Category Archives: Travel

This was written on Dec 24, 2012.
I did not realize it had not posted until today- Please find the delayed anecdote below:

The last itime I visited Washington, DC I was seven years old; the city sure has shrunk since then….
Or perhaps I have simply grown taller.

I arrive into the quiet Capital before sunrise.
To my mind city is not sleepy like Boston, just patient and comfortably silent.
The extra wide streets stand vacant through the sunrise, marred only by the occasional delivery truck, but they know, much better than I – the traffic is coming.

It is the ingenuity of familiarity which leads me to appreciate traveling today.
I step off the bus grab a coffee and commence examining Union Station for a plakard with a “M” “T” or “S”- some letter which will kindly lead me to the public transit.
(FYI- in DC you should look for an “M” for the “Metro”.)

I  hover with 20 other people outside the metro gates, it is 7:11 and the train is still closed. I grin to myself I am not in NYC anymore.

A man sees me grin and thinking me a local throws out:
“It’s gotta be Lauris opening up today! Charles always opens at 7:04 sharp. But Lauris, she just loves to take her sweet time…”

Sure enough 6 minutes later a heavy set woman, I assume – Lauris ambles up the stairs and heckles the gentleman next to me as she unbolts the gate at a glacial pace.  Finally the gate swings open and we all dash down the escalator and find that we now must wait 15 minutes for the first train due to “holiday track work”.

It is just after sunrise when I reach The Mall.

It is empty but for the group of runners doing wind sprints past the Hirshhorn Sculpture Garden. Their tennis shoes grinding gravel pared with their sharp breathing is not the sound-track I would have imaged for this zipped morning. My internal soundtrack offers up Bach and Dashboard Confessional.

Soon the Adopt-A-Dog society join the morning runners- The energetic puppies bound at full speed against their short leads in a blur of persistence. The puppy walkers simply amble along behind- giving the cartoonish impression of non-motion.

I meander along taking in the grand buildings of the EPA, US Postal Office, and White House, middle school history lessons resurface from some far corner of my brain as I stare at dulcet toned placards listing off names and dates such as  Thomas Edison and Alexander Graham Bell, 1881.

The capitol itself boasts a impossibly small Charley Brown christmas tree.  It’s flags are also at half mast honoring Connecticut school shootings.  I wander the perimeter of the Capital Yard- taking my dim reflection in cameras posted on lintels, lamps and bas reliefs.

By 10:00 AM the city is bustling as I remember- the trains are crowded disembarking at Bethethsa. Shoppers really do rush towards home with their treasures carefully avoiding eye contact with Veterans sitting with cardboard signs outside the Metro stations.

I through the Vietnam Memorial, and around the Lincoln Memorial to Arlington National Cemetery. For the changing of the guard- Matt, a Army Solider I’ve been chatting with over the past few hours, cries. I find my own eyes watering as I catch a slight glimpse of a  taped-off corner of the Pentagon roof.
I wander for 2 days seeing art, recalling history as I explore the free museums of the National Mall and catching free movies screening in pubs for the holiday.
I even creating a temporary social life in the high-hit area of China Town, the land of DC hipsters.

Just one word of caution before I leave you –
Like Philly and unlike Brooklyn- DC does not warn you when you are entering a bad neighborhood. Like all major cities, this city is at its best when it is walked.  However, it is always best to keep your eyes up and your head high and potentially your camera away while walking… For while this city is the heart and spirit of the US of A- it also has some of the highest crime rates of any US city other than Chicago currently.

….  Happy Holidays!

On your right is Antique Alley, on your left is Antiques Again. This whimsical little town thrives on tourism and arts. With botiques like Kismet, and Gallery 66, foot traffic from The City is the stimulant of the local economy Lenora Burton, owner of the Country Goose tells me. 

I am even more pleased to bypass the white picket fences and historical houses of the town historical society by exiting out the West side of town…

The forrest is sleeping yet, but it is on the brink of spring. The leaves no longer crunch as much as they do compress, into the ground.  When I finally rally my way to the steeple of the ridge the hollow sounds of trees- rasping- in the wind knocks the air from my lungs like the lung-hug of a long-lost friend.

Eventually cold thighs, mine to be exact send me careening awkwardly down the hill. I race the setting sun across the snowy asphalt, towards my homeward, city-bound train….

The best part about traveling within a country rather than country hopping is the local airlines-
In this case Turkish Airlines (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_raeLlLdPE)
See- you cannot beat that Jingle!!!

