On Sunday evidentally the Christians conspired against our Union Square shopping spree, so instead we spent a leisurely brunch at Cafe De La Presse, the one place in the city Stephanie says you can get an honest to goodness croque-monsieur. Except on this occasion she ordered a croque-madame (grilled cheese with ham and an egg, sunny-side up on top)—that I thought was quite good.

The other night I had flipped through a travel guide in the hotel and stumbled upon a description of the Cable Car Museum which I didn’t even know existed. So we ambled through Chinatown over to Mason and Washington on the off chance that it might be open on Easter. Turns out it was. The cable cars were running, and the giant sheaves that pull the cables through the streets were spinning like a frenzy.

I kept wondering how it was that I’d never visited here before. It was so cool.

After we’d had our fill of the machine shop smell and the cables whizzing by at a continuous 9.5mph, we walked back towards the hotel to pick up the car and begin our journey home.

Except inspiration struck on the 101 just before the bridge—I wanted to take what I thought was the last exit, just cause. Unfortunately this put us heading south on CA-1. Oops. I was thinking more like taking a quick jaunt out to Fort Point. We got our bearings and made it over to the bridge just as the weather was turning (for the worst). But a cold wind, rain, and waves crashing over the road didn’t stop us from getting out to take a few pictures and watch some surfers.