There’s something quietly profound about the last full day of a trip. You feel the tug of home, the weight of suitcases waiting to be packed, and yet—there’s still time. Time for one more wander, one more discovery. Today was that day.
Jane wanted to browse the shops and begin the gentle ritual of packing, and I wanted to chase down a few places that had lingered on my list—those out-of-the-way spots that don’t demand hours, just curiosity. We split the day, not out of distance, but out of respect for each other’s rhythms. It was a mutual nod: “Go do your thing.”
And what a brilliant day it turned out to be.
Me Day
There’s a special kind of joy in solo exploration. No compromises, no clock-watching. Just me, the city, and the quiet thrill of ticking off places that had waited patiently. I wandered, lingered, took photos I’ll probably never post, and felt that rare sense of being completely present.
It wasn’t about grand sights or dramatic moments—it was about reclaiming a little space, a little silence, before the journey ends. And knowing Jane was doing the same in her own way made it all the more meaningful.
Tomorrow we leave, but today was ours. Separately, together.
Little Italy exploring
First of all, it was a walk up through Union Square to catch the number 30 for the 15-minute ride down to Washington Square Park.
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| Church of Saints Peter and Paul |
From here you are at the bottom end of Little Italy, so there are plenty of places to grab a large coffee and sit in the park for a while admiring the old buildings and the Church of Saints Peter and Paul that is across the road, and just wander around the side streets looking in some of the shops that you never see anywhere else. From here you get some excellent views up to Coit Tower and the surrounding roads that go up the steepest hills I've ever seen. I'm surprised most of the cars make it up the hills, let alone the buses. This was also where the opening scene from the movie Dirty Harry was filmed.
After spending about an hour and a half around Little Italy, it was time to get on the bus. It was still going to be a long walk when I got off at the Palace of Fine Arts, where we went a few days before, but that was the nearest stop to Fort Point, which is underneath the Golden Gate Bridge.
Straight to the Point
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| Fort Point Under the Golden Gate Bridge |
There’s a couple of ways to get to the fort. Unfortunately, if you get the bus to the top of the bridge, the walk down isn’t as far but is really steep, so after spending the best part of an hour walking along Golden Gate Promenade on a lovely warm clear day, I finally arrived at Fort Point.
It’s very similar to the forts around Portsmouth but a lot bigger. It always amazes me how these places were constructed in the first place. It's free to go in, and there are a few exhibits in the old officer's quarters. Spread over four floors and being directly under the Golden Gate Bridge, you get a different perspective of the bridge. When you get out onto the very top floor, there are some brilliant views across the bay.
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| Inside the Fort |
During the War of 1812, the British landed in Chesapeake Bay and marched straight into the nation’s capital.
To prevent future embarrassments, President Madison ordered a new system of forts (known as the Third System) to guard the nation’s seaports. Completed in 1861 at a cost of $2.8 million, Fort Point was the only “Third System” fort built on the Pacific Coast. During the Civil War, 140 soldiers manned Fort Point, which was armed with 65 heavy artillery cannons, four flank howitzers, five coehorn mortars, and six siege mortars. Although the fort was never attacked, its walls could have theoretically withstood the impact of 10,000 cannonballs before giving way.
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| Lower Ranking Quarters |
However, the invention of rifled cannons capable of breaching brick walls rendered the structure vulnerable. After the Civil War, Fort Point was intermittently garrisoned and saw its last active duty in World War II. They still do re-enactments which are amusing—especially about loading cannons using only one arm, just in case it went off while you were doing it you would still have at least one left if you survived.
The only downside to being here was that even though it was 20°C or so on the walk up, it must have only been about 8 degrees inside. After spending two or three hours in there, I was absolutely frozen, so it was time to walk back along the shore from the fort and watch the sea lions swimming out in the bay.
Warm Up in the Warming Hut
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| The Warming Hut, Everyone has a Coat On |
It was going to be a long walk back to the bus stop, so it was time to go in the aptly named Warming Hut about halfway back to grab a coffee. It’s a shame there are no seats inside, so I had to find a spot in the sun to sit and warm up while admiring the view over the Bay on a day with no wind. The famous San Francisco microclimate had struck again, it would seem.
