The Pink Pilgrimage

This should’ve probably gone up ages ago, but as always, I got a bit lazy. As many bloggers will surely attest, reducing a week-long trip into a single blog entry is an arduous affair. More so than random bitch blogs, I can assure you...*snigger*

But this particular trip wasn’t just any trip. It wasn’t a quick jaunt to Penang. Or Ipoh. It was, for all intents and purposes, a pilgrimage to the holy gay land. To that elusive city by the bay, San Francisco. Certainly an event important enough to document on these hallowed pages.

They say it takes about a week or two to really get to know a city, a month to start feeling at home, and a year to properly settle in. I was in San Francisco for just under two weeks, so that put me right smack in the middle of the former two, in that no-man’s land between knowing this place and feeling at home.

To be honest, I was homesick the moment I arrived in the city. Eighteen hours cooped up in a plane tends to do that to you. The comforts of NewK beckoned and I started to think that my ten-day long business-cum-vacation was perhaps a tad over-optimistic. I was alone. In a big, strange city. With strange creatures roaming the streets.

I see white people. And NONE of them look like Chris Pine!

The progression from homesick, to feeling at home, however, happened quite rapidly. And rather unexpectedly. And it went a little something like this:

Day 1 :

Thank God I booked a Town Car instead of a taxi to get me from the airport to Josh’s place. If this is good enough for Miranda....*snigger*

Oooh. The crooked street! Time to do the touristy thing.....*snaps away*

Wow. No wonder Josh loves this place. Look at that view!

Day 2 :

First day on my own in the big, bad city. Please God don’t let me get mugged.

Why is that homeless guy staring at me like I was lunch. I’m soooo gonna get lost. Shit. What was the street name where the hotel was?

Josh better pick up his phone. Pick up pick up pick up, old man! I need DIRECTIONS!!!! Every street looks the same! Bloody hell!

Day 3 :

Ooh look. Grindr works here! And I’m getting messages!

Maybe I’ll meet up with that blonde haired hottie right after the conference. Oh yeah. This IS a working holiday after all...*guffaw*

OMG Niketown’s right around the corner!!!!

The rest as they say, is history. *guffaw*

So what did I learn in my ten days in this city by the bay?

Honey, who shrunk the city?

Forget what you see on TV. Or what you’ve always imagined this city to be. San Francisco is all of 7.5 miles end to end, bookended by the Pacific on one side, and the San Francisco Bay on the other. It’s about the size of Damansara, to put it into perspective. As a result of this diminutive size, and the surprising lack of freeways, it often feels like a large village rather than a cold, unfriendly city.

One chilly weekday morning, I decided to just take a walk and see where my feet would eventually lead me. I just walked down the street next to my hotel - it was as straight as an arrow and took me past city block after city block of quaint Victorian houses, manicured parks and gorgeous Art Deco buildings. An hour later, the vast expanse of the Pacific greeted me. Like I said, it’s a small place, this.

Warning : Staying Warm – Not the easiest of things to do here

The day I arrived, it was 17 degrees outside with the sun shining bright overhead. I loved it. I could finally put that leather jacket to good use. Over a long sleeved shirt. Which went over an undershirt. Which was topped off with a nice colourful scarf. I could do this. Everyday. Easy. Layering is heaps of fun. Just not in the humidity and heat that is Malaysia, unfortunately.

But within the last few days I was in the city, that delightful weather had turned into spring showers, 12 degree afternoons with gale-force winds and 10-below nights with a wind chill factor that beggars belief. No matter how much you layer, you’d still think twice about taking a cold shower when you get back to the hotel. Trust me. I did. Save water indeed.

Nonetheless, the locals seemed completely oblivious to the chilly weather:

Perky nips were the order of the day. Much to my delight. *snigger*

Foodies, You’ve Been Warned

Most of my vacations typically revolve around food. I mean, hey, we’re Malaysians after all, right? A country where food is quite literally the national sport. If you come here with the expectation of a culinary adventure, well, people, I’m sorry to say, you’re gonna go home sorely disappointed.

With the exception of several good burgers I had in the most unlikely of places, food in San Francisco is kinda like dining in a local Chilli’s or TGI Fridays. It’s good, but it’s not going to blow your mind. Unless you have deep pockets, that is, cos all the good stuff would blow your travel budget in half and rip right through your shopping allowance. And that’s BEFORE you add in the tips. Which are customary. Stinge on it at your own risk. Cos you may find unwanted additions to your meal should you ever return...*guffaw*

My my, aren’t we a friendly bunch?