Cappadocia is a large region in southern Turkey. We stayed in Goreme specifically. Sparing ourselves the expense of a proper hotel, Amber and I shared a “cave room”. (No really though- this was a cave with a door and furnishings added to it for comfort.) These rooms are ecologically and economically intelligent places to check out for your stay as they retain their cool temperature in summer and are easily heated in the winter.

After sleeping in a cave there is nothing like a 5:00 AM hot air balloon ride to bring one fully awake. The deafening sound of gas being released and burned is only slightly terrifying when you hovering thousands of feet up in the face of a long doormat volcano watching a sun rise while surrounded by 60 other hot air-balloons…
Sanara, our balloon’s captain was a fearless Turkish woman who seemed to enjoy grinning maniacally at us while the sun gleamed off her aviators. Every once in a while she would scream out: “Higher, higher!”a huge stream of hot air would released and up, up and away we would sail!
In case being blown across the sky at 150 KM high (or more) was not enough Sanara’s team of balloon chasers (think storm chasers) supplied extra entertainment by radioing-up sexual innuendoes at Sanara as they speed across fields, heedless of planted crops, in their monster truck tracking our balloon.
One recommendation: always ask to see your captain’s license prior to take off… Don’t wait until you find yourself huddled in the bottom of the gondola braced for landing, watching the earth rise up to meet you at a rather-too-rapid speed to think of asking for such things.

Cappadocia is known for it’s amazing geological structures called Fairy Chimneys or HooDoo’s. Normal people would probably spend their days hiking among these amazing structures with maps:
We certainly did some hiking including haphazardly exploring bits of the Rose Valley (where we crossed the gate keeper of the Nazzar Church) and by walking ALL the way over the mountain to the next town in an attempt to find the UFO Museum. (@LonelyPlanet- This museum does NOT exist anymore;  nor has it been in existence for 5 years! Please take it out of your guidebook.)

We spent one day hiking in Pigeon Valley; okay I am almost 97% certain we were in this specific valley, but you know, those Turkish maps can be tricky….

The main tourist attraction of this area is the Open Air Museum.  Once thousands of Cristian’s avoided persecution for decades by living in hills and blockading themselves into caves in times of striff. Today Pre-Byzantine frescos decorate the walls, the ceilings and window ledges. Mostly protected from the elements the earthy hues and techniques are fascinating to look at; just think from these drawings many illuminated scripts were made and passed down into what we consider normal Biblical art today!

I closed out my trip in Goreme by taking a thigh-wrentching trail ride with a Horse Whisperer, Cohen. This man had walked up into the mountains and coaxed 12 young wild horses down to live with him. These beauties now work for him, carrying the likes of me on trail rides. They live entirely on homeopathic remedies and natural diets.
After initially telling Cohen I was an alright, though not accomplished rider I proceeded to fall off my horse as soon as we started moving because I had not checked the saddle’s girth prior to mounting. Rookie mistake fixed, and only my pride and arse being seriously bruised, I remounted.

Finally on our way, Cohen rode bareback and reign-less leading the way with his serious spurs and Cheyenne war cry ringtone. We raced down the open lanes of side dirt roads, slithered up mountain trails and finally we slowed to a canter as we crossed the sandy dunes under the stars on that moonless night. I was sad to be heading home….

My desire to travel is chronic.

$20.00 USD for a 90 day visa, followed by the satisfying and official sound of anew stamp being added to my passport:  Ker-Thrunk! I clear customs once more…

Just through the doors staring teeming masses of drivers holding name signs. Amber and I have to circle the line of callers three times before we finally see a “Fiher-Lov”. Assuming that is that me, we hop in the car and get a taste of the many ziggingand zagging taxi rides to come. Turkey, where speed limits and road lines are barely even suggestions.

Our hostel is situated in the heart of the touristic area, in an county called Faith (the irony of this is not lost on me). On our right is the Blue Mosque and the left the Hagia Sofia. It would not do to simply march straight into these epic sights however. First we must explore the lay of the land  and acclimate to the city. We wander up and down the cobbled alleys. From inside my bubble umbrella impressionistic images of twinkling Turkish lamps composed of thousands hand placed glass shards whirl over piles of rugs, scarves, soaps, pipes and blue-eyes.

Amber commences to haggle over a intricately embroidered silk rug while I stare at cushion covers, scarves and earrings. The vibrancy of these colors is not like that I have seen before. Here deeper shades of mahogany, mauve and magenta speak of depth, and wealth. 

