March 4, 1998

By Summer Burkes

SAN FRANCISCO has always had a reputation for being a little odd. From its Barbary Coast days, when the gold rush caused a population explosion and all manner of voodoo queens, circus freaks, and opium kings set up camp, to the longhaired freaky-people psychedelic revolution of the 1960s, the city by the bay has been a magnet for weird, creative, and forward-thinking people.

So it's no surprise that, for such a small city, we've got a large number of (intentionally or unintentionally) wonderfully strange and bizarre institutions, sights, and gathering places. Some are eternal -- historic landmarks like the Presidio Pet Cemetery or the plastic rocks and fake tropical plants that grace a hillside above Ocean Beach; some are living legends, like the Persian Aub Zam Zam bar in the Haight, where the tables are always closed and you can be ejected for ordering the wrong kind of martini. Some are relatively new to the scene, like the Casket Wholesale Center on Valencia, which needs little explanation. What follows is a list of 31 such places to gawk, pull your chin, and wave your freak flag. It's by no means a comprehensive list of all the weird spots in town, but it's a good start.

Of course, gentrification is the enemy of the strange, and some of our favorites from the past (like the Jimi Hendrix Electric Church Foundation, which featured a seven-foot-tall wax statue of the guitarist and an altar to his memory) have vanished. Others are, or soon will be, endangered species. So enjoy them now while you can -- they're part of what keeps this city alive.

Places

The windmills These two anomalies at the end of Golden Gate Park attest to San Francisco's penchant for seeming as un-typically-American as possible. They stand as wooden, ineffectual sentries facing the ocean; the Dutch Windmill to the north is intact, but the Murphy Windmill's wings -- like those of a giant fly -- have been pulled off. They weren't always so picturesque and useless; when Golden Gate Park was nothing more than a wasteland of sand dunes and void, the two windmills were constructed in 1903 and 1905 to help irrigate the park and make it the most beautiful manufactured public grounds on the planet. If you want to wander the bases of these magnificent creatures with the kids, make sure you check around first -- at times, a completely different and certainly X-rated type of irrigation goes on here. Dutch Windmill: John F. Kennedy Drive at Great Highway; Murphy Windmill: Martin Luther King Jr. Drive at Great Highway.

The Wave Organ At the end of a small peninsula behind the Palace of Fine Arts lies your best place for a profound perusal, proposal, or poetic experience. The Wave Organ was constructed by the same smart people responsible for the Exploratorium. A hodgepodge of old stones and vertical pipes that protrude from the ground, the Wave Organ used to make soothing, bubbling noises through some act of science, but now the sand has shoaled it in and it's just for looks. As far as Gothic points go, not only does the spot it's built on have a view of the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz, but it's also constructed almost entirely out of marble unearthed from a Richmond District cemetery in 1938. Past the Golden Gate and St. Francis Yacht Clubs at the end of Lyon; walk the length of the breakwater to the end.

Palace of Fine Arts One of the most stunning architectural structures in the city (if not the country), the Palace of Fine Arts was built in 1915 as part of the Pan-Pacific Exhibition, primarily to impress foreigners with our worldliness, sophistication, and ability to have "ancient" buildings on hand if we chose to. The original Palace of Fine Arts, though modeled after the great Italian ruins, was built out of stucco and chicken wire and had almost completely decayed by 1950 when it was rebuilt out of solid concrete. The revamped structure is breathtaking. Depending on the weather, the palace's imposing size, sublime design, red hues, and placid swan lake make you feel like either an unwitting participant in an idyllic perfume commercial or an ambassador on a visit to the capital of Mars. Lyon at Bay, S.F.