In the past, all these areas and buildings were part of the vast military base that covered all of The Presidio. It was a Spanish fort originally, then Mexican, before becoming a major U.S. Army post from 1846 until 1994. The buildings reflect this rich history and the architectural trends of the periods when they were constructed by the U.S. Army.
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| One of many on Crissy Field |
There’s also a dark side to this area. During the war, an executive order was given by President Franklin D. Roosevelt in February 1942, shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. This order led to the forced relocation and incarceration of approximately 120,000 Japanese Americans, two-thirds of whom were U.S. citizens, from the West Coast into internment camps—often called "relocation centres"—in remote, isolated areas of the interior U.S. This was one of those locations.
The profound irony and injustice of this period is that while the families of the Japanese American soldiers being trained at Crissy Field's secret language school were being forcibly removed from their homes and incarcerated in these internment camps, these very soldiers were dedicating themselves to serving the United States. Many of these Nisei soldiers faced immense emotional hardship, knowing their loved ones were behind barbed wire, even as they wore the U.S. uniform and prepared to fight for the country. The MIS school itself was eventually relocated inland to Minnesota due to the prevailing anti-Japanese sentiment and paranoia on the West Coast.
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| Me Warming up at Crissy Field Beach |
After soaking up the afternoon sun and drinking my coffee, it was time to set off on the long walk back to the Marina District—but this time via Crissy Field. This route takes you through the nature reserve with spectacular views across the bay, but this is more of a gravel pathway, so at almost a two-mile walk it would take more effort than planned.
Slow Crawl Back
By now the traffic had come to a standstill around most parts of this area, so rather than sit on the bus, I thought it would be quicker to get on one of the cable cars instead. I’m not sure if it was any better
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| Massive Queue for the Cable Car at Powell St. |
doing it that way, as the queue was massive, so I had to walk up a couple of stops and get on one there. People tend to congregate at the ends of the route, and when each one leaves they’re not full, so anyone waiting at the stops in between can get on. This turned out to be a solid plan—once I was on it, I was back near the hotel in about 20 minutes.
I dropped into the pub for a well-earned sit down with a couple of beers.
Jane had had a good day going round the shops; when I got back, it was time for a sleep for an hour or so. By the time I woke up, it was around 9:30, and we were both hungry, so it was time for a trip up to Uncle Vito's again for a large pizza between us and my nighttime exercise up the hill. Then it was time for bed, as tomorrow we were heading back home, and that was going to be a very long day.
Reflection on the Day: Distance and Depth
Our final full day in San Francisco unfolded like a well-paced farewell—no rush, no pressure, just a gentle parting with the city on our own terms. Jane took to the shops, easing into the rhythm of departure, while I set off on a solo mission to explore the places that had lingered on my list. It was a day of quiet understanding: we each had our own version of closure to find.
Little Italy offered charm and cinematic trivia, with coffee in Washington Square Park and views up to Coit Tower that defied gravity. From there, the walk to Fort Point was long but rewarding—sunshine on the Golden Gate Promenade, history layered beneath the bridge, and echoes of Portsmouth in the fort’s architecture. The re-enactments were both amusing and sobering, a reminder of how war leaves its mark in unexpected ways.
The Warming Hut lived up to its name, even if the warmth came more from the sun than the building itself. Sitting outside with coffee, I soaked in the view and the weight of history—both the grandeur of The Presidio and the darker chapters of internment and injustice. Crissy Field’s gravel path made the walk back slower, but the views across the bay made every step worthwhile.
The day ended with a slow crawl through traffic, a clever cable car detour, and a well-earned pint. Jane had had a good day too, and by the time we reunited, it felt like we’d both made peace with leaving. One last pizza at Uncle Vito’s, one last climb up the hill, and then it was time to rest.
Tomorrow, we go home. But today was a gift—personal, historical, and quietly profound.