We had a full day planned today, but mercifully with a lot less walking. Around 10:30 we hopped on the F-line streetcar—one of those beautifully restored vintage trolleys that still rattle and hum their way through the city—and headed to the Market Street Railway Museum.
Streetcars & Pies
The museum might sound grand, but it’s actually quite small—more like a lovingly curated nook tucked away near the Embarcadero. It tells the story of San Francisco’s transit evolution, from the early days of horse-drawn carriages and steam dummies to the electric streetcars and cable cars that still clatter through the city today. The museum is run by the Market Street Railway, a nonprofit that’s been preserving these historic vehicles along with Muni since 1976.
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| F Line Streetcar at Embarcadero |
We spent nearly an hour soaking it all in. And best of all—it was free. For anyone with even a passing interest in vintage transport, it’s a gem. Just outside the museum, you can sit and watch the restored streetcars glide past, each one painted in the colours of cities from around the world. It’s a moving museum, quite literally, and a testament to the care and passion that’s gone into keeping these old beauties alive.
By the time we emerged, it was lunchtime. Luckily, the Ferry Building was just across the road, and that meant one thing: pie. The same pie shop we’d visited earlier in the trip was calling us back, and we answered gladly. The weather had warmed up, so we grabbed a table out back overlooking the bay. There’s something deeply satisfying about sitting in the sun with a turkey pie in one hand and a coffee in the other, especially when you’re sharing it with someone who gets the joy of simple pleasures in life.
With lunch over it was time to get back in the F-Line for the short ride down to Pier 39 and The Aquarium of the Bay.
Something Fishy
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| Underwater Walkthrough |
As we watched the fish glide overhead, I couldn’t help wondering how many of them were sizing each other up for lunch. It’s like a silent soap opera in there—one minute they’re swimming peacefully, the next someone’s missing a fin. Nature doesn’t mess about. You could almost hear the theme music: “Tonight, on Fish Tank Feuds…”
Upstairs, they’ve got a touch pool where you can stroke manta rays—though ours were busy having lunch, so we had to settle for starfish and sea urchins. Surprisingly, they weren’t as rough to the touch as I’d imagined. The otters were there too, curled up and fast asleep, clearly exhausted from all the attention. Not that you’d want to stroke one—they look cute, but I reckon they’d take your finger off quicker than a hungry piranha.
After about two hours of fishy fun, we stepped outside and found a bench on the upper level overlooking the marina. The Grand Princess cruise ship was docked just a couple piers up, and from here you really got a sense of scale. It’s the biggest passenger ship I’ve ever seen—like a floating city with balconies.
I’d expected the aquarium to take longer, so had to do some quick thinking on what to do next. Luckily, Pier 39’s upper level was just a short walk away, and that meant one thing: gift shops. All the shiny things, novelty socks, and fridge magnets you didn’t know you needed. I’m a sucker for gift shops—especially the ones with glittery snow globes and overpriced t-shirts that say “I ❤️ SF.”
Towering Above The Bay
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| Coit Tower |
Coit Tower—officially the Lillian Coit Memorial Tower—is a 210-foot art deco column perched atop Telegraph Hill, built in 1933 using funds left by Lillie Hitchcock Coit, a wealthy eccentric who adored San Francisco and its firefighters. At her death in 1929, she left one-third of her estate to the city “to add to its beauty,” and the tower was proposed as a fitting tribute. Despite the popular myth that it was designed to resemble a fire hose nozzle, the resemblance is purely accidental—though once you’ve heard it, it’s hard not to squint and try to see it. Personally, I couldn’t see it at all. Looked more like a giant concrete lipstick to me.
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| Views Across The Bay |
There’s supposed to be a large flock of green parrots up here—wild cherry-headed conures that escaped from captivity in the '90s and decided Telegraph Hill was as good a jungle as any. They’ve since become local celebrities, squawking their way into documentaries and even winning the title of San Francisco’s official animal. We didn’t see any, but I like to think they were off somewhere gossiping in the treetops, plotting their next ambush on unsuspecting tourists with granola bars.
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| The Pyramid |
Sliding Seats
After taking far too many photographs (and probably annoying a few parrots in the process), it was time to collect Jane from the bench and catch the bus back down the hill. That ride? Hair-raising. I’ve never seen a bus tackle hills that steep—it felt like we were on a rollercoaster designed by a city planner with a sense of humour.
The number 39 bus is shorter than most, presumably so it doesn’t snap in half on the inclines. But it’s not exactly modern. Inside, the seats are those shiny, hard plastic ones—like the kind we used to have in the UK to discourage vandalism, or the ones you find on the New York subway if you’re lucky enough to sit down. The real fun starts when you’re on the side-facing seats. As the bus lurches up or down the hills, everyone slides from one end to the other like marbles in a tin. It’s a great way to get to know your fellow passengers—whether you want to or not.
