Today was set to be one of the highlights of the trip. We left the hotel with a sense of purpose, strolling through Union Square’s festive buzz and heading toward Stockton Street to catch the number 30 bus into Chinatown. I’d imagined something cinematic—lanterns, bustling markets, a touch of mystique. What we got was… less glamorous. To be honest, it felt a bit of a dump. Not the exotic enclave TV makes it out to be, but we weren’t here to linger—we had a destination in mind.
The Cable Car Museum
The Cable Car Museum was on the way, tucked up in the hills where buses fear to tread. That meant a steep walk, lungs working overtime, but thankfully it wasn’t far. The museum—more accurately, the Cable Car Barn—isn’t just for show. It’s the beating heart of the whole system, where thick steel cables whip around giant wheels, pulling the city’s iconic cars up and down the slopes. Most of the machinery dates back to the 1800s, and it’s still doing the job. No engines, no fancy tech—just raw mechanics and a gripman with a lever.
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| The Cables that Pull the Cable Cars |
It’s noisy in there. Relentlessly so. But it’s also mesmerising. Watching the cables move, learning how the grip works, seeing the whole system laid bare—it’s like stepping into the city’s circulatory system. You don’t just ride the cable cars; you feel how they breathe.
By the time we emerged, we were ravenous. Luckily, just across the road was a small sandwich shop—Chinese or Korean, hard to say—but it turned out to be a hidden gem. Jane ordered two egg and cheese sandwiches, and what arrived was a revelation: poached eggs, melted cheese, toasted bread, and a drink each, all for ten dollars. No guidebook had mentioned it, which made it feel like our own little find.
After lunch, we wound our way back down those steep hills into Chinatown to catch the first of two buses that would take us to the Golden Gate Bridge. In a city overflowing with buses, the number 28 somehow managed to be the least reliable of the lot. A 20-minute wait stretched out like a test of patience. Thankfully, the stop had decent real-time info, so I left Jane and the growing queue behind and wandered down to Safeway to grab some cold drinks—having learned from experience that hydration is not optional on these uphill treks.
The Golden Gate Bridge
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| Golden Gate Bridge |
When I returned, I got some curious looks. There they all stood, looking like parched desert nomads, while I strolled up like a mirage, arms loaded with chilled drinks and snacks. Talk about a thirst trap.
The bus eventually arrived and took about 30 minutes to wrestle its way through traffic and into the bus lane. But once we reached the Golden Gate Bridge, it was worth every minute. Under a clear blue sky, the bridge stood in full glory—an engineering marvel stretching 1.7 miles across the strait, its towers soaring 746 feet above the water. Held together by over 1.2 million rivets, it was once the tallest suspension bridge in the world. Even from the car park, the views were spectacular, but walking to the main plaza on the southern side elevated it to something truly breathtaking.
We grabbed a couple of reasonably priced coffees and found a spot to sit, just soaking it all in. The bridge’s scale is hard to grasp until you’re standing beneath one of its towers, watching the city stretch out behind you and the Pacific shimmer ahead. We didn’t feel ambitious enough to walk the full span, so I just ventured to the first tower—more than enough to appreciate its vastness and the sweeping views of San Francisco.
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| The Golden Gate Bridge |
We lingered until the light began to fade, then headed back to the bus stop. That’s when things got entertaining. The stop serves buses in both directions, and a crowd of people surged past us to board the first one—only to realise, too late, that it was going the wrong way. As they disappeared into the unknown, we ended up near the front of the queue for the correct bus, which was nearly empty.
There was a definite grin on our faces as we rolled past those bewildered souls, still trying to figure out where they’d gone wrong. Our bus didn’t stop again—it just sailed on by, leaving them to their fate. I’m not entirely sure where we changed buses on the way back, but by some stroke of luck, it dropped us right outside the hotel. As for the others? Who knows. Maybe they’re still out there, bravely navigating the labyrinth of San Francisco’s bus routes, living their best, slightly lost lives.
Beer o’clock
Back at the hotel, it was time for a quick nap to recharge—just enough to summon the energy for a swift drink later. And that’s exactly what I did.
You’ve got to keep trying different pubs in the quest to find one that feels right. Tonight’s contender was The Chieftain Irish Bar, just a five-minute walk from the hotel. There were other options nearby, but after everything we’d done today, staying local felt like the smart move. There’s a bar right next to the hotel, but I’d tried it once and didn’t fancy going back. Something about it just didn’t sit right—maybe the vibe, maybe the prices, maybe both.
The Chieftain, on the other hand, was busy but welcoming. Plenty of seats, decent drinks, and free Wi-Fi—what more do you need? At one point, a couple started playing guitar and what I think was a flute, and the staff turned off the background music to let them entertain the room. It was a nice touch—unpolished, spontaneous, and very much in the spirit of the place.
They pride themselves on quality food, drinks, and live Irish music. It’s a proper pub with a warm atmosphere, ideal for watching sports or just unwinding after a long day. And tonight, it delivered exactly that.
With my evening beers enjoyed and the city’s energy winding down, it was just a short stroll back across the road for a well-earned sleep. Today had been a good day—fine weather, great views, unexpected laughs, and a sandwich that still deserves its own award. Not every day needs fireworks. Sometimes, a bridge, a bus mishap, and a pint are more than enough.
Reflections on the Day
Today was a blend of grit, grace, and good fortune. The Cable Car Museum gave us a glimpse into the city’s mechanical heart—loud, raw, and oddly poetic. It’s easy to forget how much muscle powers the charm.
Lunch was a surprise win: a tiny sandwich shop with poached eggs, melted cheese, and a drink for ten bucks. No fanfare, just flavour and timing.
The Golden Gate Bridge didn’t need a full crossing to impress. Standing beneath its tower, with the city behind us, was enough—a moment of scale and stillness.
Then came the bus saga. A comedy of errors turned quiet triumph as we watched a crowd board the wrong one, while we glided off like seasoned locals. Sometimes patience is the best travel hack.
We ended the day at The Chieftain, live music, a pint, and the kind of pub comfort that feels earned. No grand finale, just the satisfaction of a day well wandered.
Travel’s magic isn’t always in the landmarks—it’s in the rhythm, the surprises, and the small wins that make a city feel like it’s letting you in.