Day 1 1/2: Hello, San Francisco

San Francisco is one of my favourite places in the world. Totally West Coast America, yet unbelievably Europe in that even though it’s not so huge a city, there’s oh so much to do.

As I said before, it was my fourth time there, and Sandy’s first. I’d been excited for weeks, putting together little itineraries and lists of all the great stuff I would show him. I figured that since we were landing around lunch time, we’d check into our hotel, dump off our luggage, and then Sandy’s first great Frisco meal would either be a seafood sandwich at the Fisherman’s Wharf, or an Oriental feast at a Chinatown dive.

How I would have loved to show him that with neater hair, luggage intact, and not reeking of plane. We were at the airport for a couple of hours, first waiting for our luggage to pop out, and then waiting again in line at the Complaints Desk to have our bags tracked down, while the automated Department of Homeland Security message blurted out, over and over, “Warning! Warning! America is on orange alert!”

As it turned out, the connector in Dallas had been so quick, the airfield personnel had just decided to leave half the plane’s worth of luggage in Texas. Fuckin’ A. May the fleas of a thousand yaks infest their armpits. At least our suitcases saw more of Dallas then we did.

We got ticket stubs, were assured that the bags would be coming to our hotel within a few hours, and set off in a taxi to our hotel. The weather was gorgeous, and I was looking forward to seeing our room, and maybe getting in a quick shower before setting out.

I’d chosen La Victoriana Hotel for a handful of reasons. First, there was a gigantic Oracle convention in Frisco that week, and most of the city was booked. Second, according to the voice I spoke with on the phone, the hotel was a short walk to Union Square. The website also showcased photos of charming, unique little rooms with plenty of character. With our limited choices of what was available, I was sold.

Imagine our fabulous looks of shock, dismay and disgust when seeing that our *charming* hotel was about an hour’s walk from Union Square, had sunken beds, about as much space as a tiny walk-in closet, and that we’d be sharing a bathroom and shower with the entire floor.

How had this happened? Through that lying ass of a Berber desk clerk, who we’d (less than) affectionately christened, “Mr. Morocco.”

Domo arigato, Mr. Morocco, Mata ah-oo hima de
Domo arigato, Mr. Morocco
Himitsu wo shiri tai

You’re wondering who I am, this reception desk man
In my chair of rattan, I hatch a devious plan

I’ve got a secret I've been plotting in my sneaky mind
My nails are dirty, my breath is smelly, no sense is here
So if you see me acting strangely don't be surprised
I’m just a shit with an agenda, and squinty black eyes
Your visit's awry, I'll throw it awry
Because I lie, it's all awry

You want your car parked? Around the corner, right in the ghetto
You want the iron? Wait three hours, I slept in today
My stoner flunky will be no help when I'm not around
And expect to share a bathroom with the rest of your floor
You're in my control, it's you I control
I keep your breakfast vouchers, I'm a whore

I am the screwed up man, who hides behind a mask
So no one else can see my true identity

Domo arigato, Mr. Morocco, domo... domo
Domo arigato, Mr. Morocco, domo... domo
Domo arigato, Mr. Morocco, domo... domo

Thank you very much, Mr. Morocco
For doing nothing I needed you to
And thank you very much, Mr. Morocco
For pissing me off when I last needed you to
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you
I want to thank you, please, thank you

The problem's plain to see: too much idiocy
You fuck up our lives, through your shady guise.

The time has come at last
To throw away this mask
So everyone can see
My true identity…
I’m Dumbass! Dumbass! Dumbass! Dumbass!

Hmph. May the fleas of a million yetis infest his armpits and nether regions. I tried in vain to book us in somewhere else, but the Oracle had spoken: San Francisco was stuffed to la gills, meaning we were stuck in La Victoriana.

Hmph again. I had la anxiety attack, followed by la whine, la pout and la suckfest. Then plenty of hugs from Sandy, who assured me that he wasn’t a diva, was okay in general, and the most important thing was that we were together. La cuteness. La butterflies. La realization that I’m a super lucky girl. La smooch.

Needless to say, our trip hadn’t gotten off on the best foot, and it was time to remedy that with the rest of our day. We ixnayed showers in favour of hailing another cab, and riding off to Chinatown.

Finally, San Francisco. The cab punted up and down the crazy hills on that absolutely gorgeous California day, while Sandy and I took in everything we don’t get at home: palm trees, ocean, gigantic suspension bridges and scores of authentic VW Bugs. Toss in some unbelievable food, the most colourful folk on this here planet, and it’s no wonder why I keep coming back again and again. It’s just so bloody easy to leave your heart in San Francisco.

The cabbie dropped us off on Kearny, and it was all of a few steps to the House of Nanking restaurant. If you’ve never been, write it down on your list of culinary goals, immediately. My first time to Frisco was with Oli, and we’d taken a local’s advice to eat there. The huge lineup and less than glamorous décor turned us off and we decided to leave, until the people in front of us in line convinced us to stay. It was worth it, they said, and we weren’t disappointed. We’d come back the next night, then the next year, and again two years after that.

Mr. Nanking, I will crave your shrimp fried rice forever. Your BBQ pork is just to die for, and your Imperial Rolls leave me breathless. I will admit I was somewhat disappointed to see that you gave the place a facelift – the yellow linoleum, cracked ceiling and mismatched chairs gave the place a certain charm – but glad to see that you were still there, as always, taking down orders with a quickety-quickness.

We ordered a happy balance of all four food groups, then tucked in to enjoy our first real, and most magnificent meal of the day. Oyvey. Lost luggage, smelly hair, La Victoriana and Mr. Morocco all faded away, if just for that moment, to me, Sandy, great weather, and greater Chinese food.