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We spent the morning today at one of San Francisco’s most popular sites: the island of Alcatraz, the site of one of America’s most famous and fascinating maximum prisons. It was an interesting way to spend a day of vacation, but it was a visit that will stick in my mind for a long time.

If you get to San Francisco, I suggest you take the shuttle boats offered to travel out and see the grim structures on the island. I expected to see just history about the prison, but I was surprised to learn that the island served first as a miliitary fort and a military prison for Civil War soldiers. You can still see the remnants of the Civil War portion of the buildings. I also saw evidence of an occupation of the island in the 1970s by protesting American Indians.

But without a doubt, the most imposing part of the visit is a trip up an extremely steep hill to the maximum security prison, now abandoned, which sits on top of the hill. The audio self-guided tour is an absolute must and the sound effects of the audio will actually cause you to jump and turn, expecting to see the prisoners and their guards behind you.

The cells are mostly empty now and oppressively small. Most people have seen pictures of the tiered cells stacked up three high, but seeing it is a very impressive site. It’s hard to think about the men, prisoners and guards, who died out there. While I’m not an expert on ghosts, I did feel oppressed and subdued out there, as if the essence of what these men went through is still there.

As impressive as the walk through the cells is, the view from the walkways is probably even more poignant. It is a mile or so away by water to the city of San Francisco, remining the men on a daily basis what it was that they were cut off from.

It’s an interesting trip out to the former prison, but it’s one of the few places where I didn’t even want to visit the gift shop. There’s something about buying prison-type lunch trays or hats that say “Property of Alcatraz” on them that take away from the solemnity of the occasion.

Alcatraz draws many people from all over the world, and if you are going to San Francisco, it is definitely worth your time!

Have you ever noticed that when people travel together, there is a dominant trip partner and a recessive trip partner? Roy is the dominant partner in our travels and I am the one who is along for the ride. He religiously reads the travel books, gleans fascinating information and facts and unravels the deep mysteries of the public transit systems in strange cities.

 I’ve noticed we are not alone in this. Other people get on public buses and immediately pocket theirs and their partner’s bus passes. Other couples sit together, one patiently watching the other read maps and figure out routes. The dominant always asks the questions, always buys the tickets and always leads the way.This has always been the way for Roy and I.

I’m so used to it, I don’t even notice that I’m kind of the dead weight of the travel group. So, when the dominant partner makes a misstep, it’s a real disaster and with the recessive dead weight along for the panic ride, it can become exciting, but not fun!

Today, we had such an epic fail. Two days in San Francisco and Roy has the bus system pretty much figured out. He drags me to the bus stop he wants and then orders, “Watch for bus 30 going to Caltram Depot.” Then he studies the map. “Here comes 30!” I excitedly head for the bus. “That bus is 30 going to Jefferson,” he says calmly dragging me back to the curb. It was going so well. I never figure out how he stands in the midst of tall buildings in a big city and figures streets and directions, but I am definitely in awe of his ability. And that’s why today was odd.

I blame it on the cable car.We decided one just doesn’t visit San Francisco and not ride the cable cars. After having done it, I don’t necessarily recommend it. We stood in a long, sunny line for a little over an hour, were assailed by terrible music from a nearby panhandler who wasn’t too shy to beg for donations, and in the end, we were packed so tightly into the cable car that we could see nothing but the stomachs of the people standing in front of us. And we were the lucky ones, because at least we got to sit.

The car jerked and rumbled and bumped its way up and down the hilly (and when I say hilly, I MEAN it) streets, and every so often, the driver would stop and pack a few more people in the car. It was very claustrophobic for everyone and it precluded us from seeing anything. About all we got were sore bottoms from the rough ride and claustrophobia.

When we got off, Roy said, “We’re not waiting in line for another hour to bump blindly back down the street in the cable car, we’ll take the Number 30 back up the hill and it will go practically right by our hotel.” That sounded like an excellent plan, but it didn’t go well. First, we had to walk five blocks to find a bus stop with a 30 bus stopping at it. After we got there, we were convinced by a native of the city to take the express bus.

It’s not like Roy to take random advice that goes against what he has figured out for himself, but for some reason, the dominant partner made a mistake and got on the express bus, so of course, the recessive partner went along. Ten blocks into the bus ride, Roy decided we were wrong, so then, we made our second mistake: we got off the bus in a strange spot, with no recognizable bus stops and a street that we couldn’t find on our map.

We began rushing madly up the street in the direction we thought we should go. It doesn’t help when the recessive partner perceives that the dominant partner is somewhat panicked, because at least in my case, I was willing to help with the panic.

And that’s when I discovered a new definition for lost. Lost is when you are standing on a street corner where many of the street signs are in foreign languages (at least, foreign to us), looking at a map, which mercifully was in English, and the business outside of which you have chosen to stop is a topless bar. We didn’t need English to figure that one out.

It was at this point, that Roy decided he had about had his fill of being lost and since I, as the recessive partner, was doing my part by panicking, it was up to him to get us out of it. Whether it was his outstanding skill at this or sheer dumb luck, he managed to find a bus stop just down that street which had the right bus and the next thing we knew, we were on our way back to our hotel and the adventure was over.