 

To my eyes the colors match the warm culture, the people we meet are sincere, sharing their own traveling stories and flirting appropriately. When asked where we are from I left Amber speak first.  She tells them she is from Hawaii. People smile and wink knowingly instantly off their guard, for who does not love Hawaii? I stay quiet unless forced to answer too…

By the time I am done wandering Amber is being served apple tea by the shop keeper, a sign the that haggling is really commencing. I sip my tea and grin unhelpfully as she banters and apologizes to him for not being able to afford more. In the end she gets a good deal, and he does alright, if not as well as he had hoped. 

 

The first night we saw a Whirling Dervish perform. Most likely apart of the Mevlevi Order he only performed part of the Sama ceremony. The actual Mevlevi Order has been outlawed since 1925, but is allowed to perform in public for touristic reasons today.

I was entranced the delicate balance of the dance. Walking onto the stage the Dervish was silent. With eyes closed he began to spin his clothing billowing out as the musicians played behind him. Pivoting on the left foot he spins faster as he goes leaving behind his ego in as he embraces truth and love toward the “perfect” or god. They  Dervishes always wear white to symbolize death the the tall hat represents the gravestone. I later learned that the 20th great-grandson of the Order’s founder still leads the order today. Less political than their original founders all of the performers within the city still practice the religion underground to this day.
Our exploration of Istanbul happened two trips and really we explored two separate cities. 
First we explored the old city: The Hagia Sofia, the Topiaki Palace, and the royal Haram. We tip-toed around the top of the Galata Tower marched along the city walls (in search of a taxi) and high-tales it to Chora Church. The Byzantine artwork, the Kufic Scripted paintings and Islamic floral motifs declared incessant attention to detail the juxtaposition of blue against garish gold and chipping mosaics. I alternated between drooling and almost breaking my teeth on Turkish Delight and Kebab’s where the pot is shatterd before you eat.

 

On the return trip we visited modern Istanbul: The Istanbul Modern (during the Istanbul Biennial), the PTT (post office, The Grand Bazar and a public use Turkish Bath. Here the streets are not as well lit, but the fast-food includes fresh veg and tea (FYI- Only tourists drink Turkish coffee in the morning. It is meant as an afternoon drink of ceremony). Fresh squeezed pomegranate juice is but one Turkish Lyra compared to five and toast supplants roasted chestnut vendors. Across the Bosporus Straight shops close at prayer time no matter how busy. 

 

 

When was the last time you chose your own adventure? Well now is the perfect time!

For example, this next Saturday you could roll out of bed, sprint for the 10:14 NJT to Trenton, NJ  (Hamilton Stop) and visit to the Grounds For Sculpture in the “arts and culture district” of Jersey.  (Warning: you will have crossed-cool and leaving the Jersey Shore far behind by entering this premises.)

If you disembark from the train and do not find a mondo sculpture of Man and Woman Dancing (yep, it’s based off Pierre-August Renoir’s painting!) towering above you- this is not your stop and you are in fact lost in Jersey… Good luck!

However, if there is in fact a host of static figurines gracing the edge of an asphalt parking lot, this is the ideal place to hop into a taxi for five minutes and arrive lazily at your destination within minutes.
 -No really though, normally I do not condone the use of taxi’s but on this occasion I will allow it; for despite what the traveling ladies of the Red Hat Society may tell you, your destination is not “just down the road by old Dorthea’s house dear.”Rather it is close to a 45 minute brisk (I mean NYCer brisk, not Minnesotan brisk)  trek from the station along sidewalk-less motorway-

You may touch this with care and Respect

Now if you are too cheap to cab it and fool enough not to follow my instructions I will admit there is a certain joie de vivre in having the ability to pause and caress the colossal art pieces found along the road (sculptures from Art Along The Way, 2010) unscrutinized.  (There aren’t even any friendly “Do Not Touch” signs, for who would ever walk this road and scramble onto medians to feel  them?)
From Love Knot (C. Powel)  to Four Amigos (G. McFann) the textures of rusted iron and brushed steel are simply materials until the human comes along and recognizes these individual cogs as art.
Regardless of your mode of transportation you will notice how the simple implementation of art throughout a degraded warehouse district and along a littered highway transforms the lay into a creative and inviting sculpture’s way

Currently within the Grounds For Sculpture is experiencing autumn.

