A Penny Saved in the Costly City by the Bay

By CRAIG NAKANO

Sept. 16, 2001 12 AM PT

TIMES STAFF WRITER

SAN FRANCISCO —

The checks are in the mail. About 130 million American households have received or will receive federal tax refunds, up to $300 for individuals, $500 for single parents and $600 for couples with or without children. As the first envelopes began reaching mailboxes, we sent three Times staffers off to see what sort of vacation this windfall might buy, even though many personal finance counselors say the smartest thing to do is pay off debts before launching into any discretionary spending.

Craig Nakano and Susan Spano, traveling solo, had $300 each to work with. Christopher Reynolds and his wife had $600. All agreed to leave their requent-flier miles at home, to do without the hospitality of family or friends, and to resist the urge to stay home and spend it all on air-conditioning. Here’s how they did.

There I stood on Market Street with an empty Ziploc bag in one hand and four shiny pennies in the other. The Ziploc I’ll explain later. But the pennies--oh, the pennies.

They were the only cash I had left from a getaway in the land of $7 Ghirardelli Square ice cream sundaes, $24-a-day parking lots and $325 hotel rooms (at Ian Schrager’s newly reopened Clift Hotel, at least). Heck, even a drive across the Golden Gate Bridge costs three bucks.

With these obstacles in mind, I set out to prove to the boss that $300 was all I needed for an honest-to-goodness San Francisco weekend. No hitchhiking. No meals that could be super-sized or eaten on a stick. No hotels where the desk clerk sits behind bulletproof glass or the beds take quarters.

So far, I hadn’t done too badly: a round-trip plane ticket and two nights in respectable lodging. Meals in real restaurants, with real waiters and real metal utensils. And, most important, 48 hours’ worth of city sights. Only one dilemma remained: What to do with those final four cents?

Before I reveal where the spare change went, I ought to recount what I did with the other $299.96.

First, a cheap plane ticket. A week before my trip, I turned to the Internet site https://www.hotwire.com, which offered an LAX-to-Oakland ticket for $74. Hotwire doesn’t reveal the airline or flight times until after you purchase. But I gambled, hoping for a morning departure but figuring my Thursday-through-Saturday itinerary was flexible. I clickedto purchase and found myself booked on American Airlines, departing at 3:15 p.m. Thursday, returning Saturday afternoon. Arghh.

I couldn’t resist trying to better an already good deal, so I called American the night before my departure and found out the 10:40 a.m. flight to Oakland was only half full. Thursday morning, I woke up early, threw clothes in a suitcase, stuffed a sandwich and energy bars into a backpack and set out for the standby-passenger line at LAX.

It worked. I was in Oakland a half-day earlier than planned, munching turkey on sourdough and waiting for my ride into San Francisco. Because Bay Area Rapid Transit runs shuttles and trains from the airport to downtown, there’s no need for a rental car. That saved not only the cost of the rental but also downtown parking fees that rise as high as the Transamerica Pyramid.

Finding a good, economical hotel near a BART station was easy. A scan of Web sites showed that the best deal was at the Hotel Milano on 5th Street, booked online through an agency called San Francisco Reservations, https://www.hotelres.com, for $75 a night (plus 14% tax--but no energy surcharge).

I’d be lying if I said the Milano was the nicest $75 hotel I’ve ever stayed in. That’s because the Milano is no $75 hotel. Its 108 rooms are too nice to be called “budget,” and published rates of $199 to $299 a night bear that out.

The first floor is largely taken up by the sleek M Point bar and restaurant. My room, on the third floor of eight, was big, with two queen beds and decor far classier than any room in my home. The Milano’s best feature, however, was its location: within three blocks of Union Square shopping, the new Metreon entertainment complex, the galleries at Yerba Buena Gardens, the Zeum interactive children’s art center and the Museum of Modern Art. BART and the bus were a half-block away. Now all I needed was that little plastic bag.

My Ziploc Easy Zipper Storage Quart was an indispensable travel companion because it carried my indispensable money: $45.50 in coins and small bills. That’s how much of the $300 was left after subtracting $74 for air fare, $171 for two nights at the hotel and $9.50 for transportation to and from the airport.

