Not so subtle trying to sneak through the lobby with a king size bed stashed in your bag, though.
But just to prove the point............
Once Sean had managed to pry me from the bed (I was contemplating chaining myself to same), our last morning in San Francisco saw us heading up to Stockton Street on our final Dim Sum Run:
We were just commenting on how we'd read that a San Fran must-do is to buy a custard tart from a Chinatown bakery, and lamenting on a missed opportunity, when, lo and behold, what immediately manifested before our very eyes, but a Chinatown bakery! We made a beeline for the counter and the custard tarts were ours!
720 Grant Street is where it's at, folks.
Couldn't resist photographing these adorable pillow cases in one of the Chinatown stores:
Our last Dim Sum noshing locale was a park on the corner of Clay Street and Kearny Street. Sean swore we ate here last year, but I am almost certain we ate at St Mary's Square two blocks away. No matter. Here is another Dim Sum context shot:
Sean upped the ante today and went for an omochi ball on top of his steamed buns, tsui mai and wonton. I explained that they were somewhat of an acquired taste, and sure enough, I ended up with most of it. I had been omochi-inducted the hard way: making them from scratch at new year in Japan as a high school exchange student. Boiled rice in a cement birdbath + grab a huge mallet + pound like crazy. Once you're done with that, you're not really inclined to eat the resultant, but you get offerred them everywhere at new year. Ooof. However, two decades between then and now, and I find myself quite liking them. In the middle is a sweet bean paste. These ones were lightly fried and covered with sesame seeds. Yum!
But I made sure I left plenty of room for the piece de resistance: the custard tart. Mum, you would have loved these. They were SUPER AWESOME:
Happy Tummy for ME!!! I'm drooling just writing about them.
There was a playground behind our seats, but there are strict rules about entering unaccompanied by a child, so I didn't take photos. A bunch of adorable Chinese-American children were playing, and one little girl kept returning to her grandfather, imploring him to praise her each and every feat on the equipment, which he did with enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, the blokes not on child-minding duty got into some serious card action:
Sean and I were sorry to leave the colour, chaos and custard tarts of Chinatown.
We had until late afternoon before our flight, so it was time for a bit of shopping (Sean not feeling the need to head out to the Castro to chase down another Ike's Place Krytonite). It was good timing, since there were a bunch of sales coinciding with the Memorial Day holiday.
Word is that Zara has just opened in Australia. If the San Francisco example is anything to go by, Zara is good for females with, shall we say, large assets up top, and no assets in the hip department. How do I know? Because I got stuck in not one, but TWO white dresses. And I mean stuck. Stuck, as in, I had to get the assistants to literally tug me out of the dress. Twice.
I will never understand the mechanics of being able to get a dress on, but not off. What was even more embarrassing was that both dresses were in my regular sizes. Either I'd eaten way too much Dim Sum, or Zara and me are just not a good fit. Literally.
This really sucked, because I loved the dress. See, here it is:
But is no good if you can see clear from one armpit through to the other, while your hips simultaneously attempt escape via the side seams.
As for the multicoloured skirt behind the dress, I was all "Pretty colours!", but Sean was right when he said it would look like a netball skirt that had been paintballed.
Poo.
So we left Zara and headed for Neiman-Marcus, but the prices were frightening, so we left after taking time to admire the amazing domed ceiling.
We headed down to Powell and Market Streets, admiring as always the cable car turntable.
Here I sought refuge in the new Westfield Complex. It's somewhat ironic to have this huge suburban-style shopping mall right there on Market Street. Now, my mission was not complicated: I was after one denim jacket (mine is about to fall apart after 10 years, and I figured it would be a matter of simplicity to replace it while in San Fran), but both The Gap and Guess? looked at me like I was a weirdo from another planet. Um, dudes.......denim is what you do.
I was starting to experience Retail Anxiety (as opposed to Retail Therapy). This is not a good thing, either emotionally or ethically. Either I needed to start finding clothes that fit, or we needed to get to a museum, and annul my Capitalist Materialistic Angst with a good dose of Kultcha.
Luckily I found solace in American Eagle Outfitters, where I found not only a denim jacket, but a white dress that was not only as nice as the ill-fitting Zara version, but that actually fit.
Relief.
And they were both 30% off. Since clothes are cheaper in the U.S. to begin with, and our Aussie dollar is driving my greenback further, I was stoked.
Bargain!
With that, it was back to the hotel via Union Square:
We collected our bags, stashed the shopping, Sean restrained me from making a final break upstairs to steal the bed, and we trundled to the BART station on Montgomery Street.
It was at this point that I decided I had to have the "Steins Collect" catalogue from SFMOMA, so I left the poor, long suffering Sean with the bags while I executed a truly spectacular sprint down to the museum, experienced a block's worth of disorientation before getting my bearings, righted myself, raced in like a breathless bandit and grabbed the (seemingly) 5kg book, and fanged back to the station, in plenty of time, as it turned out, to catch our train. (Shades of Vienna where I did something similar, leaving Sean with the bags at Westbahnhof while I caught the train back in to town and sprinted to the Hofburg to buy museum catalogues on a last-minute whim). I love my art. I just don't love carrying heavy books all over the globe, hence the vacillation until the last minute when I realise I won't get another chance to buy.
Anyway. Enough of my insane spending urges.
Upon arrival at the airport, we were greeted with a hefty dose of Bling Installation:
Cool, huh?
Then it was a final circuit of the Air Train to our terminal. We like the Air Train: "Please hold on. Please set luggage cart brake to on".
We were sad to leave beautiful northern California for the wilds of L.A., but we departed on a sweet note:
On the concourse, I found that I had my own candy empire! Hurrah!
The fried sesame balls are to die for!
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