relatively stationary, exploring the wonderful city of San Diego. While visiting Sea World when you have a fever of 102 isn’t much fun, making you painfully aware of the hallucinogenic nature of Sesame Street songs played continuously in their playground area, it’s easier than actually being on the road.

I was afraid our first week or so in the US would be similarly dedicated to recovering from jet lag, and any accompanying malaise, and so made sure we’ll be pretty much stationary for that part of our trip. The next pin on the map, and in fact the actual launch of our road trip, was planned for the week following our arrival at the US. It was a highly anticipated pin too – Yosemite National Park – anchored down by reservations I had made for several nights in the Valley’s camping grounds.

Fortunately, the first week proved to be easier than I had expected. No one was sick, and the cultural shock far less shocking. Within a couple of days, we were eagerly exploring and having a great time. We could have possibly headed out of the city earlier, but those Yosemite reservations, as flexible as the grand rock of El Capitan, provided a good excuse to stay put and take it easy.
I’m telling you this now, to explain why my first posts of our “Grand Tour of the US” are limited in scope to the City by the Bay. Not that San Francisco felt “limited”in any way. There was plenty to survey, and so we set out on our third day in the city to discover some more urban treasures.

Rising early, we decided to head out on foot again, and walked all the way from Lombard on Octavia to the area known as Chinatown, a total distance of two miles. We walked along Broadway Street, looking out for signs in Chinese, which showed up somewhere around the intersection with Powell Street. Following instructions from our GPS, we kept on Broadway, and finally turned right on Stockton Street. The sporadic signs in Chinese turned into a fixed monophonic feature, with many of them now missing any indication in English as to their meaning.

It was early in the day, and it looked like we were the only tourists around. At least, everyone else looked Chinese. Industrious women were checking the produce in  stores, where stands were stretched over pavements, covered with small mountains of colorful fruit and vegetables. Groups of men huddled by alley ways, literally chain smoking, lighting one cigarette with the previous one, and talking loudly in what I assume was Mandarin. In fact, English was notably missing from the scene. Even small children prattled away in Chinese, holding hands of busy Moms, presumably going to school. Indeed, San Francisco’s Chinatown is not only the largest and oldest Chinese community in North America, but also the largest Chinese community outside of China. Slowly navigating the lively streets and alleys of what is known as “a city within a city”, in that early morning hour, before the onrush of the day’s tourists, as a  privilege and an appreciated treat.

This was no hour for dim sum, but there was one thing I did want to try. I had heard about it in a podcast long before we arrived, and had it in my notes to have something called “Black Bean Cake”. I had no idea what it would look or taste like, but in the name of science and geographical exploration, I went into a bakery, and asked for one. The saleswoman was very kind, and was happy to sell us a couple of cakes, saying they were “for the husband”. I cautiously inquired about “cakes for the wife”, torn between hunger and fear of being offered something too exotic, maybe containing bugs or snakes, but was put at ease by her promise that they had “wife’s cakes” made of yellow beans, rather than black.

The cakes, shared equally between us, were delicious. The fresh pastry pockets held a thick sweet layer of mashed beans, black in one version, and yellow in the other. Not too sweet, very fresh, nice and balanced and full of protein, they made for a very nice vegan breakfast.

Eventually, we walked over to Grant Avenue, the more touristic part of Chinatown. This was a street of shop after shop, holding huge and strange collections of Chinese artifacts. Life-sized sculptures of animals and people, carved ivory objects, maneko neko cats of various sizes, and bizarre souvenirs featuring the honorable chairman Mao; these shops had everything and anything, but were obviously more commercial and less authentic compared to the inner streets we had walked earlier. In other words, the signs here all had English on them (and some didn’t even bother with Chinese letters).

It was finally 9 AM, the opening time of one of the museums we had on the itinerary for that day – the Wells Fargo museum. The one in San Francisco, was larger than I had expected it to be. Displays spread across two floors, so while IsraeliDad took his time examining the detailed reviews of Wells Fargo’s historic part in conquering the West, I took the kids to the upstairs gallery to enjoy the more interactive items. One of these was a carriage in which, at a push of a button, you could start a movie going on a screen positioned where a very low-seated window might have been. The idea was to simulate a ride, I guess, albeit in a motionless exhibit. We sat there for minutes, looking at the screen, hoping for a gang of masked highway robbers to attack us, but alas the entire show consisted of a relaxed ride through a benevolent forest in bloom.

Once we grew tired of postal carriages, we went downstairs again and tore IsraeliDad away from the maps and documents. One thing I found on this trip is that our kids are on their best behavior, as long as they’re on the move. Of course, talking about two boys here, aged 7 and 9 at the time, best behavior is a very flexible term, so let’s just say they were much easier to handle while mobile and sometimes quite restless when stationary.

Fortunately, getting to our next stop – the Cable Car Museum -  provided us with over a mile and a half of walking, most of it uphill on Mason street, making me wish again that maps and GPS devices would come with built-in red flashing lights warning you against elevation gains. By the time we got there, even our hyperactive boys were exhausted, so we were very grateful to the powers-to-be for placing a nice cafe right across from the museum entrance, where we re-established a normal breath pattern and got some coffee and hot chocolate.

The Cable Cars Museum across the street was worth getting to though. It had the air of a non-commercial museum, lovingly nurtured by people who actually care about the subject matter. It really is a non-commercial project, or at least there’s no entrance fees to pay, which is always a nice bonus when traveling with family in tow. The museum is located right above the power house, and standing in the gallery, we could look down and watch these humongous wheels turning, and in effect moving the cables on which the cable cars ride.

A few steps away from the noisy system, the historic display included three old grip cars, one of them fitted with comfortable seat for viewing a movie, which explained all about how cable cars work, and which went way way over my head. My focus was on maintaining eye contact with our Dan and making sure he doesn’t climb up the rails and into the power house section. I hope at least a few of you are relieved to know I won’t be reiterating any complicated explanations about how these cable cars work – I simply never got it myself.

I am compelled to pass forward the common Travel Guides’ advice to get to the lower section of the museum, where you’re supposed to be seeing something quite fascinating – though I can’t recall what exactly. As far as I was concerned, it was cool getting underground and seeing the kind of tunnels and caves that form a subterranean world, which was there the whole time as we had been climbing Mason street, right under our feet. Other than this, it’s really just a bunch of belts and screws.

Of course, while we did visit the museum for free, we ended up donating $20 to the Cable Car company, in the form of travel fees for a 10 minutes long ride down Powell street and back to Market Street. It’s a bit overpriced, if you ask me, making it more into a fancy historic theme-park kind of ride for tourists than a proper transportation method. No one was screaming though, except for our boys, who were thrilled with the marked declines and sharp breaks at intersections. We didn’t let them ride standing up on the running boards on the sides of the car though. We did take some pictures in that famous position, but that was done down at Powell street, after the car had come to a full stop. We did get to see them manually turn the car around, but I have to say, it’s not an impressive sight as it’s made out to be.

It wasn’t even noon, and our day had only just begun, so to speak… This being a blog post after all, I’ll take a break here and let you enjoy the pictures. I’ll blog about the second part of this day in a separate post.

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