who needs food with all this pretty architecture?

In the guise of Adventure Girl, I set out on my own in San Francisco last Sunday. Again, I did have a map, but [again] it did not actually reflect distance. For example, the areas identified in this map as Union Square/Chinatown/Nob Hill/North Beach don't SEEM to be, oh,

600 miles apart. They SEEM close, like just-around-the-corner neighborhoods. My calves, gluteus maximi, and laptop-toting shoulder beg to differ. (So you don't think I'm a complete moron, the map I used did have streets listed but still woefully lacked mileage info). The good news though - those Ed Hardy sneaks left not a single blister or bunion-burn.

My goals on this journey were to a) check out parts of SF that I hadn't seen before, b) get some exercise (HA!), and c) find a cute local diner/coffee shop/bakery/bistro/anything for lunch.

Here are the results; please enjoy, but also feel the burn a little, would ya?

Little did I know I should have taken the hot air balloon.

Buildings playing hide & seek at Union Square.

But wait! You should eat now, over there!

Pretty pretty Chanel boutique

Scary scary Ed Hardy boutique (but skulls can be fun!)

Another omen about flying instead of walking...

Entering Chinatown

Love the mix of old designs with tacky modern.

Off toward Nob Hill; not yet starving.

The noise from this Irish pub was impressive. At 11 a.m.

Mon dieu, I had no idea this would be my last chance at a sandwich before 3 p.m.

Perhaps another TURN BACK warning from the ghost of Dashiell Hammett?

I pray with the woman on the steps that we both find food soon.

Taking pictures of buildings distracts me from rising hunger.

I scale this hill on the power of one Mojo bar and a chai latte from two hours before.

Why am I the only one suffering a heart attack at this point?

I continued to walk and walk and walk in a fugue state. I kid you not, there were no fun little cafe-type stops along Washington OR Van Ness; maybe because it was Sunday or maybe they were invisible to my Muggle eye like Number 12 Grimmauld Place, but I could not find a single place to sit & eat that wasn't grimy and/or doubling as a gas station. Until...

How 1950s adorable will this be?!

Neverfuckingmind.

Going my way? NO.

In my calorie-deprived, exertion-induced stupor, I stopped at a terrace and looked up to realize the view. They have food at Alcatraz still?? But frick, I don't swim.

Unbelievably, I didn't feel like eating chocolate at that point. Clearly I was ill from the trek.


Yeah, yeah, love the bridge.


Bliss, at last.

All photos by me, the disgruntled tourist about the city, 2008