Page 6 of 6
San Francisco, California
And the only thing keeping me dry is where I am
My flight out of San Francisco to Newark was originally scheduled for Sunday and should have landed right before the storm warnings started, but of course all of the airlines cancelled all flights early to avoid damage to their planes parked at New York airports. United rescheduled me for Wednesday, but then that plane was cancelled, and finally, five days later I was on a plane, upgraded to first class, and on my way home.
An unexpected five days in San Francisco was great but not great. I was on the phone almost every day for hours on hold with United, trying to get a better flight home. I was in constant contact with people back east, worrying about them in the storm. And I could only really plan a day ahead, meaning that every day I would book another San Francisco Hotwire Hotel, then try and get back there early to go on hold with United for hours again.
All that said, at least I wasn’t holed up in an airport or somewhere that wasn’t inherently beautiful with more than enough things to see. And while there were far worse places to be exiled from the storm, an exile is still an exile
I started by exile in San Francisco without a car, and on my first free afternoon on Monday, I took the N-Judah MUNI line to Golden Gate Park and visited my favorite Herzog & de Meuron Building, the de Young Museum, where pleasant October weather and a great, clear view from the tower was a pretty good contrast to whatever was happening back home.
On the other side of the Music Concourse, Renzo Piano's California Academy of Sciences hosted a big temporary exhibit all about earthquakes (it turns out they're bad but inevitable- who knew). And after watching non stop nightly news coverage of high winds and devastating flooding, an earthquake was kind of refreshing to be honest.
In between waiting on hold, watching news coverage, worrying about family and friends (many of who were without power back home), it was hard to enjoy an extra week off from work (oh yeah, I do still have an actual job, almost forgot about that) in a place as beautiful as San Francisco can be. And while there were far worse places to be exiled from the storm, an exile is still an exile. So even when I was visiting tourist attractions (like here, my first ever visit to the top of Coit Tower), I was only enjoying things so much. I know, I’m complaining because I’m “trapped” somewhere beautiful and safe while everyone back home is actually trapped and most of them are in the dark.
Out in California, life went on as usual, and I took a break from the sixth hotel I stayed at to walk a block and see the San Francisco Giants victory parade, where people (except me) dressed as cows to perch atop bus shelters and news trucks to see the World Series champions roll on by.
I spent a few days more seeing what I could, from the bridge to the sea lions to even the shockingly good Walt Disney Museum at the Presidio. It was all about the guy and not the company, it had all sorts of amazing artifacts and was extremely well presented, although nowhere did the museum explain why it was located at the Presidio or even in San Francisco.
As enjoyable as San Francisco is, I decided to rent a car and start driving, to try and see a few things a little farther afield. By now my flight was set for Friday, a full week and a day after I left, and I could plan ahead a day or two for the first time since I left Burbank. With a car, I headed north to Muir Woods National Monument, where a walk through the redwoods was as beautiful and calming as it could be, despite the massive crowds of people who also thought that driving up to Muir Woods was a good idea that day.
From Mill Valley, it was a two and a half hour drive back across the bridge, past the airport, down the 101 and eventually across to the Pacific and to Monterey. I hadn’t been there in some time, so it was nice to do all of the things you would expect me to do there. Walk along the coast, see the aquarium, pay to drive the 17 mile drive, get back to the hotel early to watch tv news coverage of the devastation back home and check with as much family and with as many friends as I could.
And while there were far worse places to be exiled from the storm, an exile is still an exile.