Moving to San Francisco: Part 1

November 20, 2011 at 12:07 am | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Today Blake and I packed up our stuff from the corporate housing in San Bruno and drove fifteen minutes to San Francisco. (We rented a little cottage here for ten days until our apartment in Foster City is ready.) It’s actually been a pretty eventful day.

For the last 90 minutes we’ve been listening to something we haven’t heard in a long time: the sound of rain on the roof. You’d think we’d have encountered that frequently in Seattle, but we were on the second floor of a five-story building — well insulated from charming rainy roof sounds. The rare hard rain would occasionally pitter-pat against our window, but not that frequently. I guess the last time we heard this was in our house in Austin. It’s cozy.

Adding to the coze is the intermittent gentle bonking of the south-facing window. Every time the wind blows, it bonks around a little in its frame and I think, “Hm? What’s that?” Then an instant later I remember it’s the wind outside and we’re warm in here, and I feel even cozier. I’m sure I’ll get used to it in an hour or two — it’s not unpleasant.

Pico and Blake in the San Bruno apartment

Anyhow, here we are after an exhausting day. We started out at the crack of 8 a.m., which is pretty early for us, and began loading the car and doing some last-minute cleaning. (We’d loaded as much as possible last night, but there was still quite a collection of bags and stuff to go this morning.) When we moved in last month there was a fantastic large orange cart — big, like the ones at Home Depot — which made our move-in process take about 30 minutes tops. Maybe two trips max. We had to take an elevator from the parking garage to our floor, so the cart was invaluable.

But yesterday when I went to retrieve the cart to load some stuff, I couldn’t find it. I walked all around the garage, looked high and low, but it was nowhere to be found — or any of the four others which are often sitting there when I come home with a trunk full of groceries. Then, just as I was about to give up, I spied one cart sitting forlornly in a dusty corner. It was pretty sad — dirty, small, in cosmetic disrepair, and just altogether not very good. But it had wheels that worked, and that was good enough for me. So the cart and I rolled back towards the elevator.

Just as I was about to press the button, however, an apartment employee stopped me with some bad news: the carts had all apparently been stolen from nearby stores and were being returned. And the ones that weren’t stolen or whose sources were unknown — like my poor little cart I’d found — well, they were being thrown away. After a little discussion it became apparent that the carts were mostly being removed because people bonked them into walls and made little marks, which seemed like a pretty crappy reason. As Blake pointed out, they could just buy two carts with corner guards and they’d have happy residents and clean walls.

Nano is cozy.

But no, this guy really wanted me to leave the cart so he could throw it away! I told him we were leaving the next morning, and after much effort I convinced him to delay its demise for 24 more hours. It was pretty irritating in the first place, because that apartment would suck without a way to get stuff upstairs, but c’est la vie. At least we won’t be living there anymore.

But anyway, the whole point of this side story is that it took us nearly three hours to load the car and get ready to go — even though we had only one carload of stuff. The cart was like a long narrow trapezoid, but it was smaller than a regular grocery cart. I couldn’t even fit a banker’s box in there because the cart was so narrow! So we took stuff down, trip after trip, waiting for the elevator twice per trip, and it took forever. Each trip was easy because the cart sure wasn’t heavy and there was little stuff to move each time, but it just sort of dragged on and on.

Once we got everything packed, we had a lot of time to kill. Apartment checkout was 11 a.m., but our place in San Francisco wasn’t available til 3. So we had two cars full of worldly possessions, two people, two dogs, and a bag or two of perishable groceries — with no place to go.

Except we kind of had a place to go because we had known this was going to happen. So we dropped off Blake’s car at a safe shopping center and then headed over the Santa Cruz mountains to the charming town of Pacifica. It’s pretty quaint and very beautiful and right on the Pacific, so we mostly just walked around with the dogs and soaked up the sunny beachy views. Here are some nice shots of Pacifica, and the story continues (briefly) afterwards:

As we came over the Santa Cruz mountains, this view of Pacifica's Rockaway Beach opened up in front of us. It's hard to tell from this photo, but the waves crashing on the beach were huge! Nothing like the Atlantic waves I'm used to.

The beach in Pacifica looking southeastish

Looking northwestish

A nice guy took this photo of us on the rocks at Pacifica. We mostly stayed off the sand because of the dogs -- we didn't need eight dirty paws to clean before putting them back in the car.

A little trail in Pacifica. This place is so beautiful!

After that we headed south on highway 1 to Half Moon Bay, and I think I can wholeheartedly describe the drive between the two cities as “stunning.” Simply one of the most incredible stretches of road I have ever seen — amazing ocean views and trees and land and surf and surfers and boats. It was amazing and beautiful, and everybody who comes to visit us will definitely get a trip there. Northern California is really something.

After a few hours of that, we headed back to San Bruno to pick up Blake’s car and continued north to San Francisco. And that seems like a good place to stop for now. To be continued in part 2!

The entrance to the cottage is down the stairs to the right. Doesn't it look charming?

Create a free website or blog at
Entries and comments feeds.