Breach Baby Continued

The next leg of our journey was like a grandparent regaling a story of trips to school: five miles, up hill, in the snow, and barefoot. Okay, so it did not snow, but a winter wind in San Francisco can be just as unforgiving. And, despite my feet being covered, the ridges etched into the sidewalk made for an uneven and mildly painful walking surface, the tread on my black sneakers having been worn thin from many such journeys.

We walked, and to be fair, only four and a half of the five miles were uphill. We arrived at the top of hill and were taken aback by the scene that lay before us. Through the still lingering afternoon fog, the San Francisco Bay shimmered and winked. A thick haze had settled over the water, and the serenity of the landscape in front of us betrayed the concrete jungle at our backs. Across the Bay, the lush greenery of the hills shone dully. The hills signaled the end of the Bay Area and the beginning of Wine Country, and from our vantage point they may as well have been uncharted territories. We were going to miss the 3 p.m. showing.

My friend would agree with me that the view from the top of the hill was worth the two-hour walk up the city streets, but our primary objective had yet to be achieved. So, we descended the final half-mile and found ourselves standing in front of the Presidio Theatre at 2340 Chestnut St.

Ironically, we were early for the 4:30 showing of the film. They were still cleaning the theatre. I bought a bag of popcorn to share, and we waited in the hall. The walls were lined with posters of various films, past and present.

Kate Winslet stared at us from the “Little Children” poster with the same alluring come-hither look she would wear for much of the film. In the context of our journey, however, her eyes conveyed a wistful sadness, a longing for the simplicity that became so hard to achieve. They were sympathetic eyes, which seemed to understand our travels and which held within them a wonderfully cathartic power.

We walked into theatre, a small room with a large screen, its walls lined with red, velvet curtains, evoking the art houses of the ‘70s. We took our seats in the center of the room, the lights dimmed, and the world began to make sense again.

Stephanie, eagle-eyed if ever there were such a person, spotted an older couple exiting a cab in front of the building. We rushed out the door to the taxi in all its white and yellow glory, and arrived in time enough to hold the door open for the gentleman and lady exiting what was to be our chariot.

This was the third cab ride of my life. It was also the second of the day, and by far the more satisfying of the two. As I sat and looked out the window, the neon lights of the street softened by the veneer of water on the glass, I reflected on the day as a whole. I turned my head looked over at my travel companion. She was smiling and watching the world pass by her window, the world across which we had trudged for hours.

I found out in the paper the next day that the movie had just opened in our home town, but judging by that smile on my friend’s face, I do not think she would have traded our trip for anything, and neither would I.

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Osprey - JournAlum - The Lumberjack - KRFH/610 AM - Travel

2008 Travel Journal

Editor-In-Chief - Matthew Hawk

Copy Editors - Anthony Barstow, Rose R. Miller, and Matt Barry

We stayed through the final credits because one should never leave before the final credits. When the lights came up, we exited the warm, beating heart of the theatre and found ourselves in the lobby looking to the street outside, which was now very wet from the rain that had begun to fall.

Like leaving before the credits, one should also never make a woman walk in the rain, so I borrowed a phonebook from the theatre manager and searched for cabs. I called the first number I came upon and found it to be a luxury cab service - $100 minimum. No go.