JFK Drive, Golden Gate Park

Weather was definitely on our (more so, on my) side this Sunday, so we jumped at the opportunity to revisit our current regular, JFK Drive in GG park.

This time, we set out to cover its entire length of approx. 3.5 miles and back. A tad optimistic for where we are with our fitness levels and walking distances at present, but we went for it all the same.

We got there earlier than most of the crowds, but we didn’t quite escape the hordes of screaming/whining children for the first 0.5-mile. Fortunately, the air was too crisp and cool, and the sun warm, for us (aka me) to dwell on the noise.

Said .5 mile cleared, the crowds began thinning out, and the loveliness that is the GG Park began to emerge slowly, but surely.

The first landmark we pass is the Conservatory of Flowers, resplendent in its white armor, surrounded by cheerful and bright blooms, including a floral clock.

Then we walk by the open space roller rink, where usually, there is a bevy of discoing in-line skaters, but on this day, there is a sole dancer grooving to his music.

We pass by freshly painted benches, dedicated to the cherished and loved

A waterfall that it at once lulling and refreshing

Lakes with alcoves and lazily swimming ducks

Every now and then, arched branches provide cooling shade

We then pass by a bigger lake, where boys of all ages gather to race their remote-controlled boats and planes

And a large meadow where rare American Bison graze

Before we reach the Dutch Windmill with its tulip garden

And finally, Ocean Beach.

It is now time to turn back; after a few stretches, we retrace our steps, and stop to photograph the glorious magnolia blossoms

Vast meadows open for picnics

Before we reach the Swing Dancers by the De Young museum

And the junction that is the museum

And the Academy of Sciences

Before we turn off at the Japanese Tea Garden

And go up 9^th avenue to Manna, our favorite Korean restaurant in all of SF.

where they serve the best Kimchi and Chijimi

And we also fuel up on Sundoobu-Jigae and Ramen

Our appetites sated, we trudge back to the car, our swollen feet groaning and our mileage counter proudly denoting a little over 6.

Back via Land's End

Wow. The dust bunnies that’d once claimed this space seem to have mutated into rhinoceroses; it has been that long.

Not going to be playing the same old sonorous tune on the excuse violin again; suffice to say, I’ve been very busy.

There, now that we’ve gotten the niceties out of the way, let’s get on.

Some time mid-January this year, S and I felt strongly inspired to include a long walk/hike to our weekly agendas. It has become a weekend ritual, and between then and now, we have been on several memorable ones.

On an attempt to boost this unusual bout of motivation, I’ve decided to keep a log of our excursions. Additionally, I hope for it to also be a guide to all the lovely places in this beautiful city; pockets of respite from the urban chaos and noise mere miles away.

I’m a bit behind on that front, but I hope this brief recap makes up for lost time:

In the very beginning, there was a brisk jaunt around Bernal Hill. Then on a sunny Sunday afternoon, we walked JFK Drive at the Golden Gate Park, blissfully free of traffic and screaming children; and did a couple of rounds – one down Lovers’ Lane, and another by the coast- at the Presidio.

There was even a leisurely stroll in the rain one time; at the Botanical gardens (an intended JFK drive Sunday walk that had to be scuppered at the last minute).

But the gem of them all was the most recent; a hike on the Land’s End trail, with a very rewarding treat at the end. And with that, I bring you, the first official log in the series:

While the rest of SF enjoyed an unusually sunny weekend mid-February, the coastline stayed true to the tradition of blustery cold. Which makes for very adventurous coastal hikes, and where better to do that justice than Land’s End?

Land’s End is a bit of spectacular coastline beyond the southern end of the Golden Gate Bridge. It is the rear of Lincoln Park, home to the gorgeous Legion of Honor, one of San Francisco’s finest art museums; and a pristine golf course. Land’s End, craggy and wild, is the flip side of this well-manicured, post-card perfect landmark.

The Land’s End Trail begins at the head of the historical Sutro Baths – a public swimming pool establishment built in the 19^th century, the world’s largest at the time. A short climb down some stairs gives access to this landmark.

Further on, hikers are treated to a stunning panoramic view of the bay, with the Golden Gate Bridge in its reddish orange glory, holding fort over the tumultuous waves. This is by far my favorite view of the bridge.

