San Francisco Lodging
Having a place to stay in San Francisco is also a necessity provided you don’t know a person who lives there with adequate space for guests (these housing arrangements are rare) and provided that you are not simply on a day trip (possible to do a day trip to see Beach Blanket but not as much fun as at least one night staying over). San Francisco doesn’t lack for hotels ranging from the youth hostel to the Mark Hopkins on Nob Hill. To be honest, I have never stayed in either of these properties, but I have stayed at the YMCA (no longer renting rooms, but once very clean and very cheap at $20/night) and I have stayed at much more elaborate properties both downtown in the financial district and around Union Square, plus admittedly, a night or two in less reputable South of Market locations. One thing is certain about lodging in San Francisco: it won’t be the cheapest city you have ever stayed in and the room will be small at best unless you are paying more per night than you likely pay in a monthly mortgage.
That said, this time Tim and I went a different route and rented an apartment for our 5 night stay. Aside from a rather unfortunate mirror frame made from rolled bits of random magazine pages (eco-chic I suppose) the place was perfect for our needs with a comfortable couch ensconced in the bay window, a surprisingly comfortable Tempur-Pedic mattress on the Murphy-style bed and a quite nicely appointed complete kitchen. The space was certainly more generous than your standard hotel room, the character of the location allowed us to feel more residents than guests, and the location itself, on the beginning of Sanchez Street, near Duboce in the Duboce Triangle neighborhood with easy access to the N Muni line as well as the F streetcar and all other Muni underground lines and various bus routes, was beyond ideal. The arrangements were all handled beforehand through on-line, FAX, and phone and a single simple call to the agent to meet us with the keys on arrival was all that was required. The agent gave us a comprehensive tour and explanation of the workings of the property (although we never used the enormous flat screen TV mounted on a telescoping wall mount) including wireless Internet access. We didn’t use the communal outdoor areas but they were available. The street is almost entirely residential and even on a weekend night it was incredibly quiet and peaceful. The unit was truly spotless, to the point that I even ran the sweeper once or twice because I felt guilty about some tracked in leaf debris. Right down to the so-not-hotel-thin luxuriously thick towels and linens, the management of this location had it all done perfectly.
The only trouble in paradise was the Friday arrival of Ariel, his wife (presumably but who knows how the ultra-reformed chosen people are operating these days) and 3-year old Campbell, the girl child from hell. Within literally minutes, this hellion had disconnected both the wireless Internet and the television cable, set off the smoke alarms, and raised holy hell screaming whenever her sensible parents took off leaving their demon spawn in the care of some unfortunate hired local babysitter. Ariel would be unable to accurately determine which rear stairwell doorway belonged to him, causing us to awaken one morning, after a very late night return no less, to the disconcerting sounds of someone attempting to break in to our kitchen. Mr. Less-Than-Brilliant eventually figured it out by entering through the regular front door, but not without using his usual entrance and egress method which was through the garage door which opened directly beneath us, even though he wasn’t in a car and apparently couldn’t or wouldn’t use the human door next to the car door. Ariel and company apparently are not familiar with, or simply didn’t care about, communal living with shared walls since they chose to keep Camp-hell entertained with, literally because I saw it, an under-bed storage size container of toys for a two-night stay, that included of all things a toy xylophone.
On the morning of their second day, I awoke to discover Tim on the phone with the owner of the property explaining that we would be leaving early because of the xylophone coupled with absentee parents of the screaming banshee. Those of you who remember my Egypt/Greece narrative will easily identify this child as “suffering” from “temper dysregulation disorder with dysphoria.” Regardless, both of us were decidedly dysphoric that our vacation was being ruined by irresponsible and incapable parents and a toy xylophone. Tim had already worked out a reduced rate because of a slow weekend with a motor lodge up the street which would provide less room and fewer amenities but without doubt less noise since we would only have to contend with one of the busiest streets in San Francisco but not with Camp-hell child.
To the owners’ credit, the xylophone was banned from use, the wireless internet was immediately fixed, and the freaks left the next day as originally planned. They even offered us the larger unit free of charge as an apology. We didn’t move but the gesture was appreciated in this day of “children can do no wrong and adults must lie down and suffer their every whim.”
Check out the digs we stayed in at: http://www.vrbo.com/275497