Ziploc in pocket, I hopped on the No. 14 bus for a $1 ride down Mission Street, then tiptoed through the homeless up 16th Street. The neighborhood isn’t the best, but within a block or two the street denizens give way to hipsters in coffeehouses, sushi joints and a tapas bar.

My destination was the first structure built in San Francisco, Mission Dolores, or Mision San Francisco de Asis, as it originally was called, the sixth California mission established by Father Junipero Serra. The first Mass was celebrated here in 1776, five days before the adoption of the Declaration of Independence. For $3 I gained entrance to the original mission, where the same redwood logs have held up the roof since 1791.

Back at the hotel, I traded a polo shirt and khaki shorts for the requisite art museum uniform: black shirt, black jacket, black shoes, all black, all over.

Every Thursday, the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art stays open until 9 p.m., and admission (regularly $10 for adults) is half-price after 6. Because of the recent opening of “Ansel Adams at 100,” touted as the first major retrospective of the photographer’s work since his death in 1984, the line stretched around the block.

Waiting for the crowd outside to shrink, I dined at the museum’s cafe, which whips up good food for prices my budget could handle. A grilled chicken breast marinated in a citrus sauce came sandwiched between focaccia slathered with sweet caramelized onion and wisps of arugula, ith a pickle on the side. For $7 plus tax, the meal was a work of art.

Inside, the ticket clerk looked a little disturbed when I paid for my admission with dimes and quarters from a plastic bag. Performance art, she probably thought.

The Adams exhibit, which runs through Jan. 13, was a crush of noisy visitors who sucked the serenity out of the photographer’s classics, including shots of Arizona’s Monument Valley, Alaska’s Glacier Bay and Mt. McKinley and other landscapes. We huddled five deep around “Moonrise” over Hernandez, N.M., and “Oak Tree, Snow Storm,” shot in Yosemite. Most interesting were pieces from late in Adams’ career, when he created new prints from old negatives, reinterpreting his work by playing with light and shadow.

The museum’s permanent collection was just as impressive, challenging visitors to make sense of Magritte and Miro, Rothko and Rauschenberg, Matisse and Motherwell.

On one floor I bumped into Elizabeth Taylor, making an appearance in Andy Warhol’s “National Velvet,” a 1963 silkscreen based on stills from the movie. There was a bunch of Elizabeth Taylors, actually, each one painted with increasing distortion to represent the fleeting nature of fame.

Downstairs, I saw Liz’s pal Michael Jackson. Jeff Koons’ larger-than-life sculpture of the singer-turned-sideshow is one of the most popular pieces here: porcelain-white skin, garish makeup and gold band uniform that matches one worn by Bubbles, the chimpanzee in his lap. Jackson’s arms are intertwined with Bubbles’ in such a way that it’s hard to tell which limbs are human.

By Friday morning, the Ziploc felt pretty light--$29.90 light, to be exact. So I made do with an energy bar for breakfast and hopped the 14 bus again to 16th Street and an art gallery called Creativity Explored (https://www.creativityexplored.org). Finished pieces are sold in the front room, but I was more intrigued by what was in back: a studio where visitors are admitted free and encouraged to mingle with artists as they work.

That the artists are adults with developmental disabilities wasn’t presented as an excuse but as a selling point. Most visitors come expecting childlike scribbles and one-dimensional thought, Executive Director Amy Taub said, and are surprised when they see great depth of feeling expressed on canvas or in clay. Surprised enough, she said, to support the nonprofit group for the past 19 years and for annual sales of original works to exceed $75,000; more than half that money goes directly to the artists, and the sale of T-shirts and greeting cards raises thousands of dollars more.

Professional painters and sculptors from across the Bay Area serve as volunteer instructors, coaxing inspiration from their students daily. Friday morning, inspiration is what I found. About 60 people were busy at work on paintings, sculptures, collages and ceramics under the glow of skylights in a large warehouse. Taub explained that some of the artists aren’t able to speak; art is their only voice.

One regular invited me to his table and launched into a serious discussion about the meaning of art. Formal training quashes an artist’s soul, he said, adding that the inner self should be unleashed in colors and shapes stemming from an untainted head and heart. The talk got so philosophical that I should have worn black.

Down the street lies Bitterroot, which feels like a French bistro even though the decor and food have a western flavor. It was a splurge for lunch: $7.95 plus tax and tip. But the Cajun chicken sandwich and side salad were good enough that I was happy to scrimp the rest of the day.

