Well, today is Christmas Day—not that you’d really know it. The sun was blazing, the temperature hovered around 22°C, and most of the shops were open, apart from the big department stores like Macy’s, which had shut their doors for the day. It felt more like a spring afternoon than anything remotely festive.
Jane was worse today, so we kept things gentle. She fancied a short stroll through a few shops before lunch, just to stretch her legs and get some fresh air. Then we headed back to the hotel for a quiet bite to eat. I seemed to have dodged the worst of whatever bug was running through our systems, so I decided to make the most of the afternoon with a bit of solo urban exploration.
It’s strange spending Christmas in a city that doesn’t quite pause for it. Just sunshine, storefronts, and the occasional wreath trying its best to look seasonal in the glare. But there’s something liberating about that too—no pressure, no expectations, just the freedom to wander.
Christmas Day Trek
After lunch, Jane wanted to rest—her cough wasn’t letting up—so I set off on a solo wander to explore some of the out-of-the-way spots that don’t take long to visit but are worth the detour. They’re scattered across the city, and the best way to find them is to wander the side streets and see where your feet take you.
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| Arriving at powell street Turn Around |
I started at the bottom of Market Street, where the Powell and Market cable car turnaround sits like a stage set for vintage San Francisco. It’s a great place to watch the cable cars being manually rotated on the turntable before heading back up the hill. From there, I walked east to the start of the California Street cable car line, then began the climb straight up California Street on foot.
This is one of the steepest roads in the city, rising about 300 feet in just under a mile. It’s a slow burn on the legs, but the payoff is worth it. I resisted the temptation to look back as I climbed, saving the view for the top—and when I finally turned around, it was spectacular. The city rolled out beneath me, with the bay glinting in the distance and the rooftops stacked like a postcard. It’s one of those moments where the effort makes the view sweeter.
Huntington Park
After about an hour of walking, I finally reached the top of California Street and my first port of call: Huntington Park. It’s not large—just 1.3 acres—but it’s easily one of the most peaceful and beautiful parks I’ve ever had the pleasure of sitting in. On Christmas Day, with the city hushed and the sun casting long shadows, it felt like a sanctuary.
Here’s a brief history of how this little oasis came to be.
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| Huntington Park |
Back in 1872, at the corner of California and Taylor, railway lawyer General David D. Colton built one of San Francisco’s most elaborate residences. The white timber mansion boasted a grand marble staircase and a portico of Corinthian columns, hosting glittering gatherings in true Gilded Age style. After Colton’s death in 1878, his widow sold the home to another railroad magnate, Collis P. Huntington. He lived there with his wife Arabella until his passing in 1900. Arabella remained until the house was tragically destroyed in the 1906 earthquake and fire.
Rather than rebuild, Arabella donated the land to the city in 1915, with one condition: it must remain a public park in perpetuity.
Today, Huntington Park is a manicured green space nestled atop Nob Hill, bordered by California, Taylor, Sacramento, and Cushman Streets. At its heart is the Fountain of the Tortoises—a replica of Rome’s Fontana delle Tartarughe—featuring cavorting turtles and nymphs. During the holidays, the underwater lamps glow in festive reds, ambers, and greens. The park is flanked by architectural icons: Grace Cathedral to the west, the Fairmont Hotel to the north, and the Huntington Hotel just across the street.
I sat there for a while, watching hummingbirds dart between the native plantings, soaking in the quiet and the soft light of mid-afternoon. What more could you ask for on Christmas Day? Well—Jane by my side, perhaps. That would’ve made it perfect.
Grace Cathedral
Just across the road from Huntington Park stands Grace Cathedral—one of the largest and most iconic cathedrals on the West Coast. Towering over Nob Hill, its Neo-Gothic architecture is inspired by Notre Dame in Paris, and the building itself took nearly four decades to complete after the original Grace Church was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake and fire.
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| Grace Cathedral |
The interior is vast and awe-inspiring, with soaring arches and some of the largest stained glass windows I’ve ever seen. They depict everything from biblical scenes to moments in San Francisco’s history, including the 1906 quake and the signing of the UN Charter in 1945. Outside, the stonework is exquisite—every detail carved with care and precision. It’s hard to imagine the time, effort, and skill that went into creating something this monumental.
