It has been many a year since I last hiked in Muir Woods, that stunning national park just over the Golden Gate Bridge. This morning Alex and I spent a couple of hours walking along manicured paths and taking in the redwoods. I had forgotten how much I love the smell of eucalyptus trees. I also forgot how wildflowers perfume the air in California. The weather was perfect: low seventies with little humidity. One could not ask for a better day.
Later we drove to Sausalito for lunch. Alex recommended Fish, a casual eatery overlooking the marina. Alex had a sandwich with crab rolls; I had a crab louis salad, a dish I always ordered when I visited SF in my youth. Both were excellent.
Later we hiked into town, where I was sorry to see that the once chic shops have been replaced by tacky tourist joints. Unfortunately, the Fisherman's Wharf syndrome has spilled over to other parts of the Bay area. Around 3.00, we found a bar where we could watch Big Brown run the Belmont. I knew immediately that something was wrong: BB's gait looked nothing like his customarily easy, loping gallop, and I'm happy his jockey pulled him up, perhaps preventing a tragedy like the one that doomed poor Eight Belles. Big Brown didn't win the Triple Crown--but he's still alive.
Tonight we're seeing John Ford's wonderfully strange Jacobean play, 'Tis Pity She's a Whore at American Conservatory Theatre. I haven't been to ACT for years--I used to go regularly with Hank and Ruth--and I'm curious to see how this classic repertory company has fared. Aside from ACT and Berkeley Rep, there's little serious theatre in San Francisco. It's telling that Beach Blanket Babylon, now in its 34th year, has outlasted every other form of drama.