Restless Natives In San Fran

You already know I went to San Francisco two weeks ago. But did you know I actually have family there? I barely knew that... I had met the great aunt that lives there only once, when I was about a foot long. My mother, knowing that I would be back in S.F., contrived to put me in touch with the lady I had been taught to call Aunt Franny for so long that I actually though she was my actual aunt. Here's what happened.
First, when she came to pick me up, we played what I like to call the 'hotel shuffle.' That's where they ask you, "Cool, what hotel you at?" and you say "Hyatt Regency!" and they're like, "Cool, be there in ten!" and an hour later you start to think something might be amiss, and when you ask the doorman if there's another Hyatt Regency in town, he says, "Oh, yeah. Like six of 'em." So four hours and a tank of gas later, I finally met Aunt Franny and her husband Enrique.
My mother had prepared me by saying, "You'll love her. She's really short and she's a fireball." Short is accurate; she came up to my collarbone. Later in their low-ceiling San Francisco house, I felt like the Ripley's Believe It Or Not! giant. We immediately tore off on a driving tour of various missions in San Fran. Enrique is a soft-spoken gent who softly speaks only Spanish. I mean, he probably speaks English at a doctorate level, but he only speaks Spanish. So Aunt Franny, who is bi-fluent, translated my various oohs and aahs as we drove past several ornately carved buildings.
We stopped at their house for spaghetti. The road they live on carves up the hill at no less than a 50 degree angle; I actually felt as if my life was in danger just standing on it. The house itself is slanted, so that on the hill, it stands up straight. Inside are thousands of pictures painted by my late Uncle (or great uncle) Johnny, who I never had the fortune to meet. They cracked open a bottle of Merlot, and two glasses in, I was speaking Spanish pretty well. I met Enrique Jr., (who they call Enrique The Younger), who is cool enough to be slang-fluent in both languages; later, Enrique's daughter and granddaughter showed up. At this point I was almost totally soused, but I'm certain that grandaughter Maria went by at least three names, one of which sounded like Bob.
Aunt Franny took me out onto their deck to show me the view. You can't imagine this... all the things I saw in S.F. two weeks ago are laid out in grand fashion in the valley beyond their house, ending at the Bay Bridge and the horizon several miles away. She apologized for the trees being in the way, but I was still amazed, because in Louisiana, the view is the house across the street.
After another glass of wine and several impromptu Spanish lessons, we took off on another driving tour. Twin Peaks, appropriately enough, are two hills at the highest point in San Fran. It was a clear night on our way up the winding road, and so naturally when we got to the top, the fog was so thick that Enrique got a picture of me standing on it.
Next was Coit Tower, a big spire on top of yet another high vantage point in S.F. Seems this city is comprised of only high places. The tower itself was closed, but by then the fog had gone wherever fog eventually goes, and so the view was spectacular. One million lunchbox houses, cut by streets and bedecked by sodium lights, extending out as far as you can see. Made me dizzy.
My grandfather (my mother's father and Aunt Franny's brother, whom we sadly lost last year) had a Bill Cosby 'record' (it's a vinyl disc with grooves that makes sound somehow) where he sketches out the violent flaming death you can expect to recieve at the hands of Lombard Street. Well, Aunt Franny drove this thing like a pro, and promised not to tell anyone I screamed like a little girl.
Last was the Golden Gate bridge. When I had visited before, crossing the bridge had been on the list, but I ran out of time. This time we made it all the way across and back. I left my camera in the hotel room, of course I did, but it looks exactly like the postcards, only bigger. Way bigger. If you wanna see the future, look right at that thing, because something that big shouldn't be possible yet.
They dropped me off at the hotel at midnight, Enrique snoozing in the back seat and Aunt Franny still going like the Energizer Bunny. S.F. is an infinitely cool town, and I have infinitely cool family in it.