Defenestration Building The year-old Defenestration art project could be the live embodiment of the "Be Our Guest" musical scene in Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Thanks to artist Brian Goggin, this boarded-up abandoned building plays dance floor to all kinds of skewed chairs, armoires, beds, and tables that seem, through a complex internal support system, to be crawling and dancing at odd angles all over the surface. Around the base of the exhibit, fake carnival advertisements hawk attractions like "Madame Bureau" and "The Chairman" and exhort the onlooker to "See! Wild Desert Chairs!" The commissioned graffiti around the base of the building, as always in a big city, changes continuously. Corner of Howard and Sixth Street, S.F. www.defenestration.org.

Neptune Society's Columbarium Built in 1898, the Columbarium was originally the main attraction of the massive Odd Fellows' Cemetery. When, in 1938, San Franciscans relocated all the city's cemeteries to Colma, the Columbarium fell into disrepair; the Neptune Society rescued it in 1980. Today it stands as a magnificent, nondenominational, eco-friendly repository for cremated remains. The round, domed building itself looks like a squished Greco-Roman palace, and virtually every inch of the walls inside is covered with glass-enclosed urns. Among the mementos included with the deceased in their niches, antique watches and hankies are as common as pride flags and Elvis statues. Ornate architectural details and perfectly groomed grounds accent such sentimental inscriptions on the outer walls as "In the Midst of Life, We Are in Death" and "She Loved the Stars Too Fondly to Be Fearful of the Night." Plots are still available. 1 Lorraine at Anza, S.F. (415) 752-7892.

Musée Mécanique This free museum at the Cliff House is an ancient arcade of sorts -- most of the items on exhibit are pre-high-tech coin-operated amusement devices. Glass boxes reveal charming country vignettes, morbid guillotine murders, sleazy opium dens, and racy half-naked beauties. Have your fortune told by a scary-looking gypsy head or "See Susie Dance the Can-Can" (i.e., watch a pinhead-looking statue with movable joints haphazardly bounce around on a spring-loaded platform). The most fantastic and grotesque machine houses "Laughing Sal," a giant, redheaded, gap-toothed, lurching monster in a dress who cackles for a good five minutes when fed coins. Sal found her home here after The Man tore down Playland, the local amusement park by the sea over which she presided; now she delights in mortifying small children and giving adults the heebie-jeebies. Bring plenty of quarters. Geary at the ocean, downstairs from the Cliff House, S.F.

The Gaudí House Nestled in a neighborhood near the top of Bernal Heights is a house that honors the Catalan architect who took art nouveau to mind-blowing extremes. Artist Beth Pauther, with some help from Eugene Phillips and Jerry Shelfer, has transformed an otherwise normal edifice into a trippy, organic collection of broken mosaic and terra cotta tile. Planters protrude from the building offhandedly; the tile even bleeds down onto the sidewalk in places, giving the impression that the house is melting. 80 Bronte, S.F.

Sutro Baths and the Cave The Sutro Baths, built by local magnate and former mayor Adolph Sutro around the turn of the century, were a beautiful sight in their day -- six gargantuan indoor pools filled with ocean water, surrounded by restaurants, gardens, slides, and benches, and enclosed in a glass structure that overlooked the sea. Demolished in the '60s, they're now reduced to the concrete compartments that used to hold the water. Algae and egrets make their homes here; the picturesque ruins, surrounded by green precipices, are sort of our half-submerged version of the Roman Colosseum catacombs. Immediately to the east, the cliff is pierced by a giant cave that leads to a stunning view of Seal Rocks. Stand in the middle of the cave and convince yourself that the water barrelling through the opening beneath your feet is going to sweep you away. Then, in a fit of earthquake paranoia, run back into the daylight. North of the Cliff House, S.F.

Broken-down docks Here's a good place to pretend that you're starring in an action movie and America has just been through some sort of nuclear holocaust or bombing by someone with an evil mustache. These docks in China Basin have fallen into extreme disrepair; although they no longer serve their original purpose, they sure do look exquisitely spooky enough to cause fit-throwing should they ever be torn down. Sit on the rocks that lead down to the water, study the decaying, barnacle-covered stumps, and watch the activity on board the gargantuan freighter moored offshore. But do not, repeat, do not go down there at night; some of the rougher economically challenged China Basin residents care far more about your wallet than about your romantic midnight picnic. Take Mariposa to the end past Third Street; park beside Mission Rock.