Grace Cathedral is also home to two labyrinths (one inside, one outside), a replica of Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise, and a striking AIDS memorial altarpiece by Keith Haring. It’s not just a place of worship—it’s a living gallery of art, history, and community.
The surrounding area, Nob Hill, is a charming mix of 1920s-era shops and homes. It’s not only litter-free—it’s beggar-free too, which probably has something to do with it being one of the city’s most affluent neighbourhoods.
After spending some time wandering around and taking photographs, I headed back down Powell Street. Walking downhill on streets this steep is just as tough as going up. I was on the hunt for a pizza restaurant I’d wanted to try before heading home, but eventually ended up back at Union Square. So I grabbed a sandwich for a late lunch and sat in Walgreens watching the world go by. It felt oddly familiar—almost like home. If I could live anywhere, I think it might be here. It’s not all steep hills.
It was still only about 3:30, so I jumped on a bus heading toward Powell Street Station, then caught the first outbound tram with no idea where it was going. That was the plan—a surprise destination at the end of the line.
Mystery Tram
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| Pacific Sunset Ocean Beach |
Turns out my spontaneous tram adventure took me west on the L line, and about 30 minutes later I was strolling along the sand at Ocean Beach. The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon, casting long shadows and golden light across the waves. I don’t think I’ve ever spent such a peaceful Christmas Day. It was one of the warmest on record for San Francisco, and the city seemed to lean into the calm. I only wished Jane had been there with me. Watching the sun set over the Pacific, I found myself imagining us sitting together on the beach with a campfire crackling between us. That image will stay with me.
I wandered north along the shoreline until I reached the end of the N Judah line. Even on Christmas Day, the trams and buses were running a Sunday service—which, oddly enough, felt more frequent than a regular weekday back home. The warmth must’ve drawn people out; the tram was busy, full of families, couples, and solo wanderers like me, all soaking in the rare December sunshine.
There’s something magical about boarding a tram with no destination in mind and letting the city decide for you. That little loop at the end of the N line, where the tracks curve around the Great Highway, felt like a quiet punctuation mark to the day. I hopped on and let the city pull me back toward its glowing heart.
Back to the Hotel
I finally made it back to the hotel around 6:30, totally knackered and in desperate need of a tin of beer. My legs were staging a quiet protest, and I couldn’t blame them—I'd walked half the city, uphill and down, beach to tram stop. But every step had been worth it.
Jane was starting to feel a bit better after spending the afternoon resting, so we grabbed something to eat and settled in for the night. There’s something comforting about sinking into a big, soft bed after a day like that, flicking through channels and letting the hum of the TV fill the room. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was perfect.
Christmas Day had unfolded in unexpected ways—from cathedral grandeur to beachside solitude—and even though it wasn’t the day we’d planned, it became one I’ll never forget. Maybe my legs wouldn’t agree tomorrow, but my heart was all in.
Reflection on the day: A Christmas of Contrasts
Christmas Day in San Francisco turned out to be a day of contrasts—cathedrals and coastlines, solitude and shared comfort, grandeur and grit. It wasn’t the kind of day we’d planned, but maybe that’s what made it so memorable. There was no roast dinner, no family gathering around a tree, no snow-dusted streets. Instead, there was stained glass and stonework, sunlit sand, and the gentle hum of trams weaving through the city.
Grace Cathedral reminded me of the beauty that can rise from ruin—how something so intricate and enduring can be born from disaster. The beach, on the other hand, offered simplicity: just the sea, the sky, and the setting sun. Both places stirred something in me. A sense of peace, maybe. Or perspective.
I missed Jane during those quiet moments, especially on the beach. But sharing the evening with her, even if it was just curled up in bed watching TV, grounded the day in something familiar. It reminded me that connection doesn’t always need ceremony—it just needs presence.
This Christmas wasn’t traditional, but it was honest. It was a day of wandering, wondering, and finding small joys in unexpected places. And if I could bottle the feeling of watching the sun set over the Pacific with the warmth of the city at my back, I think I’d carry it with me always.