The rain is relentless and our clothing sticks to our travel weary bodies. To our right, grand galleries of outrageous pomp and finery in bronze, gold, and glass stand cheek and jowl with fast food counters, kitsch mongers, and dingy alcoves papered with promises of adventure and fantastic sights at only 39 dollars a head. Across the street and on past another row of shops is the bay and an island with an old prison converted to a tourist attraction.
That’s right, we’re on Jefferson Street in San Francisco’s waterfront, heading towards Fisherman’s Wharf – tourist hell.
As with any city, any handful of earth upon which you may find yourself: sift carefully, for their may be gems here. Gems like the Musée Mécanique at the end of Taylor Street on Fisherman’s Wharf.
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