Boutique by the Bay

Planning a getaway to San Francisco? You may want to plan to avoid the 200-foot green dragon, “Gum Lung,” that makes its annual assault on the city each February. (The 200 feet, incidentally, belong to 100 local Chinese-Americans who propel the dragon.) Or maybe you like dodging dragons? So go for it.

But if you do choose to visit the City by the Bay during the famed Chinese New Year’s celebration, some advice: Leave the rental car at the airport. Hundred-foot dragons play havoc with the crosstown traffic. On this Saturday night, a 10-block drive from your hotel to the restaurant Bix is no Sunday drive. But it could last till Sunday.

In fact, even if you visit in July, forget the rental car. This is a cable-car city. A BART city. A trolley city. A taxicab city. And first and foremost, this is a walking city.

There are endless ways to savor San Francisco (which is why you keep coming back). But the best way, for my money—and you will remember to bring lots of your money, won’t you?—is to plant your feet in the heart of the city and prepare to flex your Nikes.

First, you’ll need a launching pad. San Francisco’s venerable St. Francis Hotel is nice enough. Colorful murals, crystal chandeliers, rich mahogany paneling, carved ceilings and the city’s hands-down coolest doorman. President and Mrs. Reagan have slept here. So have Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip. But then, they were on the national expense accounts, weren’t they? A “deluxe room” runs upwards of $379 a night at the St. Francis. The State Suite, where queens and presidents sleep (separately), runs $2,550 a night.

Okay, so Bill Gates isn’t your brother-in-law. Try thinking boutique. So what if it does sound vaguely un-American?

San Francisco has scores of smaller, charming hotels within a dragon’s breath of Union Square—although their definitions of “boutique” vary. Some are as small as two dozen rooms. Two of the better ones, the Villa Florence and Serrano, are 182 and 236 rooms, respectively. They’re owned by the burgeoning Kimpton Hotel & Restaurant Group, which now lays claim to two-thirds of the city’s 4,500 boutique-hotel rooms.

But boutiques are about more than size. For one thing, they’re about price —an average of about $130 a night. And the words “warm” and “cozy” keep cropping up in the literature. The Serrano’s Spanish Revival lobby is warm and cozy. The nook by the fireplace is warm and cozy. The rooms are warm and cozy. (Okay, the rooms are small, but they’re handsomely appointed. Besides, if you’re spending more than one waking hour a day in your room, you shouldn’t be in San Francisco.)

There are chessboards in the lobby. Complimentary wine service from 5 to 6 p.m. Complimentary daily newspapers. And even overnight shoeshine service (right, also complimentary).

The Serrano is just two blocks from Union Square, and smack dab in the middle of San Francisco’s theater district. The Curran, the Mason Street and the Geary (where actors of the American Conservatory Theater tread the boards) all are within a block of the hotel. But while you’re saving money on your room, you might as well save on theater, too. San Francisco offers some of the best street theater in the world. You can catch it on the hoof, while you’re flexing those Nikes. Point them toward Union Square. Street theater’s free.

Here, at the east end of the square, are two serious Mira Mobile TV trailers with Iowa license plates unloading their cargo of towering light stands, in preparation for the dragon’s big Chinese New Year show. At the opposite end, the Christian Friends of Oakland are holding forth in concert and handing out religious tracts in front of banners proclaiming “Open Your Heart to Jesus” and “Give Your Life to Jesus—He Can Do a Better Job Than You Can.”

The country-western bible band and chorus surely are doing the best job they can. But alas, on this day, Jesus is not in their vocal cords. Still, the band is loud enough to send a native accordion player fleeing from his usual stand on the other side of the square. A half-hour later, he’s set up a new stand two blocks away at Sutter and Stockton.

Surrounding Union Square is some of the finest city shopping anywhere. (Somebody who likes to shop told me that.) There’s Macy’s, Bullock & Jones, Bally, Saks, Tiffany, Neiman-Marcus and Gucci. And there, in the midst of this shoppers’ mecca, two downright heretical billboards loom from atop two of the upscale stores. They’re pitching e-commerce.

One says, “Kiss the Mall Goodbye. What’s Next? Nextcard.com.” The other, featuring a buff male model in briefs, says, “Even Underwear Models Can Do It. Brodia.com. Online Shopping. No Experience Necessary.” But they’ll never kill Union Square.

Back east of the square, behind the country bible band, one of the city’s trademark cable cars clangs down the final three blocks of Powell Street to its southern terminus. That stretch is San Francisco’s answer to Tijuana’s Avenida Revolución of old—all street vendors and cheap T-shirt stores, and cheap camera stores, and cheap luggage stores and cheap jewelry stores (“Paris Jewelry—Wholesale to the Public”). There’s even a Carmen Taqueria. Wait a minute, maybe this is Tijuana.

Back up Powell, in what should be more civilized territory, some serious street theater is playing out in front of the St. Francis. Doorman Tom, a tall and regal sort, is going knees-to-nose with a taxicab, blocking its exit.

“Outta my way,” the cabbie barks.

“Why don’t you run over me?” Tom parries.

The cabbie notches it up. “Outta my way, ---hole!” he shrieks.

“Have a nice day,” Tom says as he steps out of the car’s path. “And you have a nice ride, folks,” he adds, bowing to the bemused couple in the back seat.


“A renegade cabbie,” Tom explains. “And a couple of fares who thought they were in New York. They cut in line; he shouldn’t have picked them up.” So why did doorman Tom back off? “I saw something in the cabbie’s eyes that spelled heavily medicated,” he says.

Even the doorman’s show is free. Well, his salary’s probably factored into the St. Francis room rates. But hey, what do you care? You’re staying at the Serrano.

IF YOU GO:
Southwest Airlines and Shuttle by United offer direct flights from San Diego, and fares are virtually identical. Boutique hotels account for about 15 percent of San Francisco’s 31,000 hotel rooms. The Kimpton Group represents about 2,700 of them. A “deluxe room” at the Serrano starts at $190; a “luxury suite” starts at $295. For reservations: 877-294-9709 (toll-free).

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