Love Letters to North Beach and Telegraph Hill

posted May 06, 2009 9:32AM

Sure, it's a tourist haven, but c'mon, this is one of SF's most iconic neighborhoods. Golden Boy Pizza, the lovely (yet at times seedy) Washington Square Park and City Lights Bookstore are all staples.

Share what you adore about where you live. Submit a “love letter” to North Beach or Telegraph Hill below for a chance to be published in the Neighborhoods section of an upcoming issue.

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Thanks for sharing this great post.

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comment posted 10:48 PM Jul. 29th

Golden Boy Pizza, the lovely (yet at times seedy) Washington Square Park and City Lights Bookstore are all staples. I was confused from the title of this post. I was trying to find out the Love letters... Still trying to find it out;-) free classifieds |job listings |adjustable beds

Nathanial posted 06:50 AM Jul. 23rd

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submit102 posted 10:56 PM Jul. 21st

I thought I was content leaving my heart in San Francisco. Amongst the hustle and bustle, the chaos, you could here it beating. In the middle of a street, in a bar, a taxi or on a cable car, there was my existence as I knew it. That special somewhere was no place particular, universal for San Francisco and the exhilaration of the city. All of that changed with the houses on the hill. At the tip of Montgomery Street, just past the bars and adjacent to the infamous restaurants of North Beach, cascading stairs lead to houses situated to the left and right of a blooming flower garden. These are the Vallejo steps, known to tourists for their breath- taking view of the Bay Bridge and city lights, otherwise known to drunks as a place to rest. Every step leads to a door with a welcoming smile behind it and every door tells a unique story about the home and people living inside. On my late night walking adventures from college, I would take these steps and know I was home, even if only for a night. This was my special place, where the pitter patter of Jack, the feline neighborhood watch could be heard, as his paws scurried across the hardwood floor while running through the open door. This was where those crazy beautiful parrots of Telegraph Hill loved to perch on the bird feeder and friends came in every color, shape and size. Thank you Vallejo Steps, Telegraph Hill and big sisters house peeking through a blooming garden. Every different walk of life has taken this stairway and it forever will be the stairway that leads me back home to my jewel.

Mel Paniagua posted 07:33 PM Jun. 11th

A Day in the Life of my Love, North Beach In the early hours, I hear the sounds of the seals in Fisherman’s Wharf as they lazily fight for space on the infamous slab of wood. Such a soothing noise, but unsettling as it reminds me that I have to wake up soon. I walk out of my apartment and coming down Greenwich to Columbus Street, I see my bold friend Coit Tower greeting me in all his length and glory. Atop of the hill he rules North Beach and it’s craziness. Down Columbus, the serenity of Washington Square consumes me as I look left and view the Chinese immigrants performing their morning stretches synchronized to the exquisite sounds of traditional music bestowing on them the fountains of youth. The ringing bells of St. Peter and Paul church ringing precisely eight times, tell me I’m late for work. However, not before imagining my baseball hero Joe Dimaggio practicing ball at the playground he learned to play. Speaking of Joe, I need to decide which Caffe has awakened my senses today. Is it “Caffe Trieste”, “Caffe Roma”, “Caffe Greco”? With coffee in hand, and cannoli in bag, I walk passed the aura of Jack Kerouac sitting in “Vesuvio’s” having a wine and contemplating life. A shocking title peeks out at me from City Lights Bookstore and I think, I really should read more. I finally get to work in the Transamerica building marking the extreme south of my neighborhood and finish my day to walk back tired and hungry. I quickly awaken as I pass some of the scrumptious Italian restaurants and their pushy, yet charming, Italian men trying to lure me in, “Bella, you look hungry!” . Do I choose “Firenze by Night”, with my favorite white haired, pony-tailed male host? "Mario’s Bohemian"? Although captivating, I settle for “Tommasos” pizza where the host seats me, and tells me I’m sitting where Coppola sat and wrote “The Godfather”. He probably says that to everyone, nevertheless, I feel special. I end my day with a drink and hurry past the bustle of Broadway street’s former topless bar “the Condor”, as I make my way through the alive Grant and Green intersection to a good spot at the “Tony Niks” bar. I share a stiff one and chat with my bartender friend. I ask him the number one San Francisco question, “why am I still single?!” “Ahhh”, he says. “You are not, you have your unconditional and dependable Italian lover, North Beach, to wake and sleep to every single day and night that gives you the nourishment of the best café and pasta and salumi to thrive too, sensitive characters to speak to, places to drink and dance your head off, and that’s better than any real man can every give you.” I finally get home, lay my head down and look forward to the next day, and the next day, and the next.

raindog posted 05:50 PM Jun. 11th

Oh North Beach, so well known and so badly misunderstood! Yes, parking can suck. And out-of-towners crowding the dime-a-dozen Italian joints frequently make me cranky. The puke, the piss, the crowds and the noise on Friday and Saturday nights get old quick, and I often roll my eyes at the weekend warriors in designer jeans with their princesses, underdressed and wobbly in too-high stilettos. But then there is the way that 7am on Grant Avenue, quiet and unpopulated, feels like a secret; how narrow streets turn into hidden staircases, lush with flowers and birdsong; or when late afternoon on a scorching day becomes a party as neighbors share bottles of wine, sweating in shorts and shirtsleeves. It is the way Amy at Sweeties makes happy hour feel like a neighborhood get-together, and the speed at which Andrew at the Film Yard will forgive a late charge. It is the way down-on-her-luck Millie is always given food and a place to sit at Spec’s even on the busiest of Saturday nights, and how Wade at Café Divine knows absolutely everyone. When our apartment caught fire last year, it was how all our neighbors - even those we didn’t know or share a language with – came out to offer a gentle word or a shot of whiskey. It is the way our unglamorous and cramped apartments, thrown together in haste following the ’06 earthquake, show off our dirty laundry but carry the sound of a woman singing scales several doors down. It is, despite the annoyance of pushing through Broadway’s gauntlet or skirting tourists hunched over tiny city maps, that my neighborhood is a village, a small town oasis, a “Little City” beating inside the heart of a big city, which makes me fall in love with you all over again, everyday.

Elizabeth Linha... posted 03:21 PM Jun. 11th

A few weeks ago, I bid my farewell. But, oh North Beach, how you've treated me well. No parking to be found and too many restaurants to mention, North Beach was my home for two years in succession. From O'Riley's, to Mojito, to Grant and Green just for fun, on a Tuesday or Thursday, a normal progression. We danced at Maggie's, games of flip cup we did play; let's not forget it all started at Columbus Cafe! A secret basement bar, a stolen handle or two, Pyramid Apricot Heff on tap, I will sure miss you. Fuzzy-headed breakfasts were eaten at Curly's and Mo's -- why there's no Larry's, nobody knows. Wa Sq. Park with mimosas in hand, many a Sunday Fun-day was happily planned. The nights they all tumble into one giddy mess, a couple of times I forgot my address! But no need to fear, I made it home each night - lucky for me, the North Star shines bright.

breezy27 posted 01:56 PM Jun. 2nd