San Francisco
I looked forward to my visit in San Francisco – the storied city of the exciting hectic gold rush days, raucous wild west saloons and cancan girls, morphing into a vibrant cultural center in the gay nineties, and the horrific devastation and fire that followed the 1906 earthquake! Somehow, San Francisco had survived and been rebuilt and was, once again, at the beginning of the sixties, California’s ”The Beautiful City on the Bay” - replete with fabled cable cars, the Fisherman’s Wharf, The Golden Gate Bridge and magnificent historic landmarks. Among these was the glamorous and elegant Sir Francis Drake Hotel, home to visiting dignitaries, celebrities, socialites and Royalty from around the world.
During my European travels, I usually stayed in quaint little inns or ‘bed and breakfasts’ in small villages on the outskirts of town. But occasionally I would splurge to stay in one of the famous, historic hotels. There was no way I could resist the lure of “The Frances Drake” and surprisingly, it was not terribly expensive! Even with my limited budget, I could easily afford to stay there! And stay there I did! Equally surprising, although the accommodations must have been luxurious, the towels soft, the toiletries deluxe, and the service impeccable, I have absolutely no memory of my time there.
I explored the city, rode the cable cars, sampled delicacies as I wandered around fisherman’s wharf and had a drink at sundown at the ”Top of the Mark”. San Francisco lived up to all expectations, but it was standing in the presence of those towering, giant redwoods in Muir Woods that left me with my most vivid memory. I don’t know whether it was the massive girth or height of the trees, the realization that they had withstood the vicissitudes of eons of existence, or the tight canopy of leaves so far above me that was so overpowering, but never before, or since, have I felt so utterly insignificant and inconsequential!
I fell asleep quickly. I was ready for tomorrow.
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