Fisherman's Wharf

Fishermans Wharf Fishermans Wharf in San Francisco, California is Americas best known, busiest, and close to profitable tourist attraction. And most of all, it draws the most visitors in the bay tree Area. Tourist can see world famous sea lions and the cold lonely prison house known as Alcatraz. bit rolling down in cable cars on confidential information routes, they can also enjoy a hot chou bowl filled with vacuous creamy clam chowder. Fishermans Warf lies on dock 39, where you can shop for souvenirs, watch street performers, and escort the mighty Golden Gate Bridge. Fishermans Wharf certainly delivers the childs play it promises. However, for me, its most fantastic aspect is that allthing seems so perfect¾or almost everything.

Every building, object, and decoration is sparkling clean. Take the Embarcadero street for example. Visitors driving from Pacific Bell Park to Pier 39 can non help but notice the gleaming paint on every well-kept building. Right down to their blue and exsanguinous signs of Pier 39 is the entrance to over 100 long suit shops, 10 restaurants and family attractions including Turbo Ride and the Venetian Carousel ar fresh painted and repaired several times a year. Every window, street lamp, and display is free of smudges. In fact, white-suited maintenance workers rush to strip up any litter, including droppings left by seagulls that evaporate and wonder above Pier 39. Each night, of all Pier 39s boats are hosed down and scrubbed.

The dining here is equally flawless. Restaurants are good and plentiful with a rich diversity of cuisine. The victuals here differs from any other you have ever eaten. hither no one stops chomping or drinking. approximately every table is occupied. You can clearly hear sound and squeaking sounds from forks and knifes. Tasty sourdough bread bowl filled with white creamy clam chowder, b expert, orange colored crab legs as well as shrimp cocktails serve red at every table. Dressed in spotless uniforms, the fit, attractive waiters obtain their trays at perfect angle. Everything here is strut in unison. And for dessert, Ghiradelli is the right place to be. Their homemade hot fudge sauce is what makes their sundaes famous. deuce scoops of super premium vanilla ice cream suppressed with their homemade hot fudge sauce, c hagglingned with whipped cream, chopped almonds and a whole cherry. This sundae appears in sync with perfectly play taste.

Visible from the waterfront, its beacon flashing eerily in the mist, the prison island of Alcatraz is commonly know as The Rock. This rock is no fair rock; it is one of the most arresting sights, sitting in the bay like some dark villainous fairy-tale dungeon. It sits uncaring amidst the cold winds of the bay. Up close, this fairy-tale is no fairy-tale. Its grayish dark, empty buildings transmit evidences from real notorious criminals that were locked up here during the 1960s. Thick, intense smells of redact and muddy ground surface creates a creepy atmosphere. Heavy, swirling fog pr howeverting the sunlight to peek in makes this dark dungeon even more terrifying.



Plus the strong wind blowing against the walls making hollowing sounds result set a chill down your back. Although Alcatraz seems to be daunting, it is go against of being perfect; it provides the trip that visitors will never forget.

The all-too human beings visitors, thousands of whom come to gape and marvel, bring reality into this paradise. They grumble and queasiness looking for parking, and then jam into attractions like The Turbo Ride at Pier 39 and fight their heads in to see the yelling sea lions on the deck. They dribble clam chowder on their shirts, go into other people while they are taking pictures, forebode at their crying children, and glare suspiciously if a noncitizen jostles their pocketbook.

I watched one couple dressed in I Love San Francisco T-shirts plop themselves at the end of an empty row at the Turbo Ride show, and then hiss obscenities at every one who was forced to climb over them. Of course, we visitors are not all young or beautiful either. I am a case in point, a pimpled, scrawny girlfriend who neither dresses nor carries herself very well.

At Fishermans Wharf, it occurred to me that I like imperfection. As the lights dimmed right on cue for yet some other action simulation performance, I notice a mist of dandruff on the shoulders of the woman in front of me, and I whole step fine.

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