Marina District

After a lazy morning in bed, it was time to get up and go out to get something to eat—but I can’t remember what we had now. Whatever it was, it clearly didn’t leave a lasting impression.

We came out of the hotel and turned right up to Market Street. This part of the city is one of the main shopping and tourist areas, and it’s also where the world-famous cable cars turn around on the Hyde and Powell line. It was here we got our first true sense of how steep these hills are—just like you see on TV, only more dramatic when you’re actually walking them.

We had the pleasure (and slight cardio challenge) of walking up Powell Street a couple of blocks to reach Union Square.

Union Square

Macy's Tree

If you enjoy Christmas, this is the place to be. The iconic Macy’s Christmas Tree takes centre stage in the square, towering at 83 feet and decked out in red and gold with a glowing star perched on top. The store itself was dressed in full festive flair, and the whole area had that unmistakable American holiday energy—big, bold, and unapologetically cheerful.

There’s also an ice rink in the square, and it’s free if you bring your own skates. Not much chance of either of us getting on there though. It’s not quite Rockefeller Center in New York, but it is real ice—not the plastic surface you sometimes see. The rink is part of the city’s “Winter Wander-land” celebration, which includes everything from food trucks and live performances to oversized ornaments and even a sugar castle at the Westin St. Francis.

This was also where we spotted our first San Francisco heart. These are large sculptures—about five feet tall—each painted by hand with a unique design. They’re part of the Hearts in San Francisco public art project, which has been running for over 20 years. Around 30 hearts are displayed across the city at any given time, and after a year on show, they’re auctioned off to raise funds for Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center. We spotted another one in the lobby of a bank a few days later. Once you know what to look for, they start popping up everywhere.

Afterward, we turned the corner onto Stockton Street to catch the number 30 trolleybus to the Palace of Fine Arts in the Marina District.

Marina Park Area

The bus ride through Chinatown was an experience in itself. Clearly a popular route—not just with tourists but with locals too—it filled up completely within minutes of us boarding. It wasn’t the most pleasant journey at first, packed shoulder to shoulder, but by the time we reached the bottom of the hill at Washington Square, it had emptied out quite a bit. Apparently, this is one of the busiest lines in the city, with a bus arriving every seven minutes. Efficient, if not exactly serene.

Palace of Fine Arts & Lake

The Palace of Fine Arts isn’t actually an art museum, despite its grand name. It’s a monumental remnant of the 1915 Panama-Pacific International Exposition and the only building from that event still standing in its original location. Designed by Bernard Maybeck to resemble a Roman ruin, it was intended as a place for quiet reflection amid the excitement of the fair. Today, it’s a favourite spot for wedding photos, joggers, and anyone in need of a moment of calm.

We really enjoyed our time walking around here.

It’s a striking sight—this ornate rotunda by the lake, surrounded by colonnades and swans gliding across the water. What stood out most was how clean and well-kept it was: no litter, no graffiti, just peaceful beauty. The weather wasn’t ideal—cool and overcast—but it suited the mood somehow. After an hour or two soaking in the quiet atmosphere, we crossed the road to The Beach Hut Café & Snack Bar for a much-needed coffee and snack.

It’s a bit of an odd little spot. Despite plenty of people milling about outside, there was only one other person inside. Still, it was warm, quiet, and just what we needed to recharge.

Golden Gate Promenade

Golden Gate Bridge from Crissy Field

Ready to move again, we headed out onto the Golden Gate Promenade—a flat, easy trail that hugs the shoreline from the Marina District through Crissy Field to Fort Point. From here, you get those classic postcard views of the Golden Gate Bridge stretching westward, its towers often shrouded in low clouds. On this particular day, the fog had rolled in just enough to veil the bridge’s pillars, giving it that iconic, almost cinematic look. The bridge’s International Orange paint was chosen specifically for visibility in fog, and it glowed faintly against the grey sky.

Looking east across the bay, Alcatraz stood out in the afternoon sun, its sandstone walls catching the light just right. The island’s nickname—“The White Rock”—comes from the seabirds that roost there, giving it a pale, ghostly appearance.

We paused here for a while, watching hummingbirds flit through the trees. If you’ve never seen one before, they’re astonishing—tiny, fast, and somehow both delicate and fierce. Most likely we were seeing Anna’s Hummingbirds, the most common species in San Francisco. They’re year-round residents, drawn to native plants and gardens, and they can shake their bodies 55 times per second to shed rain or pollen. Their wings beat so fast they hum, which is how they got their name.

It was one of those quiet moments that stays with you—not dramatic, not planned, just a gentle pause in the day where everything felt still.

As it was getting later, we decided to head east, making our way back toward Fisherman's Wharf. The walk turned out to be much longer than expected, but we did stumble upon a local Safeway supermarket—one of over a dozen scattered across the city—which was perfect for stocking up on snacks. We may have gone a bit overboard, though, as we soon found ourselves lugging bags up a steep hill toward Aquatic Park.

Fort Mason

I’d underestimated the distance and the incline. We could’ve taken a couple of buses, but they loop around Fort Mason, which led to my brilliant idea to walk it instead. Still, the views across the bay made up for the effort, and we even passed one of the old disused tram tunnels. If it had been open to the public, it would’ve saved us the climb. Peering through the padlocked gate, I had a strange thought—if I tied a red balloon to it, it’d look like Pennywise the clown was lurking inside. Ha.

