San Fran at a Glance …

We stayed at Hotel Bijou, which was conveniently located in the heart of Union Square. This boutique-style hotel was an ode to film and even had a mini-theater where two different movies were shown each evening. Walls were adorned with vintage movie posters of Hollywood icons. I was initially a bit leery about staying at a two-star hotel, but we found it to be exceptionally clean, and the staff was friendly and accommodating. The rooms were small, but who comes to visit a place to sit in the hotel room anyway? The only drawback was the close proximity to and occasional late-night noise of the Tenderloin, but I tended to be in such a coma every night anyway, I didn’t find it to be too disruptive.

Speaking of which, I recall the desk clerk telling me when I checked in not to wander the blocks west of the hotel because there was nothing there. He neglected to mention that indeed there is! The Tenderloin (aka the ‘Loin) is a somewhat run-down area of the city where a lot of down-and-outters hang out. It was a raw, in-your-face look at the drudgery of prostitution, poverty, drug abuse, and the mentally unstable. Imagine my reaction as I followed Darryl’s lead through the ‘Loin because he preferred to walk the eight blocks to the Fillmore shopping district. I was relieved when our seedy surroundings evolved into cafe-lined streets packed with specialty shops.

Our Saturday evening vittles were at a Mexican tapas bistro called Colibrí. That’s right, I said Mexican tapas, not Spanish. It wasn’t a very memorable meal, but more like a little bit of food for a whole lot of money. For me, it was just a pit stop to fuel up for a late night of salsa dancing.

The highlight of feasting was no doubt our venture to Le Cheval, a Vietnamese restaurant in Oakland. The menu was extensive, and not only were the hearty portions of food exceptional, but the prices were as well. The Bird’s Nest dish I ordered (literally a massive nest of crispy noodles heaped with an array of veggies, meat, and fish) was only $8.50! After scoffing as Darryl inhaled everything but his plate, I too had to let out a resounding "mmmm" when I tasted his calamari salad. The walls were filled with paintings, mostly of its namesake ("le cheval" means "horse" in French). Service was friendly and quick, with adequate seating in an open, airy space. Our dining experience at Le Cheval was definitely worth coming over the bridge.

Lunch during our stint at Fisherman's Wharf was at the famous Buena Vista Cafe, known for its yummy Irish cream coffee. With a menu loaded with American fare (plenty of seafood, of course) and a friendly pub atmosphere, this popular hot spot is a good refuge from the bay breeze.

You know fatigue didn’t stop Traci and me from boutique-hopping in her 'hood and making our way via the Muni (the train system) to Union Square, where we spent at least two hours in Loehmann’s shoe store. For all my fellow shoe horses, Loehmann’s is a gold mine! How fantabulous it was to see Pucci and Versace shoes at a huge discount! It was there that I scored Dolce & Gabbana and Nicole Miller sandals for less than a hundred dollars each! That alone made dragging my weary body along worth it. And of course, the Loehmann’s department store across the street beckoned to us as well. With only forty minutes until closing, we power-shoppers understood that conversation was unnecessary, and we were about the task at hand.

Tucked away in an industrial area was Club Cocomo. For just a mere $10 cover, we got high-energy salsa from a slammin’ live band. Although I wished my former dance partner was there with me, I was relieved to see that the place was packed with salseros (ie, good dancers), and I ended up with a couple of good leads.

My flight landed in Oakland, and I cabbed it to my friend Traci’s quaint little place on a hill Thursday evening. After exchanging friendly pleasantries, we headed to Market Street, where we ate at a wonderful Italian restaurant called Pasta Pomodoro. The bread with pesto was to-die-for, and hearty portions of pasta filled our bellies. After hours of chatting, we called it a night, but unfortunately for me, I soon realized I was freezing but couldn’t fathom moving to get more covers.

So much for starting off the trip "fresh" and rested. Between the night of minimal sleep and the two-hour time difference, a sistah was broken down! In fact, throughout the weekend, I couldn’t tell you what time I went to bed—only that it was consistently late, and I felt worn out just about every day. That, coupled with the Bay chill in the air, was annoying.