The best way to see a city is through the eyes of the locals. With that in mind, I made it a point to get friendly with the local folk. From Jorge the Spanish-Mexican San Francisco native who attended the conference with me and volunteered to be my tour guide, to Alex the doorman at my hotel who brought me to his favourite bar for a pint after his shift was over. To Nancy the MUNI ticketing officer who took the time to explain the intricacies of the MUNI subway and F-Market streetcar network to me no less than three times on three consecutive days without pursing her lips and raising her arms in disgust. And oh, of course there was David, the barista at Starbucks Union Square whom, after 3 days, knew my order by heart and threw in an extra shot for free. And also not forgetting the guys at the iconic Mr-S on Folsom Street, who took the afternoon off to show a Folsom virgin the sights and sounds of the leather-laced neighbourhood. The people in this city are insanely friendly.

So much to do, so little time!

Pier39. Westfield. Metreon. Yerba Buona Gardens. SOMA. The Museum of Asian History. The Jewish Museum. Folsom Street. Quake Tower. Lombard Street. Chinatown. Alcatraz. The Bay Cruise. Golden Gate Park. The Naval Museum. Folsom Street. The Castro. The number of attractions in this tiny city would keep you busy for days on end. Even at the end of my 10 day stay, I was still trying to squeeze in as many attractions as I could each day.

Say What? Five Bucks? For Dinner? Seriously?

Food is cheap as chips here. Subway sandwiches are all of $5 each. For a foot long, mind you. And if you avoid the temptation to convert and assume you earn in USD, you’d come to realise that we pay WAYY too much for food back here.

I See Rainbows. Lots and Lots of rainbows.

Let there be no mistake. San Francisco is, and probably will forever be, the Gay Capital of the World. And it’s not shy about that fact either. Rainbow flags fly proudly over the most prominent landmarks in the city. More so in the Castro, where it’s like you’ve accidentally walked into an episode of Glee. Starring only the Dalton Academy Warblers. And everyone’s Blaine and Kurt. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. *guffaw*

There’s lots of history in this neighbourhood. History that may not always be in the minds of the Pink Parade in Asia, but pretty significant to the community as a whole.

Though I was surprised at how understated tributes were to Harvey Milk. I was expecting grand gestures of architecture. What I saw instead was a subway entrance and a flagpole. *snigger*

Take the Bus. Or the Train. Or the Streetcar. Or better yet, walk. Whatever you do don’t drive.

Cos unless you have deep pockets, driving the car into the city is painfully detrimental to the health of your wallet. Parking isn’t cheap. The cheapest multi-storey was charging USD20 per entry. And mind you, parking structures of that sort is certainly NOT plentiful. So everyone inevitably commutes into the city. As a result, the streets are refreshingly devoid of the epic traffic issues that plague cities like KL. Something for the powers-that-be to ponder upon if they’re serious about getting public transport going back home.

Asia, Truly Asia

Jorge tells me that easily half the population of San Francisco aren’t Americans by birth. And walking around the city, you’d have no reason to doubt that statement. The immigration guy who greeted me at the airport was Korean. My doorman at the hotel on alternate days was a Japanese bloke with a funky accent. The lady at the front-of-house who checked me in was from the Philippines. And the guys at the Subway around the corner from the hotel were Indonesians. Not too far removed from home, then....

Wonder If it’s all that hard to get a Green Card

At least that was one of the many thoughts I entertained in my head on my last day in San Francisco. In just 10 days, she’s managed to work her way into my veins and into my heart. I’ve always said to myself that KL is all the city I ever need, with London a perfect alternative should the need to flee ever arise....*snigger*. But after this little trippy to San Francisco, I’m not so sure about that arrangement anymore. If the opportunity ever came up to move here, I can’t say for certain that I’d say no. I could definitely see myself raising a Golden Retriever or two in a pretty Victorian-style townhouse in Castro.

On the first day I was here, someone stopped me to ask for directions to Chinatown. Probably because I was the only Chinese on the street. I hadn’t a clue and had to admit, rather coyly, that I was about as lost as he was.

On my last day in the city, a lady asked me how to get to the W Hotel on Embarcadero. My response surprised even myself. And I didn’t even have to think about it. I even told her which MUNI station was nearest to the hotel. And if she’d rather take the streetcar, where she should board and disembark.

Now if that isn’t a sign of feeling right at home, I don’t know what is....

San Francisco. Missing you already, you crazy, colourful city by the Bay. I’ll be back! Soon!