The lotus seeds are dried out in their shells and the juniper sap has paused it’s weeping in front of the Ground’s main Gazebo. The magnolia leaves are curling in on themselves next to the Warming Hut and the tourists hover inside the Structure For Internal Conversation -perhaps contemplating the impact of  a building who’s North wall is composed by a concave, Scream (Munich) while the South side is a convex Praying Siddhartha –

Woman with a Parasol

City dwellers comment to each other about the difficulty of off-roading-it as they traverse gravel paths, stumble up grassy knolls and down into acorn covered mud-pits in search of the next art piece. Everyone takes in the megalithic Space of Stone (M, Abakanaowitz), and poses in front of Leucatntha (p. Grausman). They also stand transfixed as Woman with a Parasol (C. Monet) takes places continuously on a western hill…

If at any point you tire of interacting with audacious art works, pick one of the copious benches which litter the grounds to settle down on for a breather.
A word of caution to the weary: make sure you are not too still for too long else you will be rudely poked by a random child, at which point you will both start and the child will scream “this one’s real mom!” in his outdoor voice. Thus breaking your introspective revelry, but also validating your existence one must suppose….

Finally if it starts raining, (because when one is having an adventure especially if you didn’t being an umbrella and are wearing flats it always will) don’t despair. The Museum, Guest Center and Water Gardens are just as integral to observe with their ever changing exhibitions as is the view from Internal Evolution (B. Fuko).  And if you have a few dollars to spare and did not bring beans and rice as your journey fare Rats restaurant though pricey is supposedly delectable and only serves food comprised of all local fare. (Artistic Foodies!)

Therefore dear readers just think- this is the tip of the iceberg! All you have to do is get out there and choose your own adventure!

Leucatntha (p. Grausman)

It is the heavy cemented architecture of the Kallmann McKinnell & Knowles in Boston’s City Hall and Diller Scofidio & Renfro’s ICA, which travels “down from the sky” to solidify the cohesion of eclectic, historical and proper in true Bostonian attitude…

It is in the moments when guides encourage tourists to quack like ducks and while photographing Red Coats marching through a Holocaust Memorial and with the Spare Change Man stoically stalled on the corner obsecrating money that the cities true integration is revealed.

In China Town bubble tea and The South Street Diner preserve student’s wallets. While munchy trips to the concave and winding red brick North End (famously home to the best Cannolis outside of Italy) deplete them. 

At the corner of The Boston Commons historical signs mislead the average tourist in Paul Revere’s ride. (Revere never completed his ride and was never rowed across the Charles! Rather three men whose names have been lost in time completed the journey to Concord and warned the Patriots of the imminent sea attack.)

The Boston T train are reliable, arriving every 10-15 minutes. Locals don’t even notice the decibels that the train wheels screech out having long ago lost the most sensitive hairs in the cochlea.

As a warning, even the experienced traveler may be confounded by the T. Signs designate Outbound and Inbound rather than specifically naming streets or one might wish to head towards. Especially near the city center, in Boston Proper the idea of heading Outbound and Inbound become slightly muddled as everything is technically still centrally bound…

This time around I found Boston nostalgic and quintessentially Northern. My old Bostonian taylor “pahrks” his “Cahr” and tells me about the “wicked” season the “sohx” (Red Sox) are going to have.

While in Boston I realize that together with my peers I am doing exactly what I ought: together are just initiating our five – ten year life plans. We are bottling up our plans of  “instant success and prosperity”, stashing them AWAY with a few other teachings from the Baby Boomers. Dubbed the “Lost Generation” by TIME magazine we represent a different set of ex-patriots from Hemmingway.  We are openly striding out to create our own niches in society (literally as no one is retiring). We are going to Travel On, fanning out across the world with the city of Boston as our launching pad and perhaps our catalyst…. Care to join us?!

BAM and then it hits you. The heat, the humidity. The long daylight hours which always lead to nights which are that much more epic…

You can see Broadway shows such as Wicked where the songs are so cathartic that even the ordinary has pathetic appeal. http://www.wickedthemusical.com/

You should interact with theater so wonderful that the only possible complaint is the damn box set-(because honestly when does a box set ever work?) In this theater the acting, lights and sound are so superb that even  the non-theater goers who were coerced into going by talkative friends, covert to theatrical patrons.
http://www.bam.org/view.aspx?pid=6&g=85

You might work with playwrights who are honored and celebrated by Lincoln Center, Chicago Arts and Obama himself. You might even help run a few season fundraisers for these significant people – Don’t worry everyone deletes the emails from KickStarter or Indigogo as soon as they appear in the inbox. http://nymadness.com/

If you are lucky you could have friends who hang out with Slater Bradley. When he attends your Brooklyn barbeque (on your tar roof). You char his veggie burger because you cannot stop gawking. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slater_bradley

You would also have friends who are doing residencies with Marina Abramovic and producing films with The Brooklyn Independent, Cupcake Girls and Annie Aviator. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marina_Abramovi%C4%87
Perhaps they can offer you some soul-fulfilling work if your random performance art and onerous day job are not enough to keep your brain from melting in the heat.

