It was a clear and sunny day over the San Francisco Bay as we descended over its waters. We landed at San Francisco International a little early and I was more than eager to get on my way. I rode the AirTrain to the Garage G stop, home of the airport’s BART Station. I purchased a ten dollar pass (it’s about $4.50 each way to the city) and waited for the train. When it arrived, I noticed how long, clean and modern it was. In a second, I was on my way.

The train ran quickly under the streets of South San Francisco. Inevitably, my thoughts went to, "What would happen if 'the Big One' were to strike just now?" But, needless to say, that didn’t happen so I just relaxed knowing I was at the very beginning of a busy day.

I had read online to purchase a Muni (San Francisco Municipal Railway) Day Pass at any of the airport's information centers, but none were staffed. So I figured that I would purchase one downtown. At nine dollars, they were more expensive than others I had purchased, but still a pretty good bargain for the trips I was planning.

I got off the BART train at the Embarcadero Station downtown. I ascended into the sun surrounded by the skyscrapers of the city’s Financial District. It was a busy place, but I had no idea where to purchase a Day Pass. A Muni street car driver told me that I could purchase one from a cable car driver. Luckily, I was right at the beginning of the California Street cable line. When a car arrived, it seemed none of the three drivers wanted to be bothered by me, but eventually I dished out the nine dollars and received my pass.

I started walking to the northeast toward the Embarcadero where I would take the F Street Car line to the Fisherman’s Wharf area. But as I tried to cross the busy thoroughfare, police officers were pushing us back toward Market. The entire intersection was sealed off with police tape. Already, a road block. Trying to think quickly, I pulled out a map to see what I could do.

I walked back east to Drumm Street where I waited for any northbound bus to pass. After just a few minutes, the No. 1 California bus came by. I took a deep breath and boarded, hoping that it would take me where I wanted to go.

The buses were clean and the drivers very skillful; I could imagine trying to drive a car through the crowded, narrow streets. These drivers navigated in these long buses like it was nothing. They had my admiration.

The local patrons were very helpful as well. I asked a lady sitting next to me if the bus was going anywhere near the wharf. She told me no, but that if I got off at Stockton and took a northbound bus, that should get me to where I was going.

A block from Stockton, my companion got off. I saw that we were in Chinatown, so I got off as well. I walked north on Grant Avenue through one of the larger and more vibrant Chinatown areas in the country. I was surrounded by people from all over the world. The colors were happy and the architecture classic. And the smell of the food- indescribable.

I walked a block east to Stockton planning to walk to the wharf. But it still looked a ways off, so I caught a northbound bus, the No. 30, and hoped it would get me where I wanted to go. Alas, it did not. It turned to the northwest on Columbus, but I just rode anyway. I looked and saw that the wharf was getting closer, so I finally disembarked on Powell, location of one of the city’s cable car lines. Thankfully, after just a five or six block walk, I was at the wharf.

I found the Fisherman’s Wharf to be a big disappointment and an even bigger headache. If you’re into larger Midwestern tourists in Simpson’s t-shirts taking pictures of their families in front of one of the many business signs made out of life saver rings, this is your destination. But if you avoid kitsch like a disease, watch out for this place.

But I wasn’t there for kitsch. I wanted to maybe take a cruise to Alcatraz and watch the sea lions at Pier 39. Unfortunately, the Alcatraz tours were sold out for the day, so there went that idea. Then I waded through the crowds to see the sea lions. They were loud, stinky, and on top of each other. The sea lions were, too. The rest of the pier had been turned into a tacky fun park of chain souvenir shops and overpriced food vendors. Fisherman’s Wharf had lost all of the charm that had initially made it famous.

After a rather long wait with many exhausted tourists, I boarded an F Line street car back toward the Embarcadero Station. Wanting to get more bay views and skyline shots, I disembarked near Pier 9 and walked along the Embarcadero. I discovered Pier 7 to be quite a nice spot, still enjoyed by locals and locals alone. There were some incredible views of the skyscrapers of the Financial District from there.

