Sometimes the best made plans are laid to waste and you just gotta be spontaneous, think fast on your feet, and go with the flow.  Such was the case last weekend, when we were unable to make it to our destination for dinner and fireworks on the Fourth of July, which I had arranged for months in advance, ’cause I am that kind of girl.

As it turned out, the SFPD had other plans.  For some reason they felt the need to close Embarcadero to all citizen traffic, causing us to detour far and away from our destination, with no recourse.

We pleaded with the unsympathetic police officers to allow us to make the right turn that they were blocking with their own persons, so we could drive the mere half block to our pre-reserved parking spots.  What would be the harm in that?

Alas, they would have none of it.  The parking structure loomed a stones toss away, tempting us to just floor it, but we resisted.  Fine, upstanding citizens that we are.  So, along with thousands of other poor dopes, we inched along the detour ever so slowly, hoping to find a parking space - any parking space - to no avail, as our holiday plans dimished.

As for our reservations, the restaurant confirmed that they would hold our table all night, and wished us luck with parking.  We needed more than luck. What we needed was a helicopter.  Failing that, we putsed along in mind numbing bumper- to-bumper traffic over the course of two hours before finally gave up, exasperated and quite hungry.  The fireworks hadn’t started yet, be we were most certainly done.

Tony does not do hungry well, just so you know.  He was grumbling something about about turning around and driving home, but traffic was at a standstill in every direction and that just sounded like a bad idea.  Meanwhile, I could sense Tony’s inner grouch rising to the surface, and wanted to avoid dealing with that beast at all costs.  So, what to do?

As we eeked along Van Ness, I recognized the familiar Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse sign we seem to pass just about every time we are in the city approaching on the right.  Neither of us had eaten at a Ruth’s Chris before, but it had a good reputation and Tony had always wanted to try it, so I grabbed my phone and called.  They confirmed thay had a table ready at that moment, and in the next instant we pulled over and into the valet parking spot.  Seconds later, we were out of traffic and seated - with glasses of Prosecco on the way.

Phew!  All was well in the world.  Except for the fact that the ride home promised to take forever, and neither of us could bear the thought of it.

Fortunately, earlier that morning I had read a blurb about a unique and affordable hotel on Bush Street near Chinatown called Hotel des Arts.  So, while waiting for our drinks to arrive at Ruth’s Chris, we called the Hotel des Arts and nabbed their last suite for $130.00.  And, just lke that, we were all set.

A wedge salad, a couple of beautiful, butter-saturated cuts of beef, sides of potatoes au gratin and asparagus, a lovely bottle of wine, and a rich, chocolatey dessert later, and things were looking up.  Our previous plans and subsequent traffic nightmare a distant memory.  Crisis averted.

After dinner, we made a quick stop at Walgreens for a few overnight essentials, and made off for the hotel.

The neighborhood where the hotel was located - The French Quarter - was new to us, and it seemed quaint with restaurants and bars located on alleys, the way they have them in Europe.   There was also an abundance of Acadamy of the Arts buildings in the vicinity.

Judging by the looks of the hotel, which is absolutely covered in art, the local artists are getting plenty of work.  Our room was painted by Chor Boogie and Maya Hayuk.  As you can see from the photos, it was a total psychedelic trip.  All that was missing was an ounce of magic mushrooms, and about a dozen deadheads.

The place was groovy enough, but it was a bit intense for a peaceful night’s sleep, what with the neon red devil’s tongues lunging up the walls, a shamanistic hot tub floating over our heads, pulses of electricity jutting out of towers on either side of us converging overhead, and a giant mountain of tangled tails on the wall facing the bed, and all.  Aside from the peaceful scenery I just mentioned, it was only slightly unsettling to get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom in the company of eerily glowing ghoulish faces staring at me from beneath giant ears of corn.

Clearly, I was far too sober for this bizarre hotel room.

But, I am a hip girl, and would have been down with it, if the bed was not so atrocious.  All activities were difficult on the sorry excuse for a bed provided,  but sleeping on the thing was nearly impossible.  If you have ever slept on an ancient hide-a-bed couch, and know the excurciating discomfort of having mattress springs pierce your kidneys in your sleep, you have a sense of the nightmare we endured.  This was not an uncomfortable bed.  It was downright painful.

Needless to say, we got no more than three or four winks all night.  The second we managed to doze off - despite our mattress-induced flesh wounds, we were woken up by loud noises from the alley below.  First came the drunken homeless chatter, which finally died down after an hour or two.  Next up were unpredictably timed rounds of bizzare sounding fireworks screaming by like some crazy hellish cross between a teridactile and an elephant giving birth to a cruise ship.  After that, came the street sweepers.  Followed by garbage collection.  Did I mention our window faced the back alley?  The final straw was the maid starting in with the vacuuming at the crack of dawn.  The walls were so thin, the vacuum sounded like a 747 jet airplane getting ready for take-off in the next room.

Good grief!!

We were hoping we could maybe arrange to sneak in a few more winks later that morning, but the hotel does not believe in a late check out policy - 12:30 is all the grace period allotted.  So, we packed up our bag of goodies from Walgreen’s, put our Fourth of July outfits back on, and headed downstairs for check-out, feeling a bit ragged and worse for wear.

We should have just loaded up on booze and stayed up all night.  We would have been more refreshed.

During check-out, I wanted to ask more about the hotel and see a few more rooms, but the gal at the desk was so cold and unfriendly, I didn’t bother.  She never once even looked at us, and did not ask about our stay.  She didn’t even say goodbye.

And yet, I think the Hotel des Arts is a pretty cool hotel for what it is.  It would be ideal, assuming you are looking for a fun place to party and crash with a bunch of friends for the night, or if you are used to roughing it a little, and are looking for a stylish, well-located and affordable hotel.  Based on the reviews I have read today, they have rooms starting as low as $60, although you may have to share a bathroom at that rate.

Back when I was touring as a singer with my various bands, the Hotel des Arts would have made a great crash pad, and we would have loved it.   I recommend this hotel for artisits, musicians, youngsters, and budget travellers with a good sense of humor who are tough enough to endure a really bad mattress and a good deal of noise.

Visited on July 4, 2009

Hotel des Arts

447 Bush St
San Francisco, CA

(415) 956-3232

http://www.sfhoteldesarts.com/index.php