Return to San Francisco
By Eric Lindberg

Embracing Tradition and Change in the City by the Bay.


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Shop owner Uncle Gee, describes the art of drinking tea to a customer at Vital Teal leaf in Chinatown.
© Eric Lindberg

“You! Come in here now! Sit down and drink some tea or I take you downstairs and work you over!” The booming voice comes from a short Asian man of indeterminate age. Pausing briefly in the doorway of a teashop in San Francisco’s Chinatown, I never suspected I was about to enter the orbit of Uncle Gee.

Wisecracking and brimming with bonhomie, he waves me into his shop. “How old you think I am?” Sensing an approaching set-up, I err on the side of flattery and guess early 60s. “Seventy-eight!” he yells at me and points to a seat at the tasting bar. “Sit! We’re going to have tea!”

Uncle Gee runs Vital Tea Leaf, a small chain of teashops around Chinatown. I’m not the only one his ebullient persona has lured in; the store is packed with tourists and locals. Glass jars of exotic teas line the walls. Two servers wield whisks, sieves, pots and tiny cups as they offer tastes of a dozen varieties at the bar.

“When hot water touches tea, it wakes it up.” Uncle Gee switches effortlessly into poetic rhapsody when describing the preparation and benefits of his fragrant infusions. I have no idea what I’m sipping but it’s unlike any tea I’ve ever tasted. Forget Earl Gray and English Breakfast. With names like Virgin Angel, Blue People, and Soaking Beauty, these delicate brews take the fine art of tea to a higher level.

San Francisco with its clanging cable cars, soaring bridges, fog-shrouded hills and briny Pacific breezes is one of those cities so beguiling that it teeters at the brink of cliché. It’s the object of desire for many travelers, and as with all great cities, one visit is never enough. For 20 years the Bay area was my home and on weekends I plowed joyfully through the quirky neighborhoods and tourist haunts in search of the good food and cultural eccentricities that thrive here. The city became my own.

Twenty years have passed since I traded the coast for Colorado and this trip is a homecoming of sorts. But like a reunion with a long-past paramour, revisiting a fondly-remembered place after decades away can be disheartening if our memories contradict the present. The first doubts surface soon after I exit the airport. In my absence someone has changed street names, moved hills, and relocated old landmarks. Or so it seems as I motor along long-forgotten routes and face a labyrinth of bypasses and one-way streets that weren’t here 20 years ago.

But getting a little lost isn’t always a bad thing. Along with the well-beaten tourist routes, I’m also here to wander and see what has changed and what remains. Even among the crowded anchors of the tourist trade such as Chinatown and Fisherman’s Wharf I’m hoping to find places like Uncle Gee’s where one can stumble happily into the essence of the city.

And so I find myself among the magicians, portrait painters, and human statues lining the sidewalks at Fisherman’s Wharf. Happy crowds gather around the performers and queue up at open-air stands for the overpriced clam chowder in sourdough bread bowls. The aroma is tantalizing but I’m not here for chowder or street buskers.

Fisherman’s Wharf is home to two classic San Francisco attractions that I never tried in my previous life here. This afternoon it’s time for both.

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One of California’s most unusual surfing spots—Fort Point at the Golden Gate Bridge.
© Eric Lindberg

Walking up the gangplank, I board one of the Red and White Fleet ships and climb the stairs to the upper deck. A boat tour of the bay may be touristy but some of the city’s best views are visible only from the water. As we pull away from the pier, the storied cityscape unfolds, an Escher-like panorama of hills covered with white buildings and climbing steeply from the waterfront. Rising above it all, Coit Tower and the Transamerica Pyramid stand tall against the skyline.

As we cruise past Alcatraz Island and approach the Golden Gate Bridge, dolphins and seals surface off the starboard bow. Although I’ve driven across it more than 200 times, motoring beneath the bridge with its massive proportions is like seeing it for the first time. We idle under the span for a few minutes and snap photos as the boat spins slowly in the chop at the fringe of the Pacific Ocean. From here west to Japan there’s nothing but 5000 miles of cold water.

A cool mist is blowing through the Golden Gate and creeping over the city by the time we tie up at the dock. In need of a warm-up, I walk a few blocks along the waterfront to that other San Francisco icon I’ve skipped in the past. Hard spirits are not my usual choice of libation, but it’s perfect weather for an Irish coffee at Buena Vista Café.

Founded in the 1890s, the Buena Vista Café is one of only a few restaurants still standing after the big earthquake of 1906. But people don’t come here for the history. They come for Irish coffee. And with up to 2000 of the hot drinks served each day, few customers leave thirsty.