Shakespeare In The Park has such a small performance venue that even if you enter the ticket lottery every day in the summer and stand in line from 4AM-11AM at least three times, you probably won’t get to see a single show. But that is part of the experience and who knows, you may just meet your summer fling while standing in line….

HBO free movies in Bryant Park happen every Monday featuring movies from Pycho to The Wizard of Oz. http://www.bryantpark.org/plan-your-visit/filmfestival.html
There are free roof top movies being screened all over Brooklyn every weekend. (Hipsters rent large lofts to premiere indi movies about the gentrification of Brooklyn- ironically ignorant of their own role as the gentrifies.
Free dance parties, open bars and performances happen across the city daily
@ http://twitter.com/#!/hapninnyc_free

Check Out The: Library Bar, Chelsea Highline, Roosevelt Park, Soft Spoke, LPR, The Morgan, Williamsburg Flea Market (please note this is different from Artists and Fleas). 

If  that is not enough and you are too hot, hop a train to the Rockaways- specifically 97th street- the new Hipster beach where coconut ice-cream, organic cheese fries and hula hoop contests once again gentrify the area. Don’t worry, the locals have moved farther up to 119th st… That’s fine right?
Perhaps stop at the Jamaica BayWildlife Refuge just past Cross Bay Park and pretend that you know about birds other than pigeons and the two Red Tail Hawks who live on the UES.

At the end of a long day it is always best to return to your roof, take a  drink of  $4 white wine, beer or chilled peppermint  tea, lay back on the rood and enjoy the slight-trembling of your apartment building which lets you knot that they train is running without delays.
My roof boasts a bike I purchased for $90, (probably stolen in Staten Island, then sold here in Brooklyn). It also boasts a majestic palm tree, because I purchased it for only $7…Righhht. Need to Hug a tree anyone?

Summer Life is starting high in NYC. So with that I will head down to the Band Shell for a free concert. After- all everyone loves some good Dashboard Confessional… ALWAYS.

The Cloisters– a branch of the Metropolitan Museum set upon a hill in the middle of Tryon park. 

Most people get there intentionally by taking the A train all the way up to 190th St. Others take a less conventional approach, for example- they drink too many pint margarias, fall asleep on the train headed for Brooklyn and wake up the next morning at the opposit end of the city, in Upper Manhattan.

You can decide how you want to get there really, (though for my own liability as the author of this article  I will caution you not to sleep on the train if at all possible). The point is you ought to GO.

The City, New York City is a wonder as far as cities go: Here the skyscrapers talk to the clouds and the homeless talk to themselves. Hipsters speak only of art and only to other hipsters Musical theater people refuse to converse within the normal decible ranges of the human ear, preferring instead to sing out Sondheim at every possible opportunity. It is a place where Jazz parties resound in musky West Village interiors at high noon, and tourists walk into oncoming traffic simultaneously taking photographs. Here, hundreds of people practice Yoga together on the Bryant Park lawn each Thursday, while hundreds of other people wander by to gawk…
 
There is so much happening all the time in this place that you might as well give up. Seriously stop trying to do it all. Drink some kool-aid and go get the hell out of the city.

That’s right, bugger off so that you:

-Squeak when a small garder snake riggles under your foot on the rocky path to the Cloisters, from the Subway. (Nature? I don’t recall seeing that in the city…)
-Strain your memory to recall the names of the herbs growing in the gardens flourishing in the midst of Tryon Park. These are not the limited flora you find along the Chelsea High-Line, these are re-created gardens whose meandering pathways have not changed since the middle ages. (Clearly New Yorkers don’t do the actual tending of the gardens…Everyone knows  a True New Yorker can only get plants to grow on a fire-escape. Unless they live in Park Slope, in which case, well they don’t count as True New Yorkers anyway.)

When heading through the gardens take some time to look out over the East River before it reaches the churning canals between NY and NJ.
Find a tree, sit under it’s shade and enjoy the fact that it is not-quite-a-Country-Tree, meaning it certainly is not a City Tree! (There is a vivid difference you see- City Trees are filthy in the way the popular fire-hydrant of the block is gross. City Trees get climbed-on, leaned-against, slept-by and hugged within an inch of their dead-hearts.  Country Trees are down right gritty with honest-to-Allah dirt, earth which decomposed naturally over time as it was crushed and covered by yearly precipitants.)

