chapter 25

San FranciscoThe next day was reserved for San Francisco. We left by 10:30—you guessed it, the scheduled time was 9—and took a heap of warm clothes along since Nizar’s smart phone predicted a temperature of 13 degrees there. Past experience had built in us a healthy respect for U.S. weather forecasts. But Murphy’s Law butted in and this time the temperature soothsayer messed it up.‘It’s going to be cool,’ Nizar had announced as we started off but it turned out to be warm the whole day and we couldn’t resist keeping Nizar warm round his ears by rubbing it in. In fact, this was the first day in all of our trip I spent outside without a sweater. It took us about twenty minutes along the rather picturesque Interstate 1-280 to reach Moffett Federal Airfield, more familiarly known as Moffett Field.‘What is that?’ I gasped, catching sight of what appeared to be a gigantic bird cage in the middle of a huge airfield. ‘What monster bird does it house?’‘Did it house, you mean,’ Nizar looked pleased at my open-mouthed astonishment. ‘The bird has flown. This is Hangar One, one of the world’s largest free-standing structures. It housed an exceptionally unique monster bird, the USS Macon.’‘USS Macon?’ I racked my brains. Hesitantly, I asked, ‘An aircraft carrier?’‘Yes.’ Nizar looked pleased. And I was relieved. The geographical faux pas of a couple of days ago still embarrassed me.‘An airship, actually,’ Nizar clarified. ‘Like Hindenburg. But with improvements.’‘Yet it crashed,’ I couldn’t help commenting. I had begun to recall some details. Nizar gave a wry smile and added more information. USS Macon, once called ‘the Queen of the Skies’, and its sister naval airship, USS Akron, were two enormous helium-filled aircraft carriers built by the U.S. Navy in the 1930s to carry Sparrowhawk fighter planes for scouting.In October 1933, a few months after a thunderstorm aided the crash of Akron, Macon shifted its base from New Jersey to Moffett Federal Airfield, then known as NAS Sunnyvale. But it wasn’t all sunny. In 1935, it met the same fate as Akron when a storm tore into it, forcing it to sink into the sea off the coast of Big Sur in California. It kept its resting place well-hidden until, in 1990, the wreckage was discovered underwater at Monterey Bay National Marine Sanctuary. But the exact location remains a well-kept secret. The twin disasters sounded the death knell for the U.S. plan for rigid airships.‘Macon must have been so HUGE,’ I exclaimed.‘More than two and a half football fields in length,’ Nizar read out from his phone. With Google having taken over the place, it was only fitting that we sought the assistance of its search engine for details.Metal structures rarely have the captivating appeal of natural wonders, but the sheer size of this one inspired reverence and, as if by common consensus, we remained silent for a while, gazing at the bare skeleton-like structure that had once sheltered and showcased a magnificent man-made machine. I don’t know what the others were thinking but my musings moved on to the vulnerability of the inventions of man, however incredible they might be, when pitted against the might of nature.My thought air balloon was pricked when Arpitha, who had been looking very contemplative, as if troubled by a deeper philosophical concern, turned to Nizar and asked, ‘Is there a restroom hereabouts?’This was nature on a different call, and once it was heeded, we motored to the Golden Gate Bridge, another superb metal structure. That drive was quite an eye-opener for we couldn’t help but notice how different the houses in San Francisco were from those in Wisconsin and other places we had been to. Where we noticed the luxury of space in the latter, San Francisco houses appeared to be drawing comfort from hugging each other. It brought to mind Malvina Reynolds’s song, ‘Little Boxes’, popularised by the American singer and social activist, Pete Seeger—little boxes that ‘all look the same’.Arpitha and I gathered from the conversation between VK and Nizar that space crunch continues to be a huge problem in San Francisco and harks back to the time of the Gold Rush, when the limited land that was available struggled to accommodate a suddenly exploding population. Since it is surrounded on three sides by water and the fourth by San Mateo County, the city cannot expand; it can only reuse its available space, and identical houses packed close together has become the norm. This has resulted in some unenviable records—San Francisco has America’s highest rents and the country’s most expensive real estate. A totally lop-sided income equality balance has only augmented its problems.But these disturbing facts were pushed aside when we sighted the Golden Gate Bridge, considered one of the wonders of the modern world by Americans and an engineering marvel by the rest of the world. This suspension bridge, the darling of photographers, that connects the city of San Francisco to Marin County, California, had been the subject of so many picture postcards sent long back by relatives in the U.S. in those good old snail mail days that I expected a long, gleaming, golden bridge. Instead, the 1.7-mile-long icon of San Francisco was clothed in undistinguished dull orange, fashionably elevated to be called ‘international orange’. I learnt later that it had been the colour of the primer when the steel arrived but the consulting architect knew a good thing when he saw one. Realising the colour would be much more visible than the red and yellow that had been originally planned, he had decided to keep it.‘Then why call it golden?’ Arpitha, equally disappointed, asked.VK knew the answer to that one. ‘Simple. That’s because the strait it spans is called the Golden Gate Strait.’Now that we had got that straight, we sat back to enjoy the drive over the bridge.‘Alcatraz! Alcatraz!’ VK shouted, pointing into the distance, as if he had sighted an old friend.‘Who?’ Arpitha looked puzzled. ‘The guy in Tintin? But isn’t that General Alcazar?’‘No, no, there. That island. Alcatraz, isn’t it, Nizar?’ VK asked. ‘Where America keeps its best and brightest and never lets them escape?’