When I was 16 years old I came to San Francisco with a friend to stay with my brother and tour the city. We took the F line from downtown to the Castro. We were so enamored by the line – the interesting sights on Market Street, the mystery of where our car would be from, the charming neighborhood at the end of the line – that we rode it again the next day.

The F line runs from Fisherman’s Wharf along the Embarcadero to Market Street, and ends in the Castro. The cars are all retired street cars from around the country and the world, and you can end up on a retired car from just about anywhere. For the most part, the older, cooler cars just run along the Embarcadero and never make it up Market.

For the first time I had someone join me on the ride. My boyfriend Aaron decided the the F line was interesting enough that he would ride with me. We took the Metro to Castro station and waited for the street car to arrive. There were plenty of people waiting at the beginning of the line, and from the number of 1-day and 1-week passports being used, my guess is that most of the people were from out of town.

We got a retired car from Milan, Italy, complete with Italian signs (Vietato Fumare – no smoking) and interesting light fixtures. It was also complete with some of the most uncomfortable seats I had ever sat in.

I could spot one tourist right away (don’t get me wrong – I LOVE tourists. This city depends on them for our economy and I am thrilled that people want to see San Francisco. Please come visit us, tourists!). It was obvious when he walked up to a man standing in the back of the car and said “hey, how’s it going?”.

The man, obviously not used to strangers approaching and asking after his well-being, stared at him blankly.

“Hey,” the visitor said, “I’m just being friendly.”

“It scares me. No one talks to me. You are the first one to talk to me today.”

Aaron nudged me and whispered “are you getting all this?”  I nodded.

The out-of-towner was shocked. He said that he was visiting from Colorado, which explained the whole being-friendly-to-people-on-the-bus thing. They enjoyed good conversation from thereon out.

It turned out that the San Franciscan was on his way to 5th and Market to play Chess. I’ve seen people out there, but I never realized that it was actually a gambling haven. He was low on money and was hoping to make a few bucks playing chess. He said that summer is the best time because people come from all over the place – from Pittsburgh to Florida – and want to bet on games with him. Apparently they’re never any good, but are there for the novelty. He can always count on them for some money. He also gives chess lessons to them in exchange for a cup of coffee and a donut. The man from Colorado declined a lesson, and our chess-playing friend got off to play.

As we advanced down Market Street a noise, which sounded much like a heartbeat during a sonogram or what an alien spaceship would sound like as it was abducting you, grew louder. The young French woman sitting across from me started dancing to the beat. When it stopped, at the end of Market as we turned on to the Embarcadero, people actually started to freak out a little bit. “Why is it so quiet? Is it broken? Should we get off?” The power was shut off while we were waiting at a light. It’s actually pretty standard but it put people on edge. When the light turned green and we started to advance the noise came back and people settled down.

The car got more and more crowded as we got closer to Pier 39. This meant that there were a lot of people standing, and therefore a lot of people falling because no one could understand what the driver was saying when he said “hold on” every time we were about to leave from a stop. He meant it, and as people turned to those standing next to them to ask “what did he say?” they were interupted by a jolt as the car moved from underneath them and they were knocked back, nearly falling on those sitting around them. It is generally a good idea to hold on, no matter what kind of bus or streetcar you’re riding, no matter where in the ride you are. Buses are unpredictable and you never know when you’ll be the person who’s landed on the lap of a stranger.

We reached Pier 39 and were forced to disembark with the rest of the passengers to change cars to the one ahead of us. It didn’t have a visible sign, so I have no idea where it was from, other than comforttown.  The seats were delightful, and I sat backand enjoyed the ride for the few blocks to Fisherman’s Wharf. There I had to disembark and walk 50 feet to the stop where passengers board.

Behind the streetcar we had just offboarded was a regular bus with a sign that said “F” on the front. We got worried that we’d have to board this boring, convential bus instead of a streetcar. The appeal is not just the route – after all most of the Metro lines (lettered routes) travel between Embarcadero Station and Castro, doing it even faster. Riding the F is about the experience of riding a street car that had a previous life in another interesting city.

We were relieved when the driver of the streetcar we had just been in got back in and pulled up to let us on. Before he boarded he warned people to have their money ready, $2, before they boarded (that’s #5 on my list of public transit etiquitte). There’s a reason he asked, but no reason for people not to listen. It took over five minutes for the bus to leave because people were having such a hard time preparing their two bucks in advance. The time you reach the change box is not the time to start to sift through your purse looking for your wallett.

And speaking of puplic transit etiquitte, here are a couple more rules:

6. Move to the back. Even on the most crowded buses, there is often room in the back. Please don’t stop walking in the middle of the bus. There are people who are going to board after you, and no one wants to have to squeeze past someone standing in the middle of the isle. It causes a traffic jam and congestion all the way up to the front door. I’ve actually been on buses where the driver has had to stop at every block and not move the bus until people proceeded to the back of the bus.

7. Keep your purse out of my face. This is really directed at the girl with the leopard print backpack standing beside me on the ride back to the Castro. I was beginning to get a rash on my shoulder from the material rubbing it so hard. I pushed it away, but she just pushed back. My entire view, until she got off, was of this:

The car was full, so full that by the time we reached Pier 39 we had to skip the stop and not let anyone on.

For those of you visiting from out of town going to the pier and wanting to experience this neat line to get downtown or to the Castro, I recommend you walk West a few blocks towards Fisherman’s Wharf and catch it before it reaches the more congested stops.

As most of the tourists got off by the time we reached Union Square, some odd, more local-looking characters got on. One guy was wearing a pair of 3D glasses over his real glasses. There was a group of unsavory looking youths. I think youths have every right to look unsavory, but they played the part well. A man with a suitcase was sitting in front of them and one of them took the address slip out of the suitcase (which wasn’t filled out yet, so who knows if he will ever even notice), wrote on it, and put it back in the suitcase. I am not sure if the man with the suitcase realized what was happening, but as he got off the bus he started barking. Was he barking at them? At life? At a nearby cat? Who’s to know…