From Friday evening on, I was with my friend Darryl, who flew in from Philadelphia. In a way, this trip was a way for me to find out if we’d be able to tolerate one another for a trip to Bahia, Brazil. Think planner vs. free spirit. Our first major butting of heads occurred our first morning in the hotel. I could not tell you what he was doing that took him so long to get up and about, but we didn’t make it out of the room until after 1 o’clock! "What are you doing?" I shrieked, trying to prod him into hurrying up.

Ultimately, I stormed off to the Punjab Kabob House, a restaurant serving Pakistani/Indian cuisine across the street. I indulged in a saucy dose of chicken tikka masala with naan bread and rice, and that took the edge off — not to mention watching another patron literally lick his bowl clean. Needless to say, although there were times when I wanted to stab him, we traveled fairly well together.

Late Saturday afternoon, we met up with Traci and headed over to the Mission District to catch the tail end of a Carnaval festival. As we strolled down the seven-block stretch, checking out vendors, I ingested the pulsating melodies of Latin jazz, Reggaeton, Merengue, and Salsa from the different stages. Crowds gathered around those bold salseros who couldn’t resist dancing.

The walk to the bus stop through the Mission was even more interesting. A Salsa jam session was in progress outside of La Parrilla Grill. Naturally, as the music drew more onlookers, the crowd spilled over into the street. I finagled my way to the inner parts of the circle to see the musicians in action. One guy sat perched in a tree, while another climbed a pole to get an overhead glimpse of the mini-fiesta. The energy outside the restaurant was amazing, and nothing else mattered but the music. I live for spontaneous outbursts that help make the trip unique! "You should get out there!" Traci yelped at me, as others in the crowd danced impromptu with some of the musicians. For all of you who know me, you know I was itching to dance, but I figured I’d save my energy for the Salsa scene that night. At the end of the set, one of the musicians passed the hat and the owner of the restaurant came out tossing coupons to the crowd. Good promotional strategy if I’ve ever seen one.

It’s unfortunate that the rest of our stroll through the Mission wasn’t too pleasant. The air was thick with a familiar sweet stench as people casually stood around smoking weed. With anxious thoughts of the possibility that we could be in the wrong place at the wrong time, my guard was way up. City girl I am, but I just wanted to get on a bus and get outta there.

The bus ride made me even more nervous. A trio of troublemakers sat in our area and began intimidating the other young men around us. From across the aisle, Darryl announced to me that our stop was next. As I got up, I heard him urgently whispering for me to get in front of him. Apparently, one of the men had gotten up to approach me but returned to his seat once he saw that I was with Darryl. Soon after, we moved toward the front, a crowd of raucous girls got on the bus (which led to loud interaction with the thugs, of course), and yet again, someone broke out the Mary Jane. It was an uneasy bus ride through the Mission to get back to Union Square, and I was too happy to get off.

Sunday was a kick-back kind of a day, and we intended to play it by ear. For time’s sake, Darryl and I went our separate ways for the morning: him to work out and me to shop a bit more. After braving the inclines in heels, I also figured I’d indulge in a bit of self-pampering, since manis and pedis are cheaper on the West Coast. Unfortunately, that turned out to be a disappointment. It was cheap, but not so neat.

We decided to only get the rental car for our last day to see a few sights, since parking was such a headache everywhere. After driving down Lombard’s crookedest street and to some of the highest points overlooking the city, we did Fisherman’s Wharf at a glance, taking in the obvious: Ghirardelli Square, Alcatraz, blah blah blah.

Our intent was to spend minimal time at Fisherman's Wharf so we’d be able to do a couple of wineries; however, we ran out of time. That wasn’t so bad, though, seeing how I would’ve been a sleepy mess from wine-tasting.

Our intention was to hit a jazz club in Oakland for our last night, but our dining went later than intended. There was the option of going to a place in the Mission, but after the vibe in broad daylight, we were very skeptical about hanging out there in the dark. We resolved to stay in and prepare for our early departure. Not the most entertaining choice, but a wise one.

After only four days, it was time to say farewell to San Fran and head back to reality. Will it become a frequent hot spot for me to escape to? Probably not, as I realize I’m an East Coast kinda girl to the core, and Cali doesn’t tickle my fancy. Although I still can’t pinpoint an actual feeling that I’d associate with the place, it’s definitely a city that has its own eclectic charm and can’t be compared to any of the others I’ve been to.