Presidio Pet Cemetery One of the most adorably morbid spots in the city, the Presidio Pet Cemetery is a ragtag collection of lovingly constructed homages to furry creatures like Wimpy, Snafu, and Big Red Dog. The white plywood tombstones stand in rows, eerily echoic of human military graveyards. As the fog creeps in, the suicide-heavy Golden Gate looms in the foreground, and cars whiz by on the 280 directly and loudly overhead, you might be moved to contemplate the mortality of every genus and species ... and then accidentally fall over laughing at the tiny graves that house "Mr. Bird, a Canary" and "Bilbo Baggins, a White Mouse." McDowell under Doyle near Crissy Field, in the Presidio.

Fake rocks You're rounding the corner from or to the Seal Rocks to or from Ocean Beach, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the picturesque coast-and-ocean tableau. But have you ever looked out the other car window at the cliff? One minute, it's California sediment and crags; the next, it's a perfect Hawaiian Astroturf paradise, complete with obviously foreign plants and vines and symmetrical enclaves that harbor tropical flowers. It was constructed to prevent soil erosion and falling boulders, but with its glaring indifference toward local rock formations, one wonders if the fake rocks don't cause as many wrecks by baffling passing geologists as the real rocks that might have come down in the landslide they're preventing.

Junior Walk of Fame San Francisco gets its trousers in a twist over its exceedingly one-sided rivalry with disinterested Los Angeles. Why worry, with the knowledge that we've got our own Avenue of the Stars? Stretching an entire tenth of a block, lovingly crafted out of sloppy finger-writing and wet cement, and located in front of the eminent and popular City Tow, it houses the signatures and foot- and/or handprints of many minor celebrities. Try your shoe size against those of such off-center stars as Phyllis Diller, Bobcat Goldthwait, Peter Coyote, Whoopi Goldberg, and Rip Torn, and then thank the gods that the words smog alert and tanning bed don't pass hardly any of our lips, except in jest. Seventh Street between Folsom and Harrison, S.F.

Bars

Hawaii West It's a good thing that fish supposedly forget where they are every 10 seconds, because otherwise the koi crowded into Hawaii West's microscopic pseudo-tropical pond would go insane. The sometimes-food-serving bar is true neo-Hawaiian: half ordinary American watering hole, half paradise kitsch complete with trickling fountains and fake lava rock. On a recent visit, the bartender was drunker than all the customers put together, and a slightly mystical, very dirty, possibly ancient man in orange flip-flops smugly surveyed the scene from a darkened corner. We, the haoles, played pool and sipped Coronas while listening to Don Ho and Journey on the straight-outta-Oahu hotel jukebox. 729 Vallejo, S.F. (415) 362-3220.

7-11 Club Nestled in the midst of Market Street tourist shops and office buildings, the 7-11 Club's decor is a muddle of vaguely Celtic and 1960s artifacts. Elaborate coats of arms decorate the walls above the bar; a giant set of horns jauntily sports a lei. The pièce de résistance is at the back of the room, though -- a wall covered in what appear to be gigantic, crude bronze etchings of nude women running, nude women messing with their hair, and nude women shooting deer with arrows. The pale blue glittery ceiling is almost, but not quite, the exact color that best clashes with the metallic walls. Get there early, before the temps-in-the-know start to crowd the place. 711 Market, S.F. (415) 777-4455.

Noc Noc This Lower Haight bar most closely resembles the aftermath of a plane crash in Barney Rubble's living room. A wiry, television-headed sculpture beckons you into the dark, often deserted interior. Multileveled seating, craftily surreal furniture Tim Burton would take hostages for, and a slightly rancid smell all contribute to the Bedrock Beyond Thunderdome experience. Staticky television monitors inspire a sort of saucer-eyed stupor that might get in the way of conversation, and a workable aviator's control panel attached to the wall entertains the gals while they wait in line for the latrine. Beer and wine only ... no Bronto burgers. 557 Haight, S.F. (415) 861-5811.

