Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
For nearly a hundred years, from the
Gold Rush to the Great Depression, the
only way to get to San Francisco from
the north and the east was by ferry—
there were no bridges—and some
100,000 people a day poured through
this building. This grand terminal was
inspired by the craze for monumental,
proto-Roman civic buildings inspired
by Chicago's Columbian Exposition of
1893; it opened in 1898. For many
years, this building symbolized San
Francisco to the rest of the world. Then,
it was as proud as a cathedral, with
mosaic floors, ceramic and brick arches,
and skylights. It managed to limp
through the great quake of '06 by virtue
of the firemen having just enough
equipment to hose it down with Bay
water. The Golden Gate Bridge, and the
freedom it gave motorists, made the ter-
minal obsolete, and its decline was
swift. By the 1950s, this space had been
brutalized by modern renovations and
carved into office space. Some 90% of
the floor under your feet was plastered
with mastic or linoleum. For 50 years,
this 660-foot-long space, called the
Nave, was lost, but a celebrated renova-
tion project, completed in 2003 and
costing a reported $90 million, reintro-
duced it to some of its former glory.
Explore the Nave in its entirety,
including the small exhibition about
its renovation, which is located by
the left-hand exit just past Ferry
Plaza Wine Merchant and just before
Kingdom of Herbs. That's the exit I
want you to use when you're ready to
move on.
3
Justin Herman Plaza
You're now facing the city with the Ferry
Building behind you, looking straight
down Market Street as it heads south-
west. Feel free to cross the few lanes of
traffic and the streetcar tracks until you
reach the bricky park on the right-hand
corner as Market Street begins. Turn
around and check out the neo-Roman
facade of the Ferry Building, most
notably its 230-foot-tall tower, and its
22-foot-wide clock. You'll notice that,
although the tower is intended to be
seen from all the way down Market
Street, it's not aligned to face that avenue
square on, but is instead angled slightly
to follow the waterline. If you have the
time, linger here until the next half-
hour, when the bell inside rings the
Westminster Quarters.
While you wait, imagine this place
in the latter part of the 1800s. First, the
shoreline was farther inland—pretty
much wherever you see flat land, it was
then water, and the gradual buildup of
scuttled ships and landfill eventually
created the present-day coast. The
activity in those days was frenetic. San
Francisco was the most important city
in the West—Los Angeles was a noth-
ing town; Seattle, too—and in both
directions, the shore would've been
clogged with masted vessels and teem-
ing with sailors and longshoremen. The
quays were a jumble of saloons and
chandlers and off-color hotels. And in
between them, industrial railway tracks
threaded their way in and out of ware-
houses and along the waterfront.
Now put yourself into the mind of
the cataclysmic events of April 1906.
Imagine searing conflagrations pouring
out of every window of every office
building and smoke turning day into
night. An entire city was ablaze.
Thousands of people fled their homes
and dragged a ludicrously impractical
set of their best worldly possessions—
jewelry boxes, desks, full armoires—
down Market Street in the hopes of
making it to the city of Oakland and
beyond. Astonishingly, there were no
riots, no ugly scenes of pandemonium,
just dazed and determined faces; those
of us who were in Lower Manhattan on
