Welcome to Beyond Ordinary Guides, where we curate gorgeous imagery, locally cherished spots, and accessible stories. We hope you enjoy!
All in Stories
Have you ever biked across the Golden Gate Bridge? After a year and a half in the city, we decided it was time for us to try out this tourist staple.
As far as I could tell from google maps on my phone, we essentially wanted to take Bay Street to Lyon Street and then Pacific Avenue along the Presidio. What I couldn't see at the time under the blue line of the directions was that Lyon Street dead ended and turned into steps about halfway to Pacific Avenue.
I recently read an article in Haven Magazine that questioned whether we can look great and grow at the same time (their answer was no). I think there may be the select few who can do both, like the people who look fresh after a long red eye international flight. I am not one of them. After a long flight I have dark bags under my eyes, blotchy skin, and disheveled hair. I fail to gracefully get my overstuffed carry on baggage from the overhead bin and I yawn as I pass the flight attendants saying, "Thank you." No bueno.
Whatever it costs you to get to San Diego – five hours of driving, gas, granola bars – San Diego will give you much more back.
Why I thought it would be sunny and warm in Ireland, I have no idea. But alas, I did think that it would be bright and toasty for me on my summer vacation and therefore thought that one cotton knit cardigan would be sufficient as a jacket when combined with my rain shell. The just-above-freezing temperatures proved me wrong.
To be honest I had mixed feelings about a vacation in Ireland. Yes, everyone and their mother, father, great-uncle, and second-cousin-once-removed who has visited loves it, but that was part of the reason I didn’t know what to expect.
Cars line the street, letting you know that you are close to your destination before any buildings come into view. Gravel made from oyster shells paves the parking lot. A wood paneled beige building with smokey blue trim and a "Live to Shuck" sign in front of it greets guests as they arrive. You get the feeling you've stumbled into a hidden small town hangout, even though Hog Island is well known in the Bay area. Employees go about their work in their Carhartt jackets and thigh high waders. The place hums with steady movement.
"I'm a San Francisco resident," I say as I get out my wallet to show my ID.
"I can always spot 'em," he replies with a smile. I'm flattered. He offers me a map and off I go.
Only in Goa will you dine at a nice French restaurant on the beach with stray dogs begging at the side of your table and naked babies running around. It's hard to tell where La Plage restaurant ends and the beach begins.
The air is different here. As soon as I stepped off the plane, the cool, humid air confronted me. With it, it carried the thick smell of bonfire from that night's trash disposal.
This morning we started our Indian holiday. Like India itself, today overwhelmed me with people, color, smells, beggars, traffic, and more people. I don't believe that one could look in any direction and not have at least one person in his or hers peripheral vision. In Old Delhi, near the Red Fort, people, vendors, bikers, motor bikers and cars cover every available centimeter of ground. And this on a Sunday, when the "normal" day-to-day market was closed. The used market operates on Sundays.