Li Po Deep in the heart of quiet-at-night Chinatown, this grand (yet tiny) 70-year-old joint affords Ms. Pac Man and (sometimes) pro wrestling on TV to the younger set. The old-timers play dice, banging the cup against the bar so percussively it sounds like incoming fire. Ignore the jumpiness this causes. Instead, ponder the beauty of the prominently placed Buddhist shrine, the history and ultimate fate of the dilapidated, gigantic Chinese lantern over your head, or the mysteries of the Wall of Autographed Dollar Bills. If this is too much for you, peacefully retire to a cozy red vinyl booth in the back and pretend you're in a Mafia movie. 916 Grant, S.F. (415) 982-0072.

Tonga Room at the Fairmont When your friends come in from out of town, there's no better way to impress them than to take them through the magnificently ostentatious lobby of the Fairmont and downstairs to the Tonga Room. Get there early for happy hour so that you can pretend you're the only one that knows about the fantastic tropical drinks, the shipwreck-tiki decor, the lounge band that plays while floating back and forth on a shallow pool, and the famous, twice-hourly indoor rainstorm. Convince them you've got your finger on the pulse, and then spirit them away to some seedy Tenderloin bar before everyone else gets off work to crowd the $5 all-you-can-eat hors-d'oeuvre bar. Extra points for ordering without looking at the drink menu. Fairmont Hotel, California and Mason, S.F. (415) 772-5278.

Persian Aub Zam Zam My friend once made up a print ad for this bar that said, "Directions for those who don't know where my bar is: Go to hell." Bruno, the ancient proprietor and sole employee, never ran the ad, but he should have. He rules this quiet and gorgeous bar with an iron fist -- it's probably the closest you'll ever get to a real-life version of Seinfeld's Soup Nazi. You've got a 50-50 chance of being kicked out on entry for a variety of reasons, so remember: order a martini (not a vodka one, and no garnish either, so don't ask), don't cuss, don't sit at the tables (they're usually mysteriously "closed"), don't talk or laugh too loudly, and don't look him in the eye. If you're lucky, you might get to drink your small and naked cocktail next to all the other docile, nervous patrons and watch other hapless customers get ousted one by one. A truly sadomasochistic experience.

Owl Tree What do owls and drinking have to do with each other? Almost nothing, as the merry patrons at the Owl Tree will tell you, despite being surrounded by representations of the feathered creatures. Admire the extensive, glass-enclosed collection of owls of every size, shape, and material as you pay anywhere from $3.50 to $7 for a well-brand cocktail, depending on who's working. This small, dark Union Square joint used to be a locals- (and addled-tourists-) only kind of place; lately, it's a favorite haunt of swiveling hipsters in vintage wear, sleek MAC girls, and other in-crowders. When it's not packed, it's fun to gaze at those wide-eyed, loose-necked creatures of the wild, lovingly rendered in wood, ceramic, and macramé. 601 Post, S.F. (415) 776-9344.

Restaurants

La Rondalla At this not-so-hidden-now treasure in the Mission, it's Christmas and carnage all year long. First, visit the diner portion of the building, and as you have your tamale platter and the fried-things aroma soaks all the way into your skin, ponder the souvenir hunting pictures on the wall. ("Is that where my dinner came from?" you ask. No, no. We have codes here in California.) But the real fun is next door at the bar -- margaritas on tap, Christmas lights and tinsel all over the ceiling, a dusty disco ball and a faux-leather bar, and a primarily ranchera jukebox loud enough to make your teeth rattle. Sing along with the mariachis that frequent the joint, or retire for a moment to the curious Celebrity Photos and Deer Antler Room. Ay, que rico! 901 Valencia, S.F. (415) 647-7474.