The trail weaves through dense, aromatic forests of eucalyptus, shrubs of wildflowers and herbs; and up and down staircases (some quite brutal on the thighs); each arduous step rewarded with a breathtaking view of sheer cliff drops and the crashing ocean beneath every now and then.

Cypress trees border the cliffs, serene and picturesque.

Adventurous boats dip in and around coves.Cold and grey as it is, the spectacular beauty of this coastline doesn’t disappoint.

Though seemingly infinite, the trail soon reaches its end; and we are now at El Camino del Mar, part of a small neighborhood housing some of the most lavish and posh homes in the country. We saunter through the tranquil and well-manicured streets, ogling at the luxurious mansions with the marvelous bay view.

Cherry blossoms have begun to bloom, and the block is lined with their delicate pink beauty.

Soon, we reach the heart of the Richmond district.

We are not often in this area, it being nearly across town, but today we are, and we wish to take advantage of its myriad choices in eateries. Not too far away is the fabulous Burma Superstar, always a gastronomical party; then there’s India Clay Oven, which makes the best stuffed Parathas (Pudina and Green chilies, anyone?) in town; but today, our gastro radar is tuned towards Tal-y-Tara’s Tea and Polo Shoppe.

For one, we’re craving a pot of magnificent English tea, and besides, we are too far gone mad with hunger to wait in the l-o-n-g lines that are inevitable at the above, especially the former.

Surprisingly, we are asked to wait for 30-min. We are too hungry to walk to any of the other choices, so we wait.

Tal-y-Tara’s is a lovely little equestrian shop that also has a tearoom, with a menu channeling turn-of-the-century English heritage in New England. Their specialty is the Motor Loaf, a dark, chewy bread studded with walnuts and raisins; which is hollowed out and sliced into little sandwiches, then tucked back into the loaf. The fillings vary from egg salad with capers to piquant cheese and chutney, cucumber and cream cheese, and many more.

And when done with the sandwiches, you can eat the rest of the loaf, spread with dreamy Devonshire cream and marmalade or berry jam with pips. Then, there are scones. Today we choose the Black Currant ones, warm and fresh out of the oven. We do justice to a piping pot of lovely Assam tea, complete with cozy.

Our hunger abated, we peruse the varieties of British teas in bulk tins, and professional grade equestrian supplies; from riding crops, breeches and vests to boots and saddles.

We don’t buy anything today, but there will be a need for elegant riding boots and gloves someday, so we shall then.

We then make our way back, through El Camino del Mar again, and past the Legion of Honor and take one last, lingering look at the magical beauty of Land’s End, perilous and yet bewitching, before we arrive at the parking lot.

The Naughts

This time ten years ago, the world was in a bit of a quandary: what to call the upcoming decade? If you recall, there was even a panic over the ominous moniker for the first thing the approaching new year would bring- the apocalyptic 'Y2K'.

Then 2000 came and went; airplanes didn't fall off the skies and zombies didn't start roaming suburban streets; but there were still those who couldn't agree upon a name for the new decade. After all, it had to be something special to contend with such predecessors as the '60s or the '80s. The all-too easy choice, the 'ohs', seemed a bit too ubiquitous even for the American palate, and didn't quite stick.

And when from across the pond 'the naughts' arrived, it seemed to catch on momentarily, with the prospect of numerous lewd jokes stemming from a misconception that the word had anything to do with 'naughty'. Unsurprisingly, that didn't last, and the 'naughts' too went right out the window.

Which, in my opinion, is a real shame, because I can't find a single better word to describe more precisely the shambles of a decade we've had. In other words, this was a decade of nothing.

Nothing, of course, referring to accomplishments outside the realm of capitalistic greed. It was the decade of no answers, no recourse from such unimaginable horrors as 9/11 and the subsequent war in Iraq; the shocking debacle of economic recession, and Sarah Palin. And we haven't even touched upon Mother's Nature's hormonal tantrums like the '04 Tsunami or Katrina.

Perhaps the lack of an official name was only too portentous. After all, it has been a decade best forgotten and best unclaimed, and naturally we want to have naught to do with it.

Back for Now

It's been rather quiet here, I know. It was never for lack of subjects to talk about; there's always something interesting happening, isn't there? No, it was more because I just needed to be quiet. It has been a difficult year, for one. I spent several months alternating between panic and despair, and even when the clouds began to part, the sun was hardly breaking through.

