San Francisco, Day 4

(Confused? Start with San Francisco, Day 1.)

Here I am, on my way to prison. Alone.

Seems it's not as easy to get in as I thought. You have to make reservations. In advance. And if you're "lucky" enough to get a spot, you have to pay good money for it.

Not that you're fooled for a minute. ;) The lead-up to our trip was crazy-busy so I had not a moment to research the city in advance. En route on Day 1, I looked up Alcatraz to discover the only tickets left were for Day 4 (when Josh would be working) and were for a combo with Angel Island (where?). I bought one and hoped for the best.

ALCATRAZ
The ferry ride over was quick and beautiful (see photo top left). The destination, not so much. Alcatraz Island sits right in the Golden Gate corridor, where the fog rolls in and lowers the temps 10-20 degrees. Appropriate to the site, but for me, that was not helpful.

Alcatraz, up close, including the prison, lighthouse, and homes for guards and their families (what!?)

the showers

If you know me at all, you know I am ridiculously sensitive to violence - especially serial, premeditated, the kind that reveals man at his very worst. I don't even like most crime dramas unless they're formulaic and elegant without a hint of reality (think Poirot). I had hoped age would make it easier to bear, but motherhood has made it much worse.

The only outdoor rec area for
well-behaved prisoners

Even so, I expected Alcatraz to be dramatic and fascinating in a historic, almost gothic sense. Like touring an old castle, dungeons and all. Bringing out the rubber-necking gene we're all supposed to have hidden somewhere - the one that makes humans fascinated by the appalling. This place had  atmosphere to spare, like a movie set designed for greatest effect. And the tour was excellent - well organized, full of stories.

The kitchen, where every knife counted

It was all too effective. It  made me feel sick. It was a prison full of lost and scary men -- sons of mothers who saw their worst fears realized. And with no stories of redemption, of hope at the end.

a standard cell

Of course I believe there was hope for any of them, but it was not present on this tour, and the despair this place represented just made me glad to leave.

A sign at the end said the prison was closed when public opinion shifted from confinement to rehabilitation. And looking back now, maybe that's the real sign of hope I was looking for - the recognition that these men needed help, not just punishment.

ANGEL ISLAND

Someone with a sense of humor (or sensitive like me) designed the tour I bought, because our next stop was Angel Island, a state park with sunny skies, blue water, and undeveloped nature. It was the perfect balm.

The island was used by the military for a century to quarantine soldiers arriving from the Pacific and even to house a missile silo. Then in the 1960s some philanthropists bought it to preserve as a park right in the middle of the bay. It was really lovely, and I could've spent more time there hiking or wading on the beach.

Our next house ;)

Doha, Qatar

We closed out our trip that night at a dinner with some locals, where I tried not to sound like the science ignoramus that I am.

The next morning, Josh flew around the world (to Qatar) and 120-degree heat, while I flew home to my little minions (shirts courtesy of the tourist shops on Fisherman's Wharf). I got the better end of THAT deal!