That's almost an oxymoron. We awoke in Tiburon, and there was no fog. We drove across the Golden Gate Bridge and there was no fog. We picked up Big Cuter and drove to the Marina and there was no fog. I began to wonder if I was really in Baghdad by the Bay. Remember Mark Twain's "the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco"? Saturday put the lie to that. Big time.
We sat at the Marina,
on a bench looking out
at Marin in the distance
and the Yacht Club
and the Golden Gate Bridge.
The old light house is a reminder that we are not the first people to watch ships enter the Bay.
They might have seen this building,
or this building, built after the Great Fire,
but probably not this 1950's modern.
It's a ritzy neighborhood, with golden doors
but it is San Francisco, so politics is everywhere.
These signs were in all the windows facing the view.
I guess they don't want it spoiled by diners.
It's hard to argue with that logic, when this is what they see.
There were runners and strollers and puppies and parents and bicyclist, including this kid who won the award for best helmet, ever.
I wanted to see the sculpture exhibit at Crissy Field, so we sent Big Cuter back to retrieve the car.
I'm walking better these days, but not that much better.
We drove under the construction for the new approach to the Golden Gate Bridge
and drove past the Mark di Suvero masterpieces.
There were eight of them, one more ginormous and intricate than the rest.
We ended our adventure at Smitten Ice Cream, made in a Kelvin with liquid nitrogen and presented in a repurposed storage container.
It was a perfect San Francisco day.