I also discovered that some of these seats fold up to make room for two extra wheelchairs, which is a thoughtful touch. Though I imagine trying to stay upright on one of those hills in a wheelchair would require nerves of steel and brakes that could stop a freight train.
We ended up back at Pier 39 again about 20 minutes later, then walked over to the F line streetcar stop, where we ended up waiting about 15 minutes for one to turn up. As it was around 4:30 now, when it did arrive, it was already packed even though it had only started from a few stops away.
A Streetcar Named Undesirable
We managed to squeeze on, but after a few more stops, it was standing room only and getting tighter by the minute. It’s a good job most people seem to get off at the same place, otherwise we’d have needed a shoehorn and a prayer.
The F Line is charming in theory—vintage streetcars from around the world, lovingly restored and trundling through the city like time machines. In practice, it’s a bit like being in a sardine tin with wheels. The wooden benches and brass fittings are lovely, but when you’re wedged between a tourist with a selfie stick and someone who smells like they’ve been hugging sea lions, the romance fades fast.
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| Another Vintage Streetcar |
While Jane was getting served, I wandered over for a closer look at the San Francisco Mint. It’s one of the oldest surviving buildings in the city, and one of the few that made it through the 1906 earthquake and the inferno that followed. The quake ruptured water mains, leaving firefighters helpless as flames tore through 500 city blocks. The Mint, nicknamed the “Granite Lady,” stood firm thanks to its thick stone walls and its own artesian well. Staff fought to save it using steam-powered pumps and buckets, and when the banks lay in ruins, the Mint became the city’s financial lifeline.
With sandwiches in hand, we dodged traffic across the insanely busy road and collapsed back at the hotel. A bit of TV, a well-earned nap, and the kind of satisfaction that only comes from surviving public transport and discovering a hidden sandwich gem.
Cable Car Ride at Night
I woke a couple of hours later, still feeling the effects of the day, but decided to head out for a walk, snap a few photos, and—most importantly—restock the beer supply from the liquor store. I wandered up to the cable car turnaround near Union Square, which by night transforms into a twinkling little stage set. Palm trees wrapped in fairy lights, shop windows glowing with festive displays, and the Powell Street cable cars clanging through like they’re auditioning for a Christmas special. It was the kind of scene that makes you reach for your camera before your coat.
Then I noticed something rare: hardly anyone waiting for the cable cars. So I hopped on for another ride down to Fisherman’s Wharf, thanks to my trusty Muni pass. Turns out late evening isn’t peak time down there—most of the restaurants start closing around 10pm, which explains the lack of a queue. It felt like I’d stumbled into a secret window of calm.
I didn’t hang around long at the Wharf—just enough to soak in the quiet, snap a few shots, and enjoy the novelty of seeing it without the usual crowds. Then I caught the cable car back again, and this time I scored the best seat in the house: right at the front.
I had my video camera with me and managed to capture the entire ride back to Market Street. Later, I sped the footage up to four times the speed, which made it look like a high-octane chase scene through the hills of San Francisco. In reality, it was more like a gentle clatter with occasional bell ringing and the odd startled pedestrian. But in fast-forward, it’s pure cinematic gold.
All that was left to do now was grab some booze and head back to the hotel—another day over, wrapped up with an unexpected twist.
Reflection on the Day
Today unfolded like a slow burn—nothing dramatic, just a series of small moments that somehow added up to something memorable. It started with the usual rhythm: waking, wandering, taking in the city’s pulse. There were no grand plans, just the quiet intention to explore, observe, and maybe find something worth photographing. And I did—plenty, in fact. From the festive glow of Union Square to the quiet hush of Fisherman’s Wharf after hours, the city offered up its contrasts without asking for anything in return.
There’s a kind of freedom in days like this. No schedule, no expectations, just the chance to follow curiosity wherever it leads. I didn’t expect to end up on a cable car at night, let alone twice. But there I was, front seat, video camera in hand, capturing the clatter and sway of San Francisco’s hills like I was directing my own low-budget travel film. Later, speeding up the footage turned it into something playful—almost surreal. A reminder that even the slowest moments can be reimagined with a bit of perspective.
And that’s the thing, really. The day wasn’t packed with sights or stories, but it had texture. A walk lit by Christmas lights. A quiet ride through empty streets. A liquor store run that turned into a night-time adventure. It’s easy to overlook these fragments, but stitched together, they form the kind of day that lingers—not because it was extraordinary, but because it was unexpectedly complete.
Another day over. No fanfare, just a gentle twist at the end and the comforting clink of bottles in a bag. Sometimes, that’s all you need.