As Jane still wasn’t feeling great, we opted for a slower pace today. A half-hour ride on the L tram took us down to the San Francisco Zoo—my first zoo visit since a school trip to Blackpool when I was about ten. Safe to say, expectations were mixed: nostalgia meets curiosity.
We’re all going to the Zoo…. Today
The zoo’s just a short walk from the tram stop, and I’d read they rent out wheelchairs for $10. What I didn’t expect was the generous pricing: Jane got a $3 discount, and I got in free as her designated pusher. Instead of $34 for the two of us, it came to just $14, plus the wheelchair rental. That made the whole place accessible for Jane—and we saw everything. Some paths were a bit uneven, so I had to watch my footing, but there weren’t many steep slopes to contend with.
Penguin Pandemonium
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| Wh You Looking at? |
The highlight? Penguin feeding time. A keeper arrived with a bucket of fish and a hosepipe—not for the penguins, but to fend off a particularly bold seagull. Apparently, this gull was new in town, replacing the last one who made the fatal mistake of sharing a tiger’s lunch… and becoming it.
After feeding, the keeper gave a talk about penguins in the wild. Who knew they can live over 30 years in captivity? And contrary to popular belief, most species prefer subtropical climates—not icy ones.
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| Penguin Lunch |
Some enclosures felt surprisingly open. When a baboon is ten feet away and the fence is only shoulder height, you do wonder what’s stopping it from leaping out. The zoo has had incidents—one involving a tiger reaching through bars in a staff-only area due to a CCTV blind spot, and another where a visitor climbed into an enclosure and was tragically killed. Sobering reminders that wild animals are, well, wild.
The zoo’s longest resident was Coldilocks (yes, spelled like that), a polar bear who lived there for 40 years. Her enclosure showed its age, but moving her wasn’t an option—the stress would’ve been too much. There was something poignant about seeing her space, a quiet testament to time and care.
Even the café wasn’t bad. Pricey, yes, but you got a decent portion. There was also a miniature steam train from the 1800s that kids could ride for a small extra charge. We spent about five hours wandering, watching, and wondering, finally leaving around 4:30pm.
Pacific Sunset – A Moment to Keep
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| Ocean Beach Surfers |
It had been a long day for Jane, so before heading back on the tram, we took a short walk across the road to Ocean Beach—a 3.5-mile stretch of white sand on San Francisco’s western edge, known for its wild surf and quiet beauty. The sun was beginning its descent, casting golden hues across the sky and warming the air just enough to make you forget it was nearly Christmas.
We sat together, watching the last surfers carve through the waves in the fading light. It was one of those rare moments that seem to pause time. No noise, no rush—just the rhythm of the ocean and the soft glow of the setting sun. A moment of magic, shared in silence.
It’s funny how the simplest things can leave the deepest impressions. That sunset, that stillness, that feeling of being exactly where we were meant to be.
And with that, we called it a day. Oddly enough, the tram ride back felt quicker—maybe because we carried a little peace with us.
Wobbly Wander
Back at the hotel, after we’d had something to eat, Jane went for a nap. This was my chance to sneak off for a solo pint at Murphy’s Pub, an Irish bar I’d found tucked away on Kearny Street in the heart of San Francisco’s financial district. It wasn’t the closest option, but it was easy enough to reach by streetcar—and since it was a Sunday, the area was blissfully quiet.
Murphy’s wasn’t a big place inside, but it looked exactly like the kind of pub you’d see on TV: dark wood, low lighting, and a bartender who alternated between polishing glasses and serving five people at once with effortless charm. I’m not entirely sure what made it “Irish,” but it was a nice enough spot. I think this is where I first discovered Anchor Steam, a locally brewed beer from just a couple of miles away. Smooth, malty, and surprisingly strong—especially when you’ve had more than you meant to.
After lingering longer than planned and drinking more than intended, walking back to the hotel seemed like a good idea. It was a pleasant evening, and I felt confident—until things got hazy. I had a smoke in the courtyard at the back of the pub and spotted another way out. Naturally, I took it. Naturally, I got completely disoriented.
Instead of heading for the main road to catch the bus or streetcar, I took one of my “world-famous” shortcuts. And promptly got lost.
I had a cunning plan, though: use the GPS on my phone. I’d downloaded the map, so I didn’t need an internet connection. Brilliant, right? Except the phone refused to get a signal lock. So I wandered the streets of San Francisco aimlessly, like a slightly tipsy urban explorer. I’ve no idea how I ended up near the Ferry Building, but I can confirm it was nowhere near where I needed to be.
Eventually, I got my bearings and hopped on a streetcar back. I could’ve taken a bus, but some of their routes veer off Market Street before reaching the hotel—and we can all imagine how that would’ve ended. It took me much longer to get back than expected, but there was an upside: I got to see some of the city’s quieter backstreets and enjoy the Christmas lights twinkling along Market Street, with hardly another soul around.
When I finally made it back to the hotel, I had to ring the buzzer—turns out they lock the main door at night for security. My ordeal wasn’t quite over. After being let in, I got in the lift and rode it up and down a few times, trying desperately to remember our room number. Eventually, I gave up and returned to the lobby, sheepish and defeated.
The same staff member who’d let me in was still there, waiting with a knowing smile. Apparently, she’d been watching my fruitless lift escapades on the security cameras, quietly wondering how long it would take me to admit defeat and ask for help. I later found out you could use your room key card to open the front door—but after a few beers, that thought never occurred to me.
Bed Time at Last
Time for bed, then. We weren’t planning to do much the following day—Jane needed a chance to recover, and truth be told, I was starting to feel a bit worn out myself. We hadn’t really stopped since arriving, and it all starts to catch up with you after a while. You don’t notice it at first, but going out nearly all day, every day, gradually wears you down. A day off was well overdue.