Clang! Clang! Clang(er)!

A leisurely meander around Haight-Ashbury to start the day. The spiritual home of the 1967 “Summer of Love”, where flower power, peace signs and a generation of dreamers changed popular culture forever. It’s hard to walk these streets without imagining the music that once drifted from open windows — Janis Joplin, Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead all called the neighbourhood home at various times.

Coffee ☕️ in hand, we found a spot to sit and people-watch. Everyone seemed to be moving at a slightly different pace from the rest of society. Perhaps it was simply the relaxed San Francisco vibe… or perhaps some of the readily available local “enhancements”. Wink wink 😉.

A stroll through the Panhandle followed — the narrow strip of parkland connecting the city to Golden Gate Park. One thing that immediately struck me was the smell of eucalyptus gum trees. For a moment, it felt remarkably like home in Australia. The trees were actually imported from Australia in the late 1800s when Californians became convinced eucalyptus would solve all sorts of timber shortages. It didn’t quite work out as planned, but the scent remains.

Then on to Alamo Square, where the famous Painted Ladies stood proudly against the skyline while hundreds of tourists patiently queued for that perfect Instagram shot. They are beautiful, but judging by the queues, I suspect some people spent longer framing their photo than actually looking at the houses.

An Uber ride then took us to the infamous Nob Hill Theatre — which is, of course, no longer such. Dame Betti and I spent many an hour there 29 years ago. Let’s just say it was a nostalgic stop that brought back a few memories and leave it at that! 😇

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! 🔔

The long-awaited San Francisco Cable Car ride. The very same cable cars immortalised in song by Judy Garland.

Now, I realise this borders on sacrilege, but to be quite frank, it was a really unpleasant experience.

Unless you manage to snag one of the coveted outside hanging positions — which is about as likely as winning the lottery — you’re crammed inside like a sardine. And once someone secures that prime hanging spot, they seem to hold on to it with the determination of a Golden Retriever guarding a tennis ball. There should be a halfway-changeover system! But I’m not here to rewrite San Francisco transport policy.

I can certainly tick it off the list, but neither of us particularly enjoyed it.

Ironically, the historic streetcars that run along Market Street and the Embarcadero are, in my opinion, a far better experience. More comfortable, less crowded and every bit as charming.

And fittingly, the very last historic streetcar we rode was the Harvey Milk car.

After reflecting on Harvey Milk’s legacy in the Castro only days earlier, it felt like a rather perfect way to finish our San Francisco adventure.

Not every famous attraction lives up to expectations.

But sometimes the unexpected moments end up being the best memories of allRead more