By the time we arrived in San Francisco, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. Mark Twain wasn’t lying when he famously said, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” The rain made everything cold and miserable, especially during the one hour long wait for the cable car, PLUS the one hour open air ride to Fisherman’s Wharf.
Even so, the city itself was charming. The intimate streets, grey rain, and even the people (hello my fellow Asians!) were so reminiscent of Vancouver and Auckland. If it hadn’t felt like an Arctic tundra, perhaps I would have relapsed to my melodramatic ways and a tear of nostalgia (or two) might have been shed.
Snapped a picture of my frozen, swollen feet on the cable car. I must the most idiotic person ever to wear ballet flats on a pouring 10 degrees Celsius day.
Can you see how steep the streets were? The Cable Car felt like a slow motion roller coaster! The famously steep Lombard St reminded me of Inception.
Despite the rain, I managed to convince myself that I DID see a sea lion at Fisherman’s Wharf, just to fulfill the touristy curiosity. But who cares about marine mammals hiding in the water when there’s soup? This sourdough bread bowl tomato soup at the Wharf probably saved me from hypothermia.
Next time, I’ll be sure to bring my Northface to this city.
Musings of a Leaf 
your feet is indeed incredibly swollen my dear…
Reblogged this on Pop Rhythm and commented:
For you well-traveled folk, here’s a blog for you!