I rode trusty bus No. 14 to the foot of California Street in the Financial District, where the next leg of my journey began: the $2 click-and-clack ride to the Cable Car Barn Museum.

Unlike the Powell Street cable car line near touristy Union Square, the California Street cars often have no wait. Sure enough, when I arrived the car was half-empty, and within two minutes our little Rice-A-Roni-mobile was making its way up Nob Hill.

The free Cable Car Barn Museum, on Mason Street three blocks from the tracks, celebrates the cars that have ridden halfway to the stars ever since Andrew S. Hallidie saw his invention pressed into service Sept. 1, 1873.

The barn is the powerhouse and repair station for the 40-car fleet. Visitors get an under-the-hood look at how motors and pulleys keep miles of steel-wrapped natural-fiber cable moving at a constant 9.5 mph underground.

From the museum, a walk down Mason and Filbert streets led to the next stop on the Cheapskate Express: Coit Tower.

The only way up the 180-foot landmark is on an elevator that costs $3.75. I felt a little cheated at first, but once at the top, I decided the fee was a small price to pay for the million-dollar view: the Golden Gate Bridge, Lombard Street, Fisherman’s Wharf, Alcatraz, Sausalito and Angel Island.

With my dollar count nearing single digits, I spent the rest of the afternoon on a free pastime: huffing and puffing up and down the city’s secret stairways. The stairways aren’t so much secret as they are underappreciated--a fun way to experience the city’s famously steep hills, some with postcard views of San Francisco Bay.

My favorite was the Filbert Street steps, which wind from Coit Tower down to Levi Plaza near the Embarcadero. The path passes wish-I-lived-here houses and little hillside bungalows that I’d call quaint, except that nothing worth seven figures ought to be called quaint.

Also worth a look is Macondray Lane, the alley Armistead Maupin used as inspiration for Barbary Lane in “Tales of the City.”

Bus No. 45 was a straight shot through North Beach and Chinatown to Mission Street, where a free transfer let me take the good old 14 bus to Embarcadero Plaza for dinner at Fuzio.

Foodies wrinkle their noses when they find out Fuzio is owned by the same company that runs the Chevy’s Mexican restaurant chain. But even local critics concede the food is surprisingly good. And despite a recent price increase, entrees are still only $7 to $9.

I ordered the caramelized mushroom fettuccine and quickly calculated that there weren’t enough coins in the Ziploc to accommodate a drink or dessert. A bit sheepish that I, the one with the $7.95-plus-tax tab, had taken up a whole table on a Friday night, I left a $2 tip and called it a night.

The events of the next morning, I’m afraid, require a confession: I cheated. A mere 29 cents remained in the Ziploc, so upon checkout from the hotel, I dipped into my wallet for the housekeeping tip and reasoned that it was an optional expense and could be excluded from the official count. The boss may ding me for it come performance evaluation time, but what’s a traveler to do?

I moved on, window shopping around Union Square and buying only a 25-cent newspaper.

With $299.96 spent, I wondered what to do with my remaining four pennies. Toss them to a street musician? Offer four strangers a penny for their thoughts? On Market Street, I saw the answer: Lotta’s Fountain.

The fountain is one of the few San Francisco landmarks to survive the 1906 earthquake and fire. Every year on April 18, at 5:12 a.m., the time the magnitude 8 shaker hit, survivors gather to remember loved ones lost. Their numbers get smaller as the decades pass on--only 10 survivors made it this year--but still they come to Market Street, joined by hundreds of onlookers.

I walked around the golden fountain and noticed that, by coincidence, it had four little basins, one for each of my pennies. I began tossing a penny into each basin for good luck--one, two, three.

With the last penny pressed between thumb and index finger, I paused for a moment, then dropped it back in the Ziploc. I brought the coin home and sent it to my boss with a note. “Here’s your headline,” I wrote.

Now, about that performance review ....

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Budget for One

Round-trip air fare, LAX to Oakland--$74.00

Hotel Milano, two nights--171.00

BART, airport transfers--9.50

Bus, cable car fares--5.00

Admission, Mission Dolores--3.00

Admission, Museum of Modern Art--5.00

Admission, Coit Tower--3.75

Dinner, Caffe Museo--7.60

Lunch, Bitterroot--10.25