Browsing Archives for San Francisco

Okay, okay, okay I guess fuzzy pictures are not going to be enough.

To find “our nudist” we drove to a town south of San Francisco called Rockaway Beach where we received instructions from the visitor’s center that if we were willing to drive just six more miles further south we would encounter a very nice strip of white sand and a quiet beach.   I do not remember the name of the beach, but I do remember that you park in a lot on the east side of busy highway 101 and then you have to cross to the west side of highway 101 which is harrowing and scary and I was sure we were going to die.
But we did not die.  We made it to the other side only to discover the jagged edge of a perilous cliff which beckoned to my four sons like a candy machine with it’s glass busted out.  They immediately ran to the edge of the cliff and this caused their father – THEIR FATHER – who has never been known to have a visible reaction to anything in his life – to yell at them to get away from the edge of the cliff!
It is clear to me now that I should have taken this rare emotional response from my husband as a sign of stranger things to come.
We eventually found a hidden set of steep stairs that meandered down to the beach.  Funny – it was almost like someone was trying to keep this beach from being discovered.   
Hmmmmm.
When we got to the bottom of the stairs there were several people sprinkled around the beach They all appeared to have clothing on, but I couldn’t help but notice two largish tanned men off in the distance in what appeared to be very scanty beach wear… scanty and strange swimwear. From a distance it looked like their suits were just kind of “muted” and “natural” and “grey” and “fuzzy” but yes it appeared to be swimwear.
One of the largish tanned men in scanty swimwear walked our way and as he moved towards us I kept trying to figure out his swim suit which appeared to be a speedo as it was centered entirely on the tiny area surrounding his… well… his…. his…. apparatus.
But then I noticed that the speedo seemed to have moving parts… jiggling things… and a strange thingy in the center that was… 
That Was…
THAT WAS…
OH MY GEEEEAAAAAWWWD!!!!!
The country doctor and I rapidly moved our boys to the water and they dove in.  I spread our stuff out on the sand in an area that eventually proved to be WAAAAAAAY to close to the nudist.   As we settled in, I took in the lay of the land and it appeared that there were several nudists tucked around the bend in a cove that was partially shielded by boulders.  One largish tannish nudist was laying just on the other side (our side) of the boulders with his largish tannish backside pointed our direction, but he was quite a ways a way and not interested in having a conversation with us.
But his buddy “our nudist” was not content to lie in the sand displaying his largish tannish backside.  He felt it his duty to traipse all over the beach talking to all the sunbathers.  His primary subject was the tides.  I know this because I listened to him talk to the young couple next to us.  They were very polite to him and conversed with him and for about ten minutes they talked tides with him.  
Then he wandered over to us.  The boys were playing in the surf, but the CD and I were sitting on the sand watching our kids.
We heard him approach us and come to a stop behind us and then he started filling us in on the dangerous tides in the area. 
I can’t really explain it to you and maybe it was the wrong response, but neither one of us was really in the mood for a conversation with a nudist that day.  
So we just IGNORED HIM.
But he was not to be IGNORED and continued with his informational lecture on the tides.
We continued with our IGNORING OF HIM.
Finally he asked us if we spoke English.
The Country Doctor said no.
And the aggressively friendly nudist said “alright” in a very grouchy voice.
I am not a psychlogist or a PHD in human behavior but I am pretty sure than “our nudist” felt extremely limited by putting on his display for the other nudists.  It was simply not enough.  It did not satisfy.  He felt incomplete.  For really, what is the point of being a nudist if you are not constantly shocking someone.  
So he had moved his act over to the non-nudists and there he happily flaunted his brown body parts, talking tides to strangers, glorying in the discomfort he created, basking in the warm rays of shock, sunshine and disdain.  
Since the Country Doctor and I were not willing to participate in his little show by keeping our backs firmly to him while he tried to talk to us,  he finally moved along.  
And then when he was a long ways away…
I took his picture.
And I am pretty sure that the aggressively friendly nudist would have been thrilled by that.
Thus ends the aggressively friendly nude… I MEAN NUDIST chronicles on this here blog.
Rechelle


You pack your bags and drive to the airport…


You fly halfway across the country…


You hike all over one of the great cities on the planet…

You marvel at the architecture…


The beauty of the old buildings…


Your jaw drops to the the ground at the grandeur of the redwood forests…


You partake of the cities bounty from Dim Sum in Chinatown to spaghetti in North Beach to a hearty breakfast at Home Plate in the Marina  District….


But all people really want to hear about….


Everywhere I go… 
Everyone I talk to….
They just want to know if I got a picture of the aggressively friendly nudist…
Are you kidding me?!?
What’s the point of having a blog if you don’t get a picture of the aggressively friendly nudist?!?

Our nudist is the one in the foreground.  
I have no idea if the nudist in the background was aggressive or friendly or not…
But secretly…
I like to think that San Francisco gave my family the most friendly and most aggressive nudist that they had.  
But maybe that is just me thinking a little more highly of myself than I ought.

Day Two San Francisco dawned bright, warm and sunny.  We had spent our first day walking from one end of the city to the other and then we hit the beach where were greeted by an aggressively friendly nudist.  
How could San Francisco possibly get better than that?  
So we opted to head to Berkeley on our second day.  After strolling around the beautiful campus for a while we moved on to Oakland for a friendly ball game between the Oakland Athletics and our own Kansas City Royals.

Oh Oakland…
Oh dear Oakland…
Oh my Oakland!!!


For in Oakland, my children were to receive an education in the art of cursing out a ball player unlike anything they had ever heard before.  Which is not to say that my children have never heard cursing before because well yeah – okay  - um maybe from a few movies and uh also maybe uh… maybe just a little… from their mom.  But only tiny little bits and only when it was completly necessary – like when a snake crawled out of the brick pile or when I have to deal with traffic or maybe… um maybe…  just when I am kind of TIRED AND SICK AND ACHY AND SHAKY AND AT MY WITS END AND SO DONE WITH EVERYTHING THAT I CAN ONLY COPE BY SAYING REALLY ROTTEN WORDS but that doesn’t happen very often.  

Well – it doesn’t happen every day…
Most of the time it doesn’t…
And when I do curse it is usually under my breath…
Usually…
Most of the time…
So Oakland was kind of a new experience for our whole family. 

The young men sitting behind us were our professors.  
Trust me, they were not even trying to curse under their breaths.
And strangely – the more they drank, the more they cursed.
Eventually, they got so riled up, that security knocked them out of the park.
But our family had found a different place to sit by then and guess what?  We managed to sit down right in front of a new group of young male professors who continued with our colorful language lessons.  
I was so glad we didn’t fall behind
I have never been so glad to see the Kansas City Royals win a baseball game in my life.
You go Royals!
Woo Hoo!
Love Them Royals!
We drove back to San Fran….cisco – and in the last few hours of daylight, we explored Golden Gate Park.


Which would become my favorite part of the city.

I guess maybe it reminded me a little of home.  But with better pastry…


I especially loved the Japanese Tea Garden where I received this fortune.

And immediately started making big plans…

To….

To…

Wait…

I don’t have a business!

But if I did, you better believe I would be expanding it.


One by one, my family disappeared into the small Japanese garden and I was left alone with my tea and a pigeon and this moment here… 

This little tiny respite… 
This little vacation inside a vacation…  
This was my favorite place in San Francisco.

Oh! – And the Japanese Garden itself is a masterpiece.
Plus…

They have amazingly therapeutic tea there!
 It somehow gives you new strength.  
It is almost like magic tea.  
For after I drank it, I was able to smile at my kids again.  
I need to get me some more of that tea.