Anyhow, another new year approaches, and with it, a fresh ray of hope. As I sit here, accompanied by a comforting cup of tea, I feel reassured that I may dream of new beginnings once again.

New Year Resolutions and Other Scourges of Life

One of the inevitable nuisances (apart from that one loner who gets a bit too friendly with the champagne) when attending any sort of domestic new year's celebration is the danger of being confronted with the 'resolution round'. You know, the one where the host cuts through the mild euphoria you finally manage to work up when you realize it is no longer too soon to be leaving the party; and announces, with a simper, that it is time for everyone to embarrass him/herself by revealing his/her insecurities in the form of resolutions.

For years, I was stuck with this banal routine; and could find no way out without injuring sentiments. And as luck would have it, no one else could, either. A collective groan would ensue after the announcement, but no one would protest. And the host was always conveniently too drunk to notice the air of discomfort.

My problem with the whole thing wasn't just the whole 'personal and none of your business' aspect. It was also that it was another one of those events that conveyed the message that positive thinking and the like were to be limited to certain days of the year. All this, apart from the fact that I ceased to make these idiotic resolutions years ago to avoid setting myself up for unrealistic expectations. What are we, school age children? We can't improve our lives without having to blabber it all over town, or whenever it is most convenient to us?

So, every year, I'd frantically search for a valid reason not to participate, but in vain. Without backup, I merely came across as the party-pooper. Not this year; however, as I have completely lucked out: an article, on the BBC no less, on how resolutions actually caused more harm than good.

The party crowd being of the disposition to buy anything printed on a media giant, I just might be spared. Good one, BBC; thank you for saving me about half a day's worth of ranting.

Best of '08

I'm probably not the first to pick this theme for a post, and definitely won't be the last, but for want of better things to do, here I am, chronicling what I think should have been newspaper headlines for this memorable year:- ( Any resemblance to 'The Onion' is purely coincidental.)

1. In a worldwide contest to see which country's athletes hide their use of enhancement drugs best, an American and a Jamaican break records on water and land, respectively.

2. Banks play a few rounds of 'Na-na-na-na-Boo-boo' with their patrons.

3. A black man shouting for change finally gets some.

4. Dubya's secret powers exposed: estimating shoe sizes from a distance .

There's more, but I'm afraid I've already exhausted my quota of 'bad taste'. (Will save the more gritty ones for after the appropriate time has passed.)

What's so bleedin' merry about it?!

Generally speaking, I'm a sucker for those so-called 'festive' atmospheres the media and other dregs of human life tend to conjure up every now and then. Yes, I was aware of being played around like a puppet by those subliminal messages assuring everyone that any feeling of goodwill, or even cheer, for that matter, were limited to such occasions as Xmas; but I couldn't help myself...the sweet sounds of carols; the aroma of cinnamon and cider; the feel of the crisp chill in the air; the lights in the neighborhood; and prepare yourself for the ultimate cringe-Bing Crosby's saccharin crooning  on Xmas morning, accompanied by a burning log. On tv-combined, they all worked like a bunch of barbiturates on me.

I stopped and thought about this a bit the other day; and wondered why it was so. Perhaps it was because Xmas was still somewhat new to me; the whole celebration being limited to a religious observation where I grew up.  Upon moving here and learning more about the association of the winter solstice, and how the latter explained the customs better, I wanted to experience it all on my own. The tree, presents, eggnog, figgy puddin'; the whole 9 yards. For years, however, the season was spent recuperating from grueling study sessions and exams; not to mention living on student stipends; and then there were those self-imposed exiles to different countries in the name of expatriate experience. 

Now, I have the time and resources, but I can't help asking myself what I could possibly find merry about the whole rigmarole of writing out cards with trite messages and giving mass-produced presents out of obligation; or worse,  about listening to some crooner going on about frightful weather. Who the hell told him to go to the UK?!

Last year was a different story. I underwent every single cliche of the season, and I found that it was good enough for a lifetime. Besides, this year, I'm entitled to a little bit of moping-the pater's ill, the office shut down, and I can't seem to find the mojo to write much any more. As far as I know, I'm slipping under some warm covers with a nice bottle of Shiraz or some such and letting the whole damn season pass. Merry whatever.