‘Yeah,’ Nizar laughed. ‘But not any longer. That’s the dreaded prison, Alcatraz. The Rock.’‘Welcome to The Rock,’ I quoted from the Sean Connery movie, and again we became collectively speechless; this time it was an uneasy silence as we took in the grim island and the impregnable buildings sitting on it that had housed America’s most notorious criminals.‘Now it’s a museum,’ Nizar broke the silence. ‘A popular tourist destination.’‘Much better than a permanent destination,’ VK commented.Our next destination, though, was the Point Bonita Lighthouse, a mere twelve-minute drive from the north side of Golden Gate Bridge. Any lighthouse visit involves a lot of huffing and puffing, mostly as you climb the steps to the top. But Point Bonita that is on the continent’s edge makes certain you don’t take even the journey to the lighthouse lightly. You have to pay with your sighs, exclamations and the occasional expletive for there is a steep and rocky half-mile trail to negotiate, and a tunnel and a suspension bridge to cross before you reach the lighthouse. And the fact that it was crowded, it being Monday, one of the days when it was open to the public for a few hours, didn’t make the trek any easier.But so what? You are treated to breathtaking sights of the bustling, unpacific Pacific, frolicsome seals and cormorants on rocks, and stunningly colourful wild flowers along the way that might take your breath permanently away if you don’t watch your step as you stumble along the edge of sheer drops.I was thrilled to glimpse Alcatraz again. The Golden Gate Bridge, viewed in its entirety, had a special allure from that distance. The architect had a point choosing orange as the colour. On one side, the city of San Francisco beckoned. The working lighthouse, built in 1855, sitting solidly on its rugged foundation, was more special for its history than for its looks, but the spectacular panoramic view of the ocean from its vicinity compensated.The climb down was invigoratingly strenuous, helping us work up a great appetite by the time we reached the car. But, alas, lunch turned into a very distant possibility for, in trying to steer clear of the heavy traffic that Nizar predicted would be on the road, we got caught in the mother of all traffic jams—one that could easily have given Bangalore’s worst a run for its money.Finally, Nizar managed the impossible and I expected him to sigh and announce, ‘Phew! Now let’s look for a suitable restaurant.’ Instead, he said, ‘Now let’s give the Nike missile site a look in,’ and vroomed us to SF-88 where we did look in, from the outside, for the site wasn’t open to the public that day. But even that was enough to send a chill of fear down our spines as we recalled the Cold War years and the kind of deadly missiles the place would have housed as defence against possible Soviet bomber attacks.Sufficiently sobered by these reflections that put paid to our appetites, we nonetheless stopped at a restaurant for a light late lunch before we settled down to enjoy the hour-long drive to Napa Valley, the home of vineyards. ‘We’re going to Domaine Carneros,’ Nizar announced.‘Superb!’ I responded. ‘What’s that?’The story goes that Napa Valley was catapulted into heady heights on 24 May 1976 when two little-known Californian wines were adjudged tastier than the more famous French wines at a blind taste testing in Paris and the event, christened ‘The Judgement of Paris’, brought instant world fame to the vineyard capital of California. One small sip for wine tasters, one giant leap for tourism. Sadly, the recent fires in California have resulted in some of these wines having an added flavour of smoke. What the expert wine tasters would make of it is anyone’s guess. Maybe award more prizes.I was totally mistaken in my belief that wineries would resemble factory buildings with vineyards nearby. So, when we stopped at what looked like an impressive chateau, I thought this was a picturesque stopover before we went to Domaine whatever. Imagine my surprise when I was told that this WAS the domain of the winery.‘Why, kings and queens should be living here,’ I exclaimed. ‘Not barrels of wine.’‘Haha, in a sense, you are right,’ Nizar conceded. ‘Domaine Carneros is modelled on an eighteenth century French castle.’Tours were closed that day, though we were told wine was available inside for tasting. But, alas, this information didn’t exactly pep us up. We were a group of non-drinkers, who needed only water to get high. What brought a sparkle to our eyes, though, was the beauty of the place as we walked around; there was so much to see and gasp over—the beautiful, beautified gardens, neat walkways lined by coiffured hedges, unique fountains and the lush vineyards nearby. For connoisseurs of wine, Carneros vineyards produce the perfect Pinot Noir and Chardonnay grapes, the key grapes in champagne and sparkling wine. Well, so I’m told. Thankfully, Domain Carneros escaped damage during the horrific 2020 California fires, but I read that one of its vineyards was burnt down.We took the Interstate 1-880 back home and reached at about 7.30 in the evening. Considering we had packed so much into one day—visits to an airfield, a bridge, a lighthouse, a Nuke site, a pseudo castle and vineyards—we weren’t tired, and surprisingly, the man who drove us everywhere and pulled us into and out of traffic jams appeared as fresh as he had been when we started in the morning.Susan and her husband came over that evening and joined us for dinner. Susan brought delicious banana cakes and that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship between the two families. Food was the catalyst. Nizar returned the container with some delicacy he had prepared along with a box filled with some pastry Shaheeda had baked. That box had to be returned, and, well, you can guess the rest.‘Hi, Arthipa!’ Susan hailed Arpitha. She just can’t get her name right—she calls her Arthipa, Apritha, Athripa, Arithpa, Apirtha, anything but Arpitha.‘Why don’t you shorten it to Arpi?’ Nizar suggested. ‘Then you can’t go wrong.’‘Brilliant idea.’ She jumped at it, and turning to Arpitha, said, ‘I’ll call you Apri in future.’