On Tuesday, I took one of my vacation days to obtain my E2 Visa from the Korean Consulate in San Francisco. As I hate driving in "the City," I took BART from Freemont to Powell Street, and exited at Hallidie Plaza. On Monday night (the server was down earlier), I had finally gotten through to the MUNI website to find out which bus route to take to Clay Street (where the Korean Consulate is located), and then discovered that the website was a "work-in-progress." I typed my coordinates three times, and got different routes each time; this did not inspire confidence in the MUNI system or their website, so I decided to ask directions at the Tourist Kiosk in Hallidie Plaza. An older gentleman handed me a map with rather blurry bus routes marked, and gave me reasonably clear directions, but cautioned me that the part of the city on the map that I was going to was a different scale than the rest of the "tourist" section of the map (Embassy row not being a particularly hot tourist area). I thanked the gentleman, and then went on my way.
I bought a cup of coffee on the way to the escalator. I was wearing white and light green, but by the time I got to the top of the escalator, I was wearing white and light green with interesting brown tie-dye spots. As I proceeded to the consulate, I encountered gale-force wind off the Bay, and suddenly realized why the locals wore hair clips. It does not do to dress to impress in San Francisco when one is fashionably attracted to foodstuff and wind.
I was very touched at how friendly the natives were to the tourists (I am not technically a tourist, as I know parts of the city quite well, and live only 30 miles away). A very young German couple boarded the bus, but did not have correct change, only large bills. An elderly Chines lady was sitting in the front seat, and it became clear that she did this habitually. She took out a large rool of $1.00 bills, peeled off the correct change, and proceeded to gently but firmly scold the young couple for their lack of foresight, much like a chattering grandmother would. I doubt they understood all that she said, as her English was poor and the couple did not speak English well, but her tone certainly implied that the couple was foolish and should know better. They stood there with heads bowed and feet scuffling the floor, listening quietly to their lecture. It was all well-intended, but the couple certainly had a story to tell when they returned to Germany I imagine!
I got off, and went to the Consulate. There was no one in line, so I went right up to the counter. The process went smoothly until the agent told me they only accepted cash (not on their website!); I had to leave my passport, go down the hill to the ATM, hike back up, and go back to the counter. A young lady then asked me to come out as I handed the bills to the agent, and asked me politely but firmly to sign in. I was rather embarrased, as I hadn't seen the sign-in log. I finally got everything straight, and was told to come back in 4 1/2 hours to pick up my visa.
The Presidio was a short bus ride away, so I decided to go and try to dig up some information on the Phillipine-American war. To my dismay, all the buildings were closed for renovation. The bookshop and officers club was open, however. I ate at the hippy-style cafe, browsed around, bought a proper map, then left. I began walking randomly, and found myself under Hwy. 101. I consulted my map, and saw that the Golden Gate Bridge was not far away. I looked up from my map, and mentally slapped myself in the head; the Bridge was right in front of me. I meandered along the promenade, passing a marine life sanctuary, Crissy Field, and some other buildings, all closed. The day was warm, clear, and beautiful, but I knew in the back of my head that it was not a good day to have forgotten sunscreen. As I approached Fort Point (directly under the bridge), I saw some very optimistic surfers waiting in the water on a calm Bay. Eventually, a few half-hearted waves did appear, but I wasn't sure it was worth the wait myself.
Fort Point and the bridge trail were also closed, so I began to head back. My back was to the Bay, so I was very startled when I turned around again. I am not sure what made me turn back to the water, but when I did, I almost fell into the Bay. A huge and silent carrier barge was gliding silently, but loomingly, past the bridge. On the side was marked, in large letters, "HYUNDAI." I instinctively knew that the carrier had probably come directly from South Korea; this was definately some kind of sign. I fired off camera shots madly, recognizing the artistic merit of such a photo (see above). I did not actually see it go under the bridge, only the aftermath as it eventually passed Alcatraz Island, presumably to the Port of Oakland.
I stopped at the Warming Hut for a cup of iced tea, and was told that the trail WAS open (just not to tourists was her implication), and to ignore the signs. I could catch a bus at the top of the Golden Gate Bridge. Mentally groaning at the thought of trudging two miles back to the Presidio, I decided, with some trepidation, to climb the steep trail up the cliffside. Actually, it wasn't that strenuous. I passed volunteers replanting native shrubbery (hence the "closed" signs), and found a few other "scofflaws" on the trail. There were some sort of brick doors leading directly into the hill; there were signs saying to stay clear of them, though. There was even a short tunnel under a hill that the trail passed through. I got to the bus depot (running into the ubiquitous Japanese tourists with their cameras at the lookout point), and eventually, after some confusion, caught the correct bus.
I got back to the embassy area about an hour to early, so I killed time in the marvelous "Books, Inc." I can spend hours in independent bookstores if left to my own devices. By this time, however, my feet were killing me, so I sat in Peet's Coffee until it was time.
I got back to the Consulate, signed in (ha, I remembered!), and was told to go to the waiting room. Other people soon began to accumulate, and we decided as a group, after out pick-up appointment time had well-passed, to go up to the agent again. One girl was already up there, and was turned away, so we waited another five minutes. This time, a very friendly middle-aged Korean American took the bull by the horns, and approached the agent. He spoke to him politely in Korean, and the agent rather harshly responded. The man came out of the room with a startled expression, and I asked him what the agent had said. The agent had said, "Go away!"
We all tramped back to the waiting room, and, no sooner had we gotten seated, the loudspeaker called us to pick up our visas!
On my way out, I stopped in the bathroom, rather startlingly decorated in hot pink, and beheld my reflection in the mirror. I think it would be fair to say I had better avoid crustacean-serving restaraunts for a few days. The pink decor did not help my complexion any either. I tidied up as best I could, but my longish hair was hopelessly tangled.
On my ride home, I reflected on my day, and how friendly everyone was. Random strangers greeted me on the street like old friends. Tourists asked me for directions (this always happens wherever I go; I must look like I know where I am going), and one even offered me a ride to the bus depot. I declined, being a sophisticated urban, but the offer was appreciated. I also spoke to a very friendly middle-aged couple from Ohio, and swapped stories of Midwestern winters for a few minutes. I truly appreciate a city that is so very friendly and open to tourists; it is highly unusual.
When I got home, I went immediately for the Solarcaine. I was so badly burned on one side that tiny blisters emerged on my shoulder. My skin is still smarting pretty badly after three days. My face is fading to a nice tan, but my nose is still glowing-hot. I bought sun screen the very next day, and will keep it in my car from now on.
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