Mark Sharted at Fisherman's Wharf on the 4th of July
As you may come to realize, searching for restrooms plays a dominant activity in the Travels of She and He.
Jess has Celiac Disease - a severe gluten allergy - which adds an extra bit of adventure to our escapades. For her peace of mind, she likes to know where the nearest bathroom is at all times.
And - as a younger man - Mark must have sold his soul to the devil so that he could travel around the world worry-free of any gastrointestinal issues. Because at this point in Mark’s life, there is some karmic reckoning going on.
With those TMI details, this particular story relates to our first 4th of July in San Francisco...and Mark sharted in his pants.
The 4th of July is my favorite holiday, because my family tries to spend it together. My grandfather was the first to organize annual family / neighborhood gatherings to eat, drink and be with those he loved. Since his passing, we have tried our best to continue his tradition by eating tons of taco dip, doing keg stands, and blowing sh*t up in the name of Red, White, and Blue!
Finding a spot to watch the fireworks was a major priority for Jessica since she wasn’t able to be with her family that year. Having said that, we had only been living in San Francisco a few days and didn’t know what to do, where to go, etc.
To resolve this issue, we deployed a foolproof strategy that we had used in many similar situations before: We asked a bartender. This has the added benefit of being able to drink beer!
After some liquid investigation, we learned the best place in San Francisco to spend the 4th of July was Fisherman’s Wharf and - specifically - Ghirardelli Square. A large firework display is launched from one of the piers while a band plays Americana tunes.
Armed with this knowledge, we made a plan to celebrate the 4th of July like a local by - ironically - going to the most touristy part of the city. Seemed legit.
We left our North Beach flat en route to Fisherman’s Wharf, zig-zagging the streets to cool boutiques, classic bars, and fun cafes. Since we were still getting to know our new neighborhood, this experience proved to be a blast! We found some wonderful spots, befriended some locals, and were quickly falling in love with the area. Our holiday was perfect...until it wasn’t.
In search for quick food, we stumbled into a Mexican dive. Given Jessica’s allergy to gluten, Mexican is a good go-to cuisine. Save a few dishes, Jess can usually eat worry free, and we both leave with full bellies!
Although our Mexican-food strategy has worked in countless countries (well, besides one time in Thailand), we unwittingly committed a cardinal sin in North Beach: We ate cheap Mexican (the food tasted good at the time!).
There are great restaurants in North Beach, including higher-end Mexican joints, like Don Pisto’s, which are fantastic. However, no one intentionally travels to North Beach in search of a burrito or enchilada. It just doesn’t happen...except to tourists...and new, hungry residents.
Following our meal, we continued down Columbus Avenue and arrived at Fisherman’s Wharf. We watched the sea lions bark at each other near Pier 39 and enjoyed the views of both Alcatraz and Golden Gate Bridge. For a couple from the Midwest, this was an awe-inspiring experience.
With time inching along, the crowds became thick. By dusk, we hadn’t exactly logged miles of walking, but the walking we were doing was bottlenecked. Hordes of people were packing the area, vying for the best spot to watch fireworks and listen to music.
Fortunately, I am a comparatively tall person, so crowds don’t bother me too much. I can usually peer over the top of bobbing heads to see the flow of the masses. I on the other hand am perfect armpit height. My crowd experience is rather miserable: lots of bad smells, constantly aware of swinging elbows near my head and not much ability to see beyond what is immediately in front of me. Needless to say, Jess is not a big fan of large crowds. Hard to blame her.
So, in these types of instances where the crowds are too much, our exit strategy is to find a bar or restaurant to chill out in for a bit. I don’t mind “waiting and seeing” at a spot where cold drinks are flowing and where a bathroom is in easy access. With that in mind and with t-minus two hours to go before the fireworks started, we popped into Jack’s Cannery for a few drinks.
As far as Fisherman’s Wharf bars go, Jack’s is pretty solid. They have a great beer list, a comfortable ambiance (aka dive bar), and it’s is centrally located between Pier 39 and Ghirardelli Square. It’s a good stopping point for day tourists walking between the two prominent locations. They also have good live music on special occasions - like the 4th of July - which is also always a draw for us.
By this point in the evening though, my North Beach Mexican had turned my belly into a cement mixer. As any traveler knows, there’s a certain point when your belly stops digesting and simply starts churning. It’s these moments when the first drops of sweat start to form, and the first sense of “fight and flight” become apparent. For once, I was glad it wasn’t me in the situation.
Few spots around Fisherman’s Wharf and Ghirardelli have the “toilet infrastructure” to accommodate the large throngs of people they cater to on days like the 4th of July. Bathroom lines are brutally slow and bathroom conditions start to rival third-world countries. Combining these realities with “North Beach Mexican” is a Molotov cocktail waiting to go off.
Waiting. Sweating. Mentally negotiating with my stomach. Doom.
Now, I won’t get into the messy details of what happened next. That’s my shame to carry. But I do need to get something off my chest.
To the bar staff at Jack’s Cannery on the 4th of July many, many years ago: I’m sorry. (shudder)
So - yeah - freeballing back to the bar, we departed for the lawn by Ghirardelli. This is Jessica’s favorite holiday, and Mark’s sharting was not going to ruin her plans. Instead, Mother Nature would.
As it turns out, San Francisco has a lot of fog, and Karl the Fog was out in force that year! Since fireworks sail much higher than low-lying fog, we couldn’t actually see their explosions. Instead, we just saw neon hues of the rockets highlighting the thick clouds below. Not ideal for Jess and her pyromaniac obsessions!
On top of the fog, it was freezing. It’s true - San Francisco is COLD in the summer, and the summer gear we were wearing did not cut it. We quickly realized why everyone purchases those really ugly hoodies around Fisherman’s Wharf.
For all the challenges of the night, our first Fourth of July in San Francisco will always be a memorable one. Embarrassment and humiliation aside, I certainly won't forget my first Fourth of July in San Francisco any time soon. And - for me - it was a great way for us to make the most of a family holiday.