San Francisco Day 3

Day three! Or as I now refer to it, “Kill the Old People Leading the Groups Day.”
The night before, we informed the kids that at that moment, they were “homeless.” They were given orders that they were not to change their clothes—they were sleeping in what they were wearing and not changing clothes the next morning. They had bus fare and no other money or cards. Also—and far more troublesome for teenagers—food was no longer available. Water yes, and they were allowed to sleep in their bunks (which isn’t exactly a luxury, if you know what I mean). At 5:45 a.m., the YWAM staff kicked everyone out of the building and locked the door. I could have done without them shouting obscenities at us as we left, but I guess it added to the realism.
Breaking into small groups, we headed into the city. My group purposely chose a route that, if we looked at it statistically, contained more coffee shops per square mile than any other place on earth. All had their doors open to the gorgeous weather, allowing the aroma of fresh brewed coffee to permeate the morning. None of them were giving their coffee away, however.
The Embarcadero sounds exotic until you are sitting with three sleepy grumpy teens at 6:30 in the morning. When the morning commuters started to pour into the city, I suggested we walk into the Financial District. They grunted which I took to mean "yes." Again, lots of coffee, none of it free. For the next five hours—aside from one or two conversations centered on why boys are jerks—all conversation centered on food. “Where are we getting food?” “When are we getting food?” “How much food can I get?” “Dude, we can get two tacos for 99 cents if we could only find a Jack-in-the-Box!” As soon as the reality set in that they would not be getting food for a couple of hours, we started walking again.
Walking in San Francisco is not like walking across the family room to grab to remote (which is my current fitness routine). I watched a Travel Channel program (after I found the remote that day) on Extreme Rollercoasters. I am now convinced that extreme rollercoaster planners simply took a stretch of San Francisco streets and built a scaled-down version using track instead of asphalt.
The rest of our day consisted of:
Climbing through the Financial District to Chinatown.
Walking through Chinatown, which was hilly, though mercifully, not a climb.
Moving on, we reached Telegraph Hill and Coit Tower. At the bottom of the hill, the students asked if we could climb the Tower. “Sure!” I said. It was still early. I had a bit of stamina at that point.
The stamina had fled screaming by the time we reached the top of Telegraph Hill. Spectacular view, which we observed for two hours while we recovered. Fortunately, there was an elevator available to get to the top of the Tower. Unfortunately it was not open yet. Fortunately, it opened while we were still there. Unfortunately it was $7 to ride. So it was time to hit the streets again.
Descending would have been a breeze with a rappelling rope.
But we made it down, went a few blocks and proceeded to...
Climb another hill. This time, Lombard Street
This is the famous “crooked street” seen in all the tourist brochures. The climb would have been easier had it not been for the 147 tourists clogging our way by taking a picture of the street. What an amazing concept—a street that is impossible to drive down not because of the serpentine twists, but because drivers must avoid the dozens of Japanese tourists STANDING IN THE STREET taking pictures of the oncoming traffic.
One of our teens correctly read the map and we led us down Leavenworth Street to the soup kitchen where we would eat lunch. SIDE NOTE: Idea for entrepreneurial types out there—a TOPOGRAPHIC Tourist map. Our young friend did indeed find the most direct route to the facility. Unfortunately, it crossed TWO of the highest points in the city. If we weren’t so tired, it is possible he could have had disciplinary action brought down upon him.
Despite the fact that we would have eaten sauteed shoe leather at that point, the meal and conversation at the soup kitchen was a great experience. It is a extremely well-run and love-filled operation.
Since we didn’t spend our meager allowance on food, we opted to buy bus fare to Golden Gate Park. EDITORS GRAPHIC DESIGN NOTE: I assume the San Francisco “MUNI” transportation logo was one of those 60s heritage leftovers that San Francisco embraces. It can be the only explanation for the groovy acid trip vibe. Maybe someone equated “Trip” with “transportation.”
Speaking of trips, our bus drove through Haight Ashbury, the epicenter of Summer of Love in the 60s. They try to keep the spirit alive with smoke shops a-plenty and other “non-traditional” stores. The puzzling part, and I am not making this up, was the number of tourist families walking the streets of this district. I could only imagine the conversations: “Look at the counterculture, kids!” “This is what used to call a ‘Head Shop’” “Back when mommy and I dropped acid, we always wanted to come here and party with the Grateful Dead!” If Mickey Mouse was walking around in a tie-dye shirt, we could have been in Disney World’s Bad Trip Land. What a long strange trip indeed.
Golden Gate Park was lovely and we headed through the fields... and up a hill. At this point, my thighs had all the strength of Snak Pak Chocolate Pudding. I made it no further. We stayed in the park not moving for about an hour and returned on the bus to the YWAM facilities, where the staff said they were full for the night and directed us to a vent down the street. They later relented and we were allowed to shower and change clothes and brush teeth (it was strictly voluntary--I am convinced that some boys simply sprayed a lot of AXE on themselves and may have even squirted it in their mouth).
We finished the night with a fun outing to a Giants baseball game. Our seats were on the View Deck—at the top of the stadium. How did we get there? Ramps. Uphill ramps. They found me face down in my garlic fries.