I continued walking south on the Embarcadero until I reached the Financial District. There was the station where I had started, and what is the start of the least well known cable car line- The California Line. The cable car was sparsely filled as we departed from the start point and up a steep hill toward Powell Street.

Riding the cable cars was quite an experience. Going up the hill was kind of like being pulled upward on a roller coaster. People just jumped on and off into traffic. It was great, until at Powell Street, I was dodging cars myself.

At Powell, I waited for a car on that line to take me back down to a Muni station on Market Street. But I noticed that these cars were filled, standing room only, with those same tourists I thought I had lost at the wharf. So I decided to walk down the hill myself.

It seems just as hard walking down the steep grade as it is to walk up. I was just waiting for a knee to give out and for me to fall and roll to my death. Luckily, I kept my balance and crossed an upscale shopping district at Union Square. More crowds. I finally found the Powell Street at Market Muni Station and boarded the next train (a K, I think) and made my way toward The Castro.

I ascended at the Castro Station at Harvey Milk Plaza right on Castro Street. One of the first things I noticed was the famous Castro Theater. Then I noticed the colors. Then the people. There were no inhibitions here. People were not afraid to hold the one they loved. They were happy, free and proud. The Castro belonged to them.

I walked all the way down the Castro Street retail district and back, finally noticing the large rainbow flag flying over the neighborhood. I walked back toward Market Street where there were more distinctive shops and people. I stopped and looked around myself in awe. I was standing in a gay mecca.

I read on planetout.com to take the No. 37 bus to the top of the Twin Peaks to get great views of the city. I did just that and rode with the locals as we ascended the steep mountain.

I got off at the first stop on Portola Drive where there was a lookout to the city below. There was the skyline, the bay and the mountains. San Francisco is as mountainous as it is dense, and the city’s streets and buildings just seem to roll with this terrain. It is truly impressive indeed.

What was also impressive was the ride back down the mountain on the No. 37 bus. The street was narrower, windier and steeper than any downtown, but the driver navigated them safely and with ease. I was the only one on the bus all the way back down to the Castro Station.

The sun was getting lower in the sky, so I decided to make my way toward Ocean Beach for the sunset. From the Castro Station I took the M Line to the Van Ness transfer point and took the N Line toward Ocean Beach. It was rush hour so the train was pretty packed, but I don’t mind standing.

The line ran above ground most of the way, but San Francisco’s light rail system seems to get it right. The trains don’t stop at big, elaborate, expensive stations miles apart, but at many stops, just like a bus, along the street. Although much more slow going, this also makes the train much more convenient.

Finally, with many empty seats around me, we reached the end of the N Line at Ocean Beach. Along La Playa was the heart of the neighborhood, with efficiencies lining the avenue along with beach stores and coffee shops popular with the locals. One of the more popular ones was Java Beach, located just steps from the Pacific Ocean.

A quick walk across the busy Great Highway and I was on the sandy dunes overlooking the cold and windy shores. The water was shimmering with the glow of a sinking sun. Joggers and walkers paced across the ravaged sandy shores as large waves pummeled the land. It was quiet. It was relaxing. And as I watched the sun set over the Pacific Ocean for the first time in years, it was unforgettable.

I backtracked on the N Line back toward the Castro to see the neighborhood under the lights of the evening. The Castro seemed a little different, more alive, even, as if waiting for a huge party to start. There was neon glowing from the Castro Theater. There were streaming rainbow lights all about. And clubs such as Daddy’s with their open doors let their thumping, techno music bleed into the street. I hated to leave.

Finally, I pulled myself away and descended into the Castro Station where I boarded the K Line train back to the Balboa Park Station, where I would transfer to the BART Blue Line back to the airport. Everywhere and all around me, as the sky became darker the city became brighter. Life in San Francisco was just beginning.

It was a quiet and relaxing ride back to SFO, where I decided to take a 9:55 pm flight instead of the later one that I had planned. As our plane rose over the bay, there, just to my left, was the city. It looked like a blanket of lights spread over a very jagged bed. San Francisco impressed me to the very end.