Roy doesn’t have many epic fails when it comes to getting us around on our travels and today I was reminded that this is a very good thing!

It’s funny the difference a day can make. This morning, I got up in a quiet little home in West St. Paul, kissed my grandson on the head and took off out the door. Because Martin, my son-in-law, allows his generosity to overcome his common sense, Roy and I took the first leg of our journey in his Explorer. We parked it at the Minneapolis light rail station and we knew a moment of angnst as we contemplated locking the keys into the Explorer. After all, once we had done this, we were pretty much on our own and anything left inside, was not going to be going on vacation with us.

We spent an inordinate amount of time in the Minneapolis airport and that’s when I had my first random thought of the day: I’m so glad I’m not an employee of the airlines! They spend the whole day trying to get nervous, demanding, cranky, upset and otherwise intolerant people safely on planes to the right places with all their parcels and they must do it all whilst trying to guess which of these persons might be someone who wants to blow us all up so they can make a political statement or live in infamy! I heard one man grousing as he came through the security, “Before you know it, they’ll be having us travel naked!” The security clerk behind the desk intoned with a straight face, “Well, it would certainly save on the luggage check wouldn’t it sir.” As for me, I’ll gladly take off my belt, watch, shoes, jacket, etc. and stand in their little scanners and have all my personal items sorted through, just so long as they do manage to catch the nut who thinks blowing up my plane will improve the world!

It was at exactly 11:30 Central Daylight time and after we were lined up in the plane like sardines in a can that I had my second random thought: I should have packed a sandwich. Instead, Roy and I put in our time on the three-hour flight to San Francisco trying to make do with two cups of iced Coke and a packet of airline cookies that were seriously not Sara Lee or even General Lee in quality.

Our first thought when we got off the plane was: i want some food! We managed to find a poorly cooked toasted sandwich (one) in a small airport restaurant. I think the sandwich was a leftover from lunch…two days ago, but they made up for that by charging us as though it were the last bite of food on the planet and worth its weight in platinum. And we were so hungry that we actually ate the whole thing! The hunt for food was on.

We caught a shuttle to our hotel. The shuttle driver, who turned out to be pretty cool, figured out pretty fast that it was our first trip to San Franscico, so he took some of the sharp, steep hills with all the finesse of Steve McQueen in a scene from Bullit. It was actually pretty fun! Our hotel is an institution which is seriously the cutest, quaintest motel. And when I say cute, I mean small and when I say quaint, I mean expensive! It’s an older motel that relies heavily on atmosphere and despite my nasty words, I do find it to be a very unique little home for the next three nights.

We took a bus almost at once out to the bay because our next thought…not so random…was “where is this Golden Gate Bridge?” There is a sight that will not disappoint you. The bronzed cables and metal work rise up out of a beautiful bay and even though you’ve seen it a thousand times in pictures, it really is an awesome sight. We took pictures of the bay and the ocean and only about one hundred shots of that bridge. The view was clear today and we could see Alcatraz squatting out in the water and we tried to get down to Fort Point, but couldn’t find the right path.

We were still starving, so we did what we rarely do: we went into the snack shop at the Presidio and figured we’d get a Pepsi and a Snickers. Negatory. We ended up with a water and two of the flatest, hardest oatmeal cookies we have ever eaten. They were like flattened cardboard with twigs stuck in them, but we were so hungry, we ate them. They made the airline cookies seem like Mother’s homemade.  I wanted to go in and tell the cook, “In South Dakota, they make oatmeal cookies that you can sink your teeth in. Here you make cookies I could break my teeth on!”

After hiking around the Presidio and walking a ways out on the Golden Gate Bridge, which was really fun and really safe, because with empty stomachs, we wouldn’t cause the bridge to collapse, we left the bay, knowing full well we will never be able to convey in words what a beautiful sight it is.

We came  back to our motel still on a quest for food. We walked a couple of blocks and found an Italian place. We figured that was safe. They didn’t have cola products. What self-respecting eating place has no Coke and no Pepsi? Isn’t that illegal or something? They had a special on meatballs and so we decided to order that, but like a certain little place in Washington, DC that will be forever burned in my mind, everything else was extra. So, Roy ordered the small special of meatballs (which had no side) and I ordered the large order of meatballs and a side dish. We had no idea how much it cost or how much we got. Roy got three very small and very spicy meatballs and I got five with a small dish of roasted potatoes. I wanted to ask for butter and salt for them but I had a feeling that would display my rather prosaic eating habits, so I ate them plain. I shared my meatballs with Roy–okay, I gave him one of mine, that way we both had four! They asked if we wanted desert and we said no and paid the bill–which was not small and left. Truth was, I had my eye on a little desert place we had seen on the way down to the restaurant. It was called “Walgreens” and they not only had Pepsi–they also had Snickers!

And that’s how I managed to get up in a quiet little home in West St. Paul this morning and come to rest tonight in this quaint little hotel in San Francisco. Isn’t modern travel wonderful? Now if they could just do something about these cookies they’re handing out!