Fort Mason ChapelDate: July 11, 2009
Neighborhoods Covered: North Point, Marina
Streets Completed: Shafter, Pope, Franklin, Franklin East, Franklin West, Quadrangle, Bay, Moulton
Faithful Walking San Francisco readers know that I regularly risk looking like I'm lost, vaguely crazy, or up to no good in order to walk streets that aren't necessarily easy to walk. I've stopped counting how many clearly dead-end, one-block streets I've walked, for example, though I have to say that, by this point, I feel like I've mastered a certain air of nonchalance when strolling such streets, as if such a thing might make the folks who see me pass think nothing of my presence. And, of course, I spend a good chunk of each walk on streets that don't even begin to offer me an excuse for being there: no houses, no open businesses, no clear route to somewhere logical.
So it was that I found myself on Saturday fairly literally walking circles through Fort Mason. My intention, which I thought would be easy, was to finish the last little bit of Franklin Street that juts into the fort. Truth be told, had I left it at that, the quest would in fact have been a pretty simple one: walk in, turn around near the flagpole, walk back out. But no.
While I'm here, I thought, I might as well explore a bit and check these other little streets off my list. Based on looking at my map, this seemed like a reasonable thing to do. (This seems to be developing into a theme these days, no?) What the map doesn't entirely get across is how weirdly intertwined these streets are, how they splinter off into echoes of themselves and then into other streets entirely. It's not quite Bernal Heights, but it's also not exactly a model of military precision.
Here I am, for example, having walked to the end of MacArthur (which, of course, is not actually the end, because it picks up again IN THE PRESIDIO, which is all the way across the Marina--seriously, U.S. Army, could you not come up with another war hero to honor with a street?), which leads me to Franklin West, versions 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5. I was stubborn enough to walk all of them, which meant passing twice the fellow picking bottles and cans out of the recycling bin behind the Conservation Corps building and passing three times the guy playing football with his kids on the green in the middle of the officers' housing circle. Three. Times. Don't mind me, sir. Nothing to see here.
My seemingly lunatic walking habits aside, though, Fort Mason was a sweet delight. It's one of those parts of San Francisco that feels like it could still be in the 1940s, save for the few signs of modernity (cars, ugly 60s-era block housing for enlisted men, a flag with 50 stars). It was also something of a mini-UN, at least when I was there. In McDowell hall, I saw folks congregating for what looked (based on their dress) like an Indian wedding. On the lawn outside the hostel, a gaggle of 18-to-20-somethings chattered away in French. In the community garden, old Chinese ladies smiled at me as I wandered through the rows shooting photos.
By the time I finally finished the last of my numerous laps to finish every last stretch of street on the fort, I was ready not to be walking anymore, but I had promised myself to finish Bay Street, with the bribe of a cupcake from That Takes the Cake on Union if I did. So I soldiered on through the Marina, around the Palace of Fine Arts, and eventually back, sloggily, across Lombard Street.
The cupcake was worth it, but by the time I finished it I was clearly done for the day, and it was with a weird flash of glee and a big sigh of relief that I boarded the 22 at Union and Steiner and let something other than my own two feet take me home.
Neighborhoods Covered: North Point, Marina
Streets Completed: Shafter, Pope, Franklin, Franklin East, Franklin West, Quadrangle, Bay, Moulton
Faithful Walking San Francisco readers know that I regularly risk looking like I'm lost, vaguely crazy, or up to no good in order to walk streets that aren't necessarily easy to walk. I've stopped counting how many clearly dead-end, one-block streets I've walked, for example, though I have to say that, by this point, I feel like I've mastered a certain air of nonchalance when strolling such streets, as if such a thing might make the folks who see me pass think nothing of my presence. And, of course, I spend a good chunk of each walk on streets that don't even begin to offer me an excuse for being there: no houses, no open businesses, no clear route to somewhere logical.
So it was that I found myself on Saturday fairly literally walking circles through Fort Mason. My intention, which I thought would be easy, was to finish the last little bit of Franklin Street that juts into the fort. Truth be told, had I left it at that, the quest would in fact have been a pretty simple one: walk in, turn around near the flagpole, walk back out. But no.
While I'm here, I thought, I might as well explore a bit and check these other little streets off my list. Based on looking at my map, this seemed like a reasonable thing to do. (This seems to be developing into a theme these days, no?) What the map doesn't entirely get across is how weirdly intertwined these streets are, how they splinter off into echoes of themselves and then into other streets entirely. It's not quite Bernal Heights, but it's also not exactly a model of military precision.
Here I am, for example, having walked to the end of MacArthur (which, of course, is not actually the end, because it picks up again IN THE PRESIDIO, which is all the way across the Marina--seriously, U.S. Army, could you not come up with another war hero to honor with a street?), which leads me to Franklin West, versions 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5. I was stubborn enough to walk all of them, which meant passing twice the fellow picking bottles and cans out of the recycling bin behind the Conservation Corps building and passing three times the guy playing football with his kids on the green in the middle of the officers' housing circle. Three. Times. Don't mind me, sir. Nothing to see here.
My seemingly lunatic walking habits aside, though, Fort Mason was a sweet delight. It's one of those parts of San Francisco that feels like it could still be in the 1940s, save for the few signs of modernity (cars, ugly 60s-era block housing for enlisted men, a flag with 50 stars). It was also something of a mini-UN, at least when I was there. In McDowell hall, I saw folks congregating for what looked (based on their dress) like an Indian wedding. On the lawn outside the hostel, a gaggle of 18-to-20-somethings chattered away in French. In the community garden, old Chinese ladies smiled at me as I wandered through the rows shooting photos.
By the time I finally finished the last of my numerous laps to finish every last stretch of street on the fort, I was ready not to be walking anymore, but I had promised myself to finish Bay Street, with the bribe of a cupcake from That Takes the Cake on Union if I did. So I soldiered on through the Marina, around the Palace of Fine Arts, and eventually back, sloggily, across Lombard Street.
The cupcake was worth it, but by the time I finished it I was clearly done for the day, and it was with a weird flash of glee and a big sigh of relief that I boarded the 22 at Union and Steiner and let something other than my own two feet take me home.
