Treasure Island

After a tough start to the trip, I think it’s fair to say we’d finally turned a corner. Both of us were on the mend, and apart from Jane’s lingering cough — which was steadily easing thanks to the medicine she’d been taking — we were feeling right as rain.

T I Flea

Today gave us the chance to tick something off the list we couldn’t do last time: the Treasure Island Flea Market, held only on the final weekend of each month. So it was out onto Market Street, hopping any bus heading downtown, then weaving our way through to the temporary Transbay bus terminal to catch the Treasure Island service.

The Bay Bridge West Span

Treasure Island sits in the middle of San Francisco Bay, halfway between the city and Oakland. There’s no pedestrian access across the Bay Bridge, so the only way to get there is via the 24-hour bus service. I thought we were in for a long wait — one bus on the route and a 40-minute gap between runs — but luck was on our side. Just minutes after we arrived, the second bus rolled out of the depot. Perfect timing.

It’s around a fifteen-minute ride over the bridge, though the views aren’t much — the outward leg uses the lower deck, so you’re more tunnel rat than sightseer.

View From The Coffee Shop

We got off at what’s called the main gate and grabbed coffees from a little shop tucked inside what used to be the guardhouse. From there, we parked ourselves on a low wall overlooking the bay — one of the best vantage points on the island. Palm trees lining the street, San Francisco shimmering across the water... if only all flea markets came with scenery like this.

Treasure Island is actually a man-made extension of Yerba Buena Island, built between 1936–1937 using dredged mud from the bay, ready for the 1939 Golden Gate International Exposition. Since then, it’s worn many hats, most notably military base — but when it was eventually sold off and earmarked for stylish new housing, things took a turn. Turns out the land was contaminated with low-level radiation, and no one wanted to live there. Not even for affordable housing projects.

The Old Accomodtion Blocks

These days, most of the accommodation blocks are boarded up at the bottom — not through vandalism, just neglect. It’s isolated enough to keep the mischief to a minimum. There are still people living here, though I wouldn’t recommend growing vegetables in the back garden. The former administration building, with its classic art deco style, now serves as a function hall and small museum — a nod to its stranger chapters.

Bliss Dance, She Lives In Vagas Now

Entry to the flea market is three dollars, which covers land rental and staffing — and it’s well worth it. Calling it a flea market doesn’t quite capture the vibe; it’s more like a quirky, creative craft fair. Think sculptures made from scrap metal, clocks with eyes, and animals welded together from bits of forgotten tools.

Strange Things

I bought myself a rather handsome bag for $35, while Jane picked up some badges. The other big draw? Food trucks — around twenty of them serving everything from authentic Chinese noodles to classic American burgers. We went for bacon cheeseburgers: nine and a half dollars each with a drink, which isn’t cheap, but they were monstrous. Picnic tables were packed, so we took to the grass — slightly hesitant given what might be lingering beneath, but thankfully neither of us started glowing. Must be fine, then.

It took us a solid half-hour to defeat those burgers. Worth every bite.

After stretching out a bit longer and fighting the urge to nod off in the sun, we looped back through the market to check out the snow machine someone was trying to get going. From what we gathered, the plan was to stage a snowball fight — festive, if wildly optimistic given the 25°C sunshine. It wasn’t going well. Snow and summer don’t make easy bedfellows. What started as a fun idea was now a bubbling puddle and a lot of puzzled faces.

That, I believe, is what you'd call a spectacular fail.

Bridges, Blue Sky and a Bit of a Trek

The Bay Bridge And I

By now it was time to move on, so we left the market behind and headed to the far side of the island. I’d been keen to get a proper look at the new East Span of the Bay Bridge, and this was probably the best viewpoint we were going to get.

The Bay Bridge is split into two halves, with Treasure Island acting as the midpoint. The old eastern span took a battering in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake, and its replacement — started just six years ago — came in at a jaw-dropping seven billion dollars.

East Span Old & New

It’s a stunning piece of engineering. Nearly three miles long, sleek and modern, and I can only imagine how spectacular it must look lit up at night. From our vantage point, we could also see the old structure behind it, slowly being taken down piece by piece — a slow, deliberate dismantling that’s expected to take about three years. Watching something that vast gradually disappear is strangely mesmerising.

Aside from the unusual views, there’s not much else to do on this side of the island — no cafés, no trails, just quiet roads and wind in your face. So we retraced our steps back towards the bus stop at the main gate. Between the walk out, all the detours, and stopping for photos, I reckon we were out there for about an hour and a half.

Funny how time slips past when you're chasing bridges and soaking up views.

Flea to Farmers Market

Back at the bus stop, it was time for something sweet — so we nipped back into the shop and grabbed a couple of ice creams. Plenty of time to tuck in, too, since the bus has to loop around the island before picking you up for the return journey. Thankfully, this time it runs on the upper deck of the Bay Bridge, so you actually get a proper view. Sun glinting off the water, the skyline yawning into the distance — one of those simple moments that makes the journey feel like part of the destination.

The Ferry Building

Once back at the Transbay terminal, we headed out on foot — along the Embarcadero, past the bobbing boats and waterfront stalls, and on towards the Ferry Building marketplace. A farmers market was in full swing, and to call it busy would be an understatement. Elbows, queues and barely room to blink — even the toilets had a line stretching into double figures.

But we had a mission: the Golden Gate Meat Company. Discovered on our last visit, their turkey and mushroom pies are firmly pinned to our must-do list. At seven dollars apiece, they aren’t cheap — but they’re rich, hearty, and so packed with flavour you forget the price within two bites. Now that our appetites had well and truly returned, there was no holding back.

The Place To sit With A Coffee

We settled on a bench outside to devour them and watch the old F-line streetcars roll by every few minutes — a slice of historical charm on wheels. And just as we’d come to expect, the weather had pulled one of its classic San Francisco stunts: warm five minutes ago, now borderline chilly. It’s the reason we always carry coats, no matter how sunny it starts. Move a mile and it feels like a different season.

With pies polished off and shadows stretching long, it was time to press on. Saturday had packed in more than we expected — and it wasn’t quite finished yet.

Market Street Crawl

We zigzagged our way across roads, tram lines and a plaza to reach the bus stop at the far end of Market Street. With free Wi-Fi covering the whole stretch, it was the perfect chance to fire up the app on my phone and track the next bus. Turned out we were in luck — just a ten-minute wait, which felt generous given the chaos around us.

Rush hour had Market Street locked up almost solid, but unlike back home, the traffic here doesn’t stew endlessly. They’ve got police officers on the junctions manually directing the flow where the light system buckles under pressure