The Pact

The third iteration of the Pact saw Russell and I journey to the hills of San Francisco. No, we did not wear flowers in our hair. Truth be told, Russ doesn't have any hair to wear a flower in anyway. We did, however, have an excellent time in a beautiful city that I had never been to.

Just like the San Diego trip, this journey began with some travel difficulties. Russ, having the entire day off, was going to attempt to visit Santa Ana, CA before heading up to San Francisco. (you pilots out there understand why.) He departed Charlotte, NC, and stopped in Denver and Las Vegas before figuring out he could not make it to SNA, so he headed north to Frisco where he waited 2 hours for my arrival. Theoretically, Russ and I should have arrived at SFO at about the same time. However, westbound departures were stopped at DFW, and my flight sat on the ground for 2 hours before departing for the northwest. 900 miles and 6 hours in the jumpseat later, I greated Russ just outside of gate 63.

With the traveling adventure behind us, we checked into the Sheraton at Fisherman's Wharf. The hotel was well-appointed, and in a great location. We grabbed a remarkably expensive drink at the bar, and hit the sack for what would be a busy second day. Our first order of business the following morning was to take the famous San Francisco cable car to Chinatown. We walked around a bit before settling on a Dim Sum style restaurant to have some lunch. For those of you who don't know, Dim Sum is a kind of moving buffet. Waitresses come to your table with different dishes to show you, and you make your selections. Unfortunately, none of the help speaks very much English. This led to a serious problem. The first woman approached our table with a collection of delicacies, and began pointing at them and babbling in Chinese. I'm not sure why she thought a short hispanic kid and a bald white guy would understand any Chinese, but she tried it anyway. Eventually she started pointing at dishes and saying things like, "Ping tao yea mao tsi chicken." Upon hearing the word, "chicken," I nodded my head and she presented to me a small plate piled high with something I assumed was a strangely breaded and fried dish. She left Russ what we determined to be some BBQ pork, we ordered some shrimp balls, and lunch was served. The shrimp balls were excellent, and Russ approved of his cold but tastey pork dish. The chicken, however, became a source of great amusement for Russell, and great consternation for me. I dipped a weirdly shaped piece of chicken into some dipping sauce, and took a bite. After supressing a gag, I dropped the cold, chewey, clammy, disgusting "chicken" back where it came from. The woman at the table next door must have thought this to be pretty amusing as she leaned over and said, "excuse me sir, those are chicken feet." While Russell began laughing uncontrollably, I merely stared back at the woman. "Chicken feet?" I asked. "Yes, chicken feet," she replied. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I ate chicken feet. I suspect that for as long as I live Russell will not allow me to forget this occurence. In fact, the long list of distinguished nicknames I've acquired in my years now includes "Chicken Feet." Personally, I prefer "Airworthiness."

After paying and departing the chicken feet restaurant, we headed down to the wharf where we boarded a ship on our way to tour Alcatraz Island. Any of you history buffs out there who have not yet experienced this tour need to make the trip. The tour is extraordinary, and the view of San Francisco from the island is breath-taking. "The Rock" was home to such famous criminals as "Machine Gun" Kelley, Robert "The Bird Man" Stroud, and perhaps the most famous gangster of all, Alfonse "Scarface" Capone. The interesting thing about the island, however, is the things that existed there before and during it's years as a federal penitentiary. Originally a military fort, then a military prison, and during it's years in federal service, a home to several families who lived and worked and raised kids on the island. By the way, when I say the view of San Francisco is breath-taking, I mean it will damn near bring you to tears...

Our tour of the rock completed and our journey back to the mainland over, we made our way next door to Pier 39. Upon Pier 39 is built a tourist trap with multiple stores and restaurants. We killed some time here before sitting down at the Neptune Palace restaurant, located at the very tip of the pier. The view was spectacular once again, and the food was equal to the view. We began our traditional splurge of a meal with an excellent pair of dungeoness crab cakes that came prepared with four different dipping sauces, before moving on to two of the finest entrees available. Russell selected the filet mignon and baby lobster tails, and I opted for the half lobster and half dungeoness crab, both steamed and served with mixed veggies and butter. Two words: Double Wow... The meals did not dissapoint in any way shape or form, and dessert held the standard up as well. Russ, as is his habit, chose the creme broule, and I decided on a 7 chocolate cake which was extraordinary. As part of our dinner tradition, Russ and I discussed the possible destinations that have a chance to be a part of Pact trip #4. The short list: Atlanta, San Antonio, Memphis, and Kansas City.

Fat, dumb, and happy, we departed the restaurant, changed clothes at the hotel, and once again boarded the cable car that took us to the BART, which took us to the airport. We parted ways on seperate United red eye flights, his taking him to Dulles and mine taking me to snow-covered Chicago, another Pact journey fullfilled.