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Buena Vista Café is popular with locals and tourists for its Irish coffee.
© Eric Lindberg

The Buena Vista is crowded and friendly on this drizzly Friday afternoon. At the bar I watch the bartender line up a dozen glasses, pour hot coffee into each one, and then add sugar cubes, jiggers of Irish whiskey, and a collar of whipped cream on top. He’s fast; the drinks are ready in less than a minute. I’m handed one and the rest are whisked off to patrons. After a few sips the chill is chased away by a warming glow.

My Saturday morning begins in pursuit of edibles. For any serious food lover who quivers and salivates at the mention of quality comestibles, a pilgrimage to the Marketplace inside the Ferry Building is essential. This epicurean paradise houses dozens of shops and cafes celebrating food in all forms. I stop by Frog Hollow Farm for a jar of fruit conserves from their orchards, Cowgirl Creamery for a chunk of Mt. Tam cheese, and Acme Bakery for fresh baguettes. A local points me toward Blue Bottle Coffee for what she claims is the best latte outside of Italy. She may be right; the smooth, creamy brew is infused with a rich mélange of flavors that easily outshine standard coffeehouse fare.

Another San Francisco culinary tradition that entices locals and tourists to select restaurants each weekend is the delectable Cantonese feast called dim sum. Dim sum is literally a rolling buffet of exquisite, small-dish entrees on carts wheeled past the table throughout the meal. Patrons select dishes as carts pass or wait for the next one. When I asked local dim sum devotees for restaurant recommendations, one name was mentioned repeatedly and in reverential tones. Yank Sing.

Hidden down a small side street in the financial district and popular with workers during the week, Yank Sing bustles on weekends with Chinese families and locals. As soon as I’m seated, the food carts start rattling past, each piled with small but succulent portions so tempting that I can’t say no. Golden Phoenix shrimp encased in a shrimp mouse croquette. Tender Peking duck with tangy hoisin sauce in a steamed bun. And the house specialty, Shanghai dumplings: minced Kurobuta pork, scallion, and ginger wrapped and steamed in an aromatic broth. The waiter demonstrates how to spoon the dumpling, poke a hole in it with a chopstick, and drizzle a few drops of rice vinegar sauce on top. The resulting flavor is culinary ecstasy.

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Peking Duck and Shanghai Dumplings are just two of more than 60 entrees served daily at Yank Sing dim sum restaurant.
© Eric Lindberg

Even after dozens of visits over the years spent roaming around its 1000 acres of woodlands and meadows, one place in San Francisco still calls to me. Golden Gate Park is among America’s great urban parklands and a haven for pavement-weary San Franciscans. On Sundays it gets even better when park roads are closed to cars, and the many paths and gardens of this sprawling green space are reserved for joggers, hikers, bicyclists, and picnickers. It’s here that I’ll end my San Francisco sojourn, first with something new and then with an old friend.

Using a San Francisco CityPASS ticket booklet for quick admission, I begin at the newly expanded Academy of Sciences. Ten years in the making, it features a new aquarium and tropical reef, the world’s largest all-digital planetarium, and a four-story rainforest dome. The Academy is home to nearly 40,000 animals, but in three hours I manage to see just a small fraction of them while exploring Madagascar, Galapagos, and other far-flung places. Tempting as it is to spend the afternoon here, there’s one final stop I need to make. Ten minutes away is my favorite place in the city. Or at least it was 20 years ago.

Built in 1894, the Japanese Tea Garden is five tranquil acres of ponds, paths, sculptures, and bridges. On this warm spring Saturday the rhododendrons are cloaked in hot pink blossoms and a steady stream of people crowd the walkways. A weekday would have been quieter. Retreating to the tea house overlooking the gardens, I order a pot of green tea and remember why I’m drawn to this place. Years ago I would come to relax while trying to untangle some of life’s knots. Today my musings focus on the city around me.

From the Gold Rush and earthquakes to the Summer of Love and beyond, San Francisco has adapted to constant cultural and seismic shifts. When once-bustling communities such as Chinatown and Fisherman’s Wharf evolved into tourist destinations, they became instant city icons as familiar as the thick fog that rolls though the Golden Gate many summer evenings. They’ve earned their place alongside the simpler joys such as a stroll along the waterfront or an afternoon in the park.

Much has changed over the last 20 year but I remain smitten as ever. As Uncle Gee and his tea shops remind me, this city knows a thing or two about rejuvenation and putting a new twist on an old tradition. Both have a place in the City by the Bay.

Eric Lindberg (www.ericlindberg.com) is a freelance writer and photographer based in Lakewood, Colo. He is the 2011 Travel Photographer of the Year, Society of American Travel Writers.

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