Carousel There's nothing too special, really, about this diner, except that on your drive out to the ocean, from out of nowhere, a giant floating dog's head stares down at you from on high. The jovial 10-foot-high dachshund head sports a bow tie and hat bearing the initials "DD." (From 1965 until 1987 the Carousel was part of the California-wide Doggie Diner chain, an organization of rich history and continued fame. Of 26 original heads, 13 are currently known to exist, three of which comprise the Holy Trinity of the Dogminican Order, an ecclesiastical society formed under the auspices of the First Church of the Last Laugh. The church, which holds its St. Stupid's Day parade every April 1 at noon in Justin Herman Plaza, also has ties to the Cacophony Society, for which the trinity of dogheads serve as patron saints.) Inside the slightly rumpled building, they serve a mean burger and fries (and other dinerish things). It's a good place to gawk at surfers playing the video games in the corner. Perhaps the happily maniacal smirk that this literal hot-dog-on-a-stick wears is directed at the caged animals directly across the street at the San Francisco Zoo. 2750 Sloat, S.F. (415) 564-6052.

Joe's Cable Car Restaurant Some swear that Joe's Cable Car has the best burger in town. Well, it ought to -- that's all Joe serves besides fries, drinks, and two steak dishes. Not only does his menu (chili burger, country burger, pizza burger, teriyaki burger) call vegetarians to arms, he's actually got signs everywhere proclaiming that, since 1965, "Joe Grinds His Fresh Chuck Daily." Joe is almost always there to greet you, and you can observe the burger-making process from the other side of a glass wall where workers poke and prod at raw flesh with scary tools. On a rainy hangover day, nothing beats sitting in this plate-glass-windowed, neon-bathed Outer Mission restaurant and snuggling up to a California burger. Just don't look at the man with the meat hook if you're feeling queasy. 4320 Mission, S.F. (415) 334-6699.

Buca di Beppo Lord knows that as far as restaurants go, tourist joints are garish and bizarre by nature. But where else in the city besides Buca di Beppo can you dine family-style on southern Italian food while staring at a glass-encased bust of a laughing Pope in the middle of your table? From the checkered tablecloths and huge portions to the when-the-moon-hits-your-eye music, Buca di Beppo is fiercely and ostentatiously Italian. Whimsical and glamorous framed photographs (all of Italian people) cover virtually every inch of the walls. Even the bathrooms are fun: the boys' room (girls, ask for a tour) boasts peeing-related photographs, and the girls' room has enough faux-antique cosmetics to play with that you'll forget to go back to your table. 855 Howard, S.F. (415) 543-POPE.

Caribbean Zone The main part of this restaurant, even with its bright colors and tropical Twilight Zone theme, isn't so very weird. Dine on a delicious pork tenderloin sandwich and some black beans, involuntarily sway to the piped-in reggae music, throw pennies in the waterfall ponds, and observe the clever decor that makes it seem as if a plane has crashed into the restaurant. But it is a real, entire plane, and you can walk through it -- that's the creepy part. Inside the plane's dingy cabin, you can lounge and watch Jamaican movies on the television monitors where the windows should be, check out the old baggage-storage area and cockpit, and vibe yourself into thinking that people really died in there. 55 Natoma, S.F. (415) 541-9465.

Stores and storefronts

Paxton Gate This quaint little boutique serves all your twisted outdoor-decor needs. A combination gardening-accessory and entomology shop, Paxton Gate sells, among other things, weird plants that look like bugs and weird, glass-encased bugs that look like plants. The friendly staff is eager to help you find the highest-quality Japanese pruning shears or the perfect materials to pin down that South Asian moth for your Silence of the Lambs party. Best gift idea: the dead white mice that local artist and taxidermist Jeanie M. stuffs and dresses up as angels, vampires, brides, or whatever her (or your) heart desires (commissions accepted). 1204 Stevenson, S.F. (415) 255-5955.

