The Steps of San Francisco

Hidden from most tourists, a steep system of steps traverses most hills in this city. Streets simply stop, when the hill's too steep or it's solid rock, and steps continue up and over the hill until they meet up with the street somewhere on the other side. The studio I'm staying in, above, is at the end of Vallejo where it bumps up to Russian Hill, and the Vallejo steps continue upwards to Taylor, and beyond. The main lobby of the building fronts on the steps. They're a great way to get from place to place. Some are concrete, some stone, some wood. All take you through hidden gardens and fascinating nooks and crannies.

Filbert Street Steps, near the top of the hill.

I encountered quite a number of these yesterday, in my explorations of Telegraph Hill. Intentionally so, because after all, this is a journey of nostalgia and I love those steps and I couldn't miss any of it. You'll laugh -- I almost cried! -- but I actually climbed Telegraph Hill twice yesterday: once through the neighborhood streets until I was within spitting distance of Coit Tower, then I looped around to Montgomery, where one flight of steps took me a bit further up and to the Filbert Street Steps, which are my favorites. They were also made famous by the movie, The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill, so there were tourists here that one would never have seen in the old days. And the parrots? Yep, they are here, but they are also all over the city, or at least the part I've been in. They fly around in flocks, diving and swooping and chattering in an unmistakable voice. You never get a really good look at them, but they make themselves known.

This is one of many beautiful gardens that border these wonderful wooden steps. I've often thought this would be THE place I'd live in this city, if it were something I could afford. Forget the difficulties of moving in or out, or even getting groceries home down those steps. The charm is so incredible the inconvenience would be worth it.

This is the foot of the steps where they meet Sansome Street. Daunting, whether you climb up or down.

For some un-remembered reason I had a wild hair to walk both the Filbert and Greenwich Steps, on the eastern face of the hill. Once, when I worked at an ad agency downtown, I'd often walk up these steps to the top on my lunch hour. So -- I walked down the Filbert Steps, moved a block north on Sansome and went back up the Greenwich Steps. About halfway up I realized the foolishness of my thinking -- this was my 3rd big hill of the morning and the old body felt great resentment. I took my time, and of course I made it, but whew! Enough.

From the top of the hill, of course, one has a 360 view of the entire city, from various points around. I've never climbed the tower -- too many tourists! That ugly white arrow points to the condo complex where I'm staying -- zoomed in, so it's not as close as it seems.

This, of course, is the quintessential view from the top, and it's certainly one to be savored. My home on Russian Hill, featured in yesterday's post, was down the hill about one block from the tall white building on the left. You can see it -- the face of one large building and right in front of it a long grey building -- that grey one was ours. Lovely location.

Naturally, I didn't stop there. The walk to the top had only taken an hour, it was 11am and not time for lunch, so I wandered back down to the wharf for some wine and sourdough bread. The trip took me right past another wonderful place I once lived -- in fact, the last place I lived in this fair City. My apartment was on the inside, facing a courtyard, but no matter. It lies a block from the abomination called Pier 39, which thankfully did not exist back then, and a block from a cable car stop. I lived here while I worked on the Carter primary campaign in 1976, when I took my first backpacking trip (10 days in Yosemite!), when for two fabulous months I filled in as Catering Manager at the five-star Clift Hotel during a vacation absence, and where I worked for Ferrari of San Francisco, from whence I moved to Reno to work for Modern Classic Motors, Ferrari heaven. Lovely memories here.

By now, the body was saying rest me, feed me. So I walked on to North Beach and found what I was looking for on the menu at Volare, where I sat at a sidewalk table and watched North Beach flow past while I had a lovely lunch. Fried Calamari (my goal for that day), a Caesar salad, a glass of Pinot Grigio and some olives and bread courtesy of the restaurant. All was delicious and I lingered, but had a hard time finishing. The Calamari was perfect -- tender inside, crunchy outside. How may years has it been? Close to 25 since I've enjoyed that succulent treat that's hard to find most places.


From there, I waddled across the street to Washington Park, where I sat on the grass and soaked up the sun for awhile before tackling the hill. Of course, the views here are as exquisite as anyplace else in this city.


I collapsed the rest of the day -- the old girl is pushing the bod too hard! Today will be quiet, relatively speaking. Not sure what I'm going to do....

The view from home last night wasn't so bad, either -- if blurry from being hand held through glass once more.