Aquatic Park

Maritime Museum

Aquatic Park feels like a lido without the pool—just the beach and the sea, framed by a striking Art Deco bathhouse built in 1939. The building’s curving walls and porthole windows give it the look of a stylish cruise ship, and inside, murals and mosaics depict marine life in vivid detail. It’s part of the San Francisco Maritime National Historical Park, and it’s not uncommon to see swimmers sharing the water with sea lions.

Apparently, if you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you—which is reassuring, though I’m not sure I’d want to test the theory. There’s something mildly unnerving about the idea of bobbing around in cold bay water next to a creature that can weigh up to 800 pounds and bark like it’s auditioning for a horror film. Still, better to swim with the sea lions than end up swimming with the fishes, as they say. At least the sea lions don’t hold grudges.

We didn’t spend much time on Hyde Street Pier—we’re not really into maritime history—but the collection of historic ships was nice to look at. The pier itself dates back to 1922 and became part of the San Francisco Maritime National Historical Park in 1988. Among the ships docked here are the Balclutha, a square-rigged sailing ship built in 1886, and the Eureka, a steam ferryboat that once carried cars across the bay before the Golden Gate Bridge existed. Still, we didn’t think it was worth paying to go aboard, so we admired them from the dock and moved on.

Fisherman's Wharf stretches for about a quarter of a mile along the bay before becoming the Embarcadero. To be honest, I found it a bit brash—touristy, loud, and full of seafood restaurants we weren’t particularly keen on. But we were hungry, so it was time to find somewhere to eat.

Fisherman’s wharf & a Shared Pizza

Cioppino’s 

Most of the places along the Wharf are seafood-focused, but we came across Cioppino’s Italian Restaurant on Jefferson Street. I was a bit dubious at first—it’s a big place, but hardly anyone was inside, which always makes me wonder why. Still, I’m glad we took the chance.

It wasn’t the cheapest spot, but the food was good. We ended up sharing a pizza for one between us, which turned out to be more than enough. I still find it strange asking for one meal to share in a restaurant, but no one seemed to mind—portion sizes in the U.S. are famously generous. With a bill just under $20 for a pizza, a beer, and a Coke, it wasn’t bad at all considering the location.

Now fed and watered, it was time to start thinking about heading back to the hotel. We were a fair old distance from it.

Cable Car Ride

The easiest way back was on the Hyde, Powell & Market cable car, which conveniently turns around right where we were. There’s always a queue for these things—like a rite of passage for anyone visiting San Francisco—but we lucked out with only a twenty-minute wait. That’s practically instant by cable car standards.

Hyde Street cable Car Turn Around

Getting on was a bit of a mission for Jane. The steps are comically high, as if designed for people with kangaroo legs or a background in pole vaulting. But she tackled it with determination and a bit of muttered commentary, and up she went. The cable cars don’t actually travel that fast, but they feel fast—especially when you’re clinging to the side and watching the city tilt beneath you. It’s like a slow-motion rollercoaster, minus the safety harness and with a lot more bell ringing.

The ride to Powell & Market Street took about twenty minutes, and it was surprisingly scenic for something that rattles and clatters like a Victorian lawnmower. The bell rings, the levers groan, the brakes screech, and somehow it all works. It’s charming, chaotic, and completely unforgettable.

Getting off was another challenge for Jane—possibly harder than getting on. The cable car doesn’t exactly roll out a red carpet or lower a ramp; it’s more of a “mind the gap and hope for the best” situation. But she made it, and by then it was late evening. We called it a day.

Something that had quietly become a nightly ritual followed: a quick detour into Walgreens for snacks and drinks then a solo mission for me to the booze shop—because nothing says “holiday wind-down” like a cold beer. Back at the hotel, we’d settle onto the bed, flick on the television, and let the day unravel in the background. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was ours—a small, comforting rhythm at the end of each adventure.

Reflection on the Day

There’s something about San Francisco that gets under your skin—in the best way. It’s a city of contrasts: steep hills and sweeping views, historic charm and modern bustle, sea lions barking in the bay while cable cars clang through the streets like they’ve got somewhere urgent to be. Today felt like a patchwork of moments stitched together by movement—on foot, by bus, and finally by cable car, each with its own rhythm and quirks.

The cable car ride was a highlight—not just for the novelty, but for the way it made the city feel alive. The clatter of the tracks, the gripman’s effortless multitasking, the shared smiles between strangers hanging onto the same pole—it was chaotic, charming, and oddly intimate. Watching Jane tackle those high steps with determination reminded me how travel is full of small victories. Not every challenge is dramatic, but each one adds to the story.

And then, as always, the quiet rituals. Walgreens for snacks, the booze shop for me, and the soft glow of the hotel TV casting shadows on the wall while we let the day settle. It’s funny how quickly those little routines become anchors—tiny comforts that make unfamiliar places feel like home.

Today wasn’t just about ticking off sights. It was about the texture of the city, the people we brushed past, the sounds that lingered, and the way the evening wrapped itself around us like a well-worn blanket. Tomorrow will bring new hills to climb, but tonight, we rest—with trail mix, beer, and the hum of late-night television.