Hello Gorgeous Well, if there's going to be a Barbra Streisand museum anywhere in this fine country, it better be in the Castro. Almost every inch of this converted house is dedicated to America's favorite drag inspiration. A giant, illuminated Barbra welcomes you upon entry; push a button for a song and dance by one of many period-costumed and cross-eyed Barbra mannequins. Upstairs, there's a portrait gallery with myriad Barbras rendered in oil. Downstairs, Hello Gorgeous sells old Barbra albums, magazines, and such tchotchkes as Barbra wine and Barbra watches. And just so she won't get too conceited, the Barbra icons have to share space with the one Judy Garland statue in the place. 549 Castro, S.F. (415) 864-2768.

The Cake Gallery The next time you need a cake for a special occasion, instead of purchasing a grocery-store "Happy Birthday So-and-So" sheet cake, go to the Cake Gallery and have your loved one's likeness airbrushed onto a sweet confection. Or have its bakers prepare two leathermen engaged in sodomy in frosting, or a scantily clad woman draped over a lowrider, or a spongy set of iced, oversize breasts. The Cake Gallery makes conventional cakes, sure, but it specializes in ribald ones. If you're at a loss, pick out an image from its sizable photo collection. Designs range from whimsically off-color (a Winnie the Pooh cake with the inscription "No, Christopher, no!") to the downright raunchy. If you want to show someone who doesn't like cake that you care, fear not -- it also sells anatomically correct lollipops, salacious greeting cards, and penis-shaped squirt guns. 290 Ninth St., S.F. (415) 861-CAKE.

Casket Wholesale Center "I don't understand why people get so creeped out! It's like a furniture store," says casket salesperson Frank Loui. Yeah, a furniture store for the dead. At the Casket Wholesale Center, you can pick out your final resting place (or daytime haunt, you naughty Goths) from a wide selection of metal and wooden coffins. Dying isn't cheap: there's particle board covered with fabric ($595), but to properly seal in remains and prevent decay (although we're not sure why) go with the top-of-the-line Fook Sau bronze casket lined with padded velvet ($6,888). Take your time choosing; the place inspires a sort of skin-crawling serenity. You won't see any children's coffins on the showroom floor, though -- Loui thinks it's too depressing. 301 Valencia, S.F. (415) 552-8766.

Botanica Yoruba Whether you're a follower of the Santeria religion or a self-conscious Mission hipster, Botanica Yoruba is the best place in the city for cheap and pretty candles. The former can also stock up on mysterious powders and materials for spells, while the latter can shop for Ven a Mi bath salts and vagina candles. It's also sort of a working church -- the sale of incense, rose water, tarot cards, and reference books is supervised by several beatific-looking Catholic statues laden with offerings. The helpful staff can tell you elaborate rituals to perform to get rid of a pesky roommate, ease your worried mind, or find a job. Regardless of your religious beliefs, the steps of the ritual are definitely comforting -- but remember the Threefold Law: any magic you do that sends out energy (good or bad) comes back to you three times over. 998 Valencia, S.F. (415) 826-4967.

Uncle Mame The ultimate toy store for adults, Uncle Mame specializes in knickknacks designed to remind you of your childhood. Besides providing Willie Wonka-style thrills, it's also a good place to find a gift for someone you don't know very well -- mouse pads emblazoned with images of Kiss and other childhood heroes, old board games like Planet of the Apes, and collectors' items from the Pee-wee Herman line make shopping easy. Also for sale: a collection of rare cereal memorabilia and an immense variety of European and American Pez products. If you're out of money and your shopping companion can't be dragged back outside, make yourself comfortable in front of the store and watch Absolutely Fabulous and South Park on the monitors in the window. 2075 Market, S.F. (415) 626-1953.

Special thanks to Anthony R. Lovett and Matt Maranian, authors of L.A. Bizarro, for inspiration, and to Dr. Weirde, author of Dr. Weirde's Weirde Tours: A Guide to Mysterious San Francisco, for filling in the historical blanks.