 In Tryon Park these closer-to-Country-Trees-than-Central-Park-trees will have you feeling soothed and fascinated within minutes as they provide lovely dappled shade and reveal how even their stolid bark is teeming with agitated insect life.

—————You have already stepped outside of the New York monotony of perception.—–

After you are properly shocked out of your city hang-over by the colors, “Yes that’s called green” around you it is time to throw back your cooler-than-thou sunglasses and step into the ancient granite hallways of the Cloisters themselves.

The sudden cool dampness will leave your skin tingling with excitement. You will wander through the courtyards of this cloister, turned safe-house, turned museum to view exquisite wooden tryptics bearing the Holy Virgin’s face. You will see a riot of color streaming into the dreary brown world of the weather blackened granite via the stained glass rose windows. These windows depict scenes of beauty, nature, religion and hunting. You will see tapestries bigger than your entire Brooklyn apartment, they will invite you to get lost in their epic tale of The Unicorn Hunt and of swooning maidens.
There are over 5,000 pieces of art within the Cloister walls including sculptures, illuminates manuscripts and of course the architecture both natural and imported….

 
This is what it is about, when you tire of the modernity, of the tension, of the pace and of the pressure. Simply head North (perhaps grabbing a Mr Softee, on your way), to the place where Jews court, chick-a-dees call and history inhabits the present…
To The Cloisters.

 
The time spent in San Fran can be filled with a broad spectrum of activities. For me it ranged from spending time in the Outer Sunset District with the surfers and the burners where the word “hella” replaces exclamation points and the slow speech of hipsters on the beach can make one despair about the decline of Western Civilization. 
I visited friends in the mission district where the arts flourish and families have hosted Family-Matter style houses for generations.
I particularly love attempting to park a car horizontally on the vertical streets of this area.

Even the time I spent shopping in Haight, (preferably Upper Haight,) exploring the vintage shops, the stripper stores, the-restaurants-that-would-be-considered-kitch-anywhere-else-in-the-world-but-have-crossed-into-cool, in Nor Cal was educational. I also sincerely appreciated the availability to purchase anything on street corners, ranging from ancient medicinal healing formula to flowers for my hair.

In the extremes of Pleasantville (also known as Redwood City), where tree leaves simply dissipate rather falling as normal leaves, thus preserving the crisp landscaped walk-ways, where the DVDs and CDs are kept un-sensored on shelves by the door in the public library and where  the “privileged people” live out stories of private intrigue- preferring to remain anonymous in their activities. They float by as the people who  live to work, rather than working to live.

It is with great appreciation that I dub San Francisco one of the most welcoming cities I have ever attempted to move to…With the MUNI, BART and Caltrain, the city hosts one of the top ten transit systems in the world. Unlike London, or Dublin where tourists are welcomed with open arms, then booted unceremoniously out once the wallet runs dry, and in stark juxtaposition to New York City where the fleeting tourist can end up spending a life time partying in circles, San Fran takes a relaxed approach to unveiling itself.

 It offers the Bridge Tour- including but not limited to: the Bay Bridge, The Oakland Bridge and of course the Golden Gate for the first walking tour of the city. It has the museum tour: ranging from the classical pieces presented at The Legion of Honor, to the De Young with it’s limited engagement openings and of course there is SFMOMA- an architectural design so grand that taking in Mario Botta’s building may be enough of an experience without even going inside.

In San Fran the days slip into weeks, slip into months  and you find yourself taking weekend trips to San Carlos to explore the quaint stores of Laurel Street (a trip to the local cobbler for colorful storytelling is a must), taking day trips to Fort Funston- a dog lover’s utopia and introvert’s hell, for brilliant whale watching opportunities. Or perhaps you travel to Half-Moon Bay where good books can be purchased by smell alone (the stronger the smell = the older/better the book) and cliche sea-side art is readily available for purchase, (including long strands of sea-glass roped together into a 70s style door curtain).

If what I named off what not enough to temp you: remember, there is a huge- deluxe spa culture available here, including full body scrape, You can have young skin again!
There is the Castro district- if you really want to learn to party..
And perhaps most importantly there is Occupy Oakland- one of most extreme  and volatile Occupy Camps in the world at the moment.
But don’t take my word for it, come visit yourself, and be sure to check out Alexander Books, the largest independent bookstore in the Bay Area to find out more information/better information for yourself.