You can always tell you are in San Francisco because you’d be walking along and then suddenly realize that the sidewalks are not even…
and that the incline is, in fact, quite pronounced:
But most of the times you can’t be too sure whether the next corner will find you uphill or downhill because the city is cocooned inside a fog…
then dusted with rain, making it sometimes difficult to navigate while avoiding messenger bikes and oncoming cable cars:
But a misty San Francisco is the perfect way to see this town to romantic dreamers like me. I find Lombard Street even more charming with the fog above its zigzag hill…
The Fisherman’s Wharf also feels more “authentic” in the winter dreariness. It’s a total tourist trap and I’ve been here on sunny days, but maybe I do prefer a rainy SF, London, and even Hanoi from all the years of reading Brontë and Hardy novels. And a certain dogeared book called Gorillas In The Mist.
I’m going to duck inside Boudin’s (home of the famed sourdough bread) for lunch and see if I can’t get better shots of the city once the fog lifts later…
See you then.
Tags: boudin, Brontë, Fisherman's Wharf, Gorillas In The Mist, Hardy, Lombard Street, San Francisco
From Sacramento it’s a not-too-long drive into San Francisco, land of crazy driving. And by not-too-long I mean a little over an hour with minimal traffic. I’ve been to SF enough times to know where all the key places are…
All kidding aside, my favorite things to do in this city are watching its skyline materialize over the bridge and misty water…
and then navigating the hilly streets without crashing into cable cars or bike messengers. And by navigating I mean sitting in the passenger seat while stifling screams at oncoming traffic (why is every street a one-way street going in the wrong direction!)….
Then it’s back in LA, land of the traffic jams. I’ve a whole month before taking my passport out again–I’m already feeling very restless. Let’s see if I can’t find some small distraction around here…
Tags: San Francisco
The GPS in our car takes us from Mayacama to San Francisco via another bridge. This time around we’re crossing the Bay Bridge:
San Francisco is an extremely photogenic city. Very little rivals the sight of the city rising beyond the foot of the bridge, dizzying my vision with a slew of Victorian homes and skyscrapers jockeying for position over the hills.
Once on foot, I can feel the buildings teetering above me as I maneuver around other pedestrians, bike messengers, and cable cars. I try not to use a car inside this city as driving here is a total assault on my motor (pun intended) skills, what with the steep hills and million distractions to cope with while navigating an infinite number of one-way streets.
My senses come to hyper-life mode when I’m in San Franciso; there is no way to sleepwalk your way through this town. If you do, it’s a real shame because look at what’s waiting for you:
Most of my aerial photos in today’s blog are from Macy’s rooftop Cheesecake Factory in Union Square. I only have about three hours in the city before heading back to LA. It is here that I have lunch on a perfectly balmy day. I may not be able to trade LA for this city by the bay, but no matter how many times I’ve been here, I’m always excited to come back.
Tags: cable cars, Cheesecake Factory, Macys, San Francisco, Union Square
I blow through San Francisco this morning yet still manage to pick up a Prada sweater and JPG tank at Saks.
There’s not a lot of traffic in the store as I think buyers are still waiting for the next round of markdowns. Because we are short on time, I only get to cover a couple of floors and do not make it to their shoe department. I am not a fan of drive-by shopping–I’m efficient and don’t loiter (much) but shopping on borrowed time interferes with my shopping mojo!– so I may have to finagle another jaunt to Union Square on our way back to LA in a few days. For now, we’re leaving SF behind…
and crossing the magnificent Golden Gate Bridge to reach the other side:
Even on a misty day, which in my opinion is a very dramatic way to see this city, there are plenty of tourists walking the bridge:
The view of Sausalito unfolding just beyond the bridge over the water is a breathtaking one, but on this foggy day I can’t get any clear photos to show you. The rest of the drive is green albeit ho-hum until we get closer to the resort. At that point, we drive through Santa Rosa on narrow, winding two-lane roads all the way to the private 675-acre golf retreat at Mayacama (www.mayacama.com) .
We go through two front gates,
and at the latter we are greeted warmly by an older gentleman who has been expecting us. He has the smile of someone who clearly loves working in paradise. The minute we go through his gate, however, my BlackBerry’s signal shuts off. Both phone and data services are lost! I repeat. Both phone and data services are lost! I am unplugged in Mayacama. I see deer and rabbits scurrying away as we drive up the hill toward the main lodge where we need to check in, and for a long second I almost want to scurry down the hill myself and run back outside the gate:
But I had committed to paradise, so paradise it is…it’s just that…I always thought there would be wifi in paradise. Anyway, as soon as we’re all checked in, I have only ten minutes to rush from my casita:
back to the main area for my spa appointment:
At least the concierge assures me that there is internet connection back at my room, even if she says she knows that I won’t have a need for it. I laugh hysterically inside my head but with a straight face tell her she’s right.
It’s a good thing every casita comes with a golf cart for easy transportation when you are in a rush to get somewhere, like to a tee time if you’ve overslept. Though this strikes me as odd because as soon as I get here, I have a feeling time has stopped. So you really can’t be late to anything, and it’s illegal to even feel rushed here. Even the wind is blowing differently, motionlessly.
Two and a half hours later, following a deep-tissue massage and grape seed facial (well, we are in wine country), I amble back to my casita, feeling like a revived yet overcooked noodle. The sun is high above my head and only when I get to my door do I realize that I had left the golf cart back at the lodge. See, my old city self would have mumbled an expletive and rushed back to fetch it, but the newly converted me doesn’t really care at this point. I could have just fallen down right in the middle of the road and taken a nap–that’s how relaxing the spa services were and how safe I feel out here in the middle of nowhere. I am practically all alone in my own private sanctuary at this moment because everyone is either on the golf course or is a staff member patrolling the grounds. I’m the lone city girl who doesn’t get golf and doesn’t yet know the extent of how cut off she’s soon about to become.
Tomorrow I will give you a tour of Mayacama. For now, there’s a huge bubble bath with my name on it. Plus I want to see what’s inside my welcome gift basket.
Tags: BlackBerry, Golden Gate Bridge, Mayacama Golf Resort, Saks, San Francisco, Santa Rosa
I read about Yves Saint Laurent’s passing on June 1 of this year when I happened to be in France. It was a sad way to start the day, but I found some wonderful essays and obituaries in the French papers in the hours then days that followed. As many people who knew him indicated, it was time for him to leave this existence after the last few difficult years ravaged by illness, depression. But the more I learned about him, the more I thought about his lifelong partner Pierre Berge. Together they opened the doors to a fashion empire, but after some 50 years together …and apart, it is Berge now alone, still carrying the torch for the genius that was YSL. Mourning is not for the dead but for the survivor. Is there any greater pain than living in the presence of the past?
But if it’s of any consolation, the fashion world mourns with Berge. Today we revel in the archives YSL has left behind. Volumes of sketches and clothes are neatly shrinkwrapped into an inspiring traveling exhibit, such as the one I attend at San Francisco’s de Young Museum.
This show is a collaboration between the museum, the Pierre Berge-Yves Saint Laurent Foundation, and the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts. There are 130 outfits on display spanning some 40 years of his designs, ranging from a 1965 cocoon wedding gown knitted out of wool to the haute couture gowns paying tribute to Picasso, Matisse, Mondrian, Braques, Wesselmann, and van Gogh…
YSL was born in Algeria and spent a lot of time in Morocco, so it is natural that he was inspired by the vibrant colors he saw in that part of the world. These dresses epitomize how he interpreted the hues around him:
Compare those gowns to the colors found at Morocco’s Jardin Marjorelle, bought by YSL and Berge in 1980 (his ashes were scattered in the rose garden of his private villa there):
My favorite part of the exhibit is a glass case full of whimsical couture gowns, particularly a few fashioned out rooster and ostrich feathers. Above the glass wall is a television replaying a retrospective and final YSL fashion show in 2002. Once you have viewed all of the outfits on display, it is fitting to watch the video and look for your favorite dress to come alive on a sashaying model. For me, I am thrilled to see the lilac grey ostrich feather gown on the runway and then up close nearby behind the glass. Another personal favorite moment is seeing his iconic, huge yellow silk cape billowing across the TV screen. I don’t find this particular number on display but the hair stands up on the back of my neck even the second time I watch it on the video. And then there is Jerry Hall on TV working a white silk satin gown and matching fur wrap–she steals the show for me (even after seeing le smoking, Naomi Campbell strutting, and Claudia Schiffer in the famous safari top as immortalized in print by Veruschka). In this picture below you can see both my favorite ostrich gown and the one worn by Jerry Hall:
After some hours there, I pick up a book of paper dolls from the gift store. It reminds me of when I made paper dolls and their clothes with my sisters when we were all still little, well before I knew what haute couture even meant:
The gowns are spectacular as displayed in the exhibit, but on the runway, they become living art. The artist dresses his muse and the muse breathes life into his art. How lucky are we to get to go along for the ride on this fashion highway? I am awed and inspired.
Yves, thanks for the memories.
Tags: de Young Museum, Pierre Berge, runway, San Francisco, YSL, Yves Saint Laurent
