A taste of heaven

Karen and I were headed for the waterfront. But before we actually got to even see anything that was wet, we had one very important stop to make: the Ghirardelli chocolate factory in Ghirardelli Square. After all, it was a major reason for our visit to San Francisco, the others being to see the Golden Gate bridge, visit the Matisse installation at the SFMOMA and go wine tasting in the Napa Valley. So bright and early one summer morning we were driven to the eerily circus-tent-like construction that was the new international airport in Denver, and flew out to California, fighting amicably over who would see The Bridge first.

I don’t think either of us did. It was, as was the norm, foggy over the bay as we circled to land and, while everyone peered over each other to see the rusty orange pylons that were cloaked in white puffs of cloud, we started finding other visual landmarks. There was Alcatraz, that dreaded prison, and across the water were the lush green slopes of Marin County. As the plane banked, we sighted the Coit Tower, round and vaguely suggestively anatomical, and could almost see the dizzy hairpins of Lombard Street. At the airport, an enormous warren of walkways and counters, we grabbed our luggage and found a taxi. “Hotel Californian,” we chorused, orchestrated by a peal of giggles that would have drowned the Beach Boys original into background static.

Once settled in, parents informed and clean-up done, we were ready to take in the charms of the city we already liked. My mother had always told me that San Fran was so much like Mumbai that I would instantly love it and, at least for that reason, among many others, I did. It began with a beeline to Ghirardelli, where we wandered happily through the mini chocolate factory, learning about how the delicious brown stuff was made, tempted to dive headfirst into the huge drum in which it mixed, white swirling deep into dark the overwhelming fragrance of sugar, cocoa and butter practically tinting the air…well…chocolate! From there it was just a few steps into the store, where we stocked up, promising ourselves that we would indeed give away the ‘presents’ we had bought, and not eat them when we were not watching our consciences and our waistlines. A dark and deadly chocolate sundae later, we stepped back out into the California afternoon, ready for almost anything.

It was time for a trip to Pier 30, via the local street market and a stop to watch the seals. The glossy, graceful creatures honked and barked, arguing, pushing and shoving, while we and a crowd of other onlookers tried not the breathe too hard to ward off the miasmic stink. Pier 39 was a melee of shops, food stalls and tourists like us, all smiling and posing happily for vacation photographs. Karen and I sat in the warmth of a sunbeam, chewing on thick clam soup served up in a sourdough bowl, watching the clamour. Burping gently, we explored the shops, buying an exquisite crystal bowl for my mother, a set of chimes for hers, a Tshirt for my father, some odds and ends for assorted friends. Clutching our chocolate and assorted other acquisitions, we headed back to the hotel.

Tomorrow was a day full of plans and promises. For now, we could rest.

(We continue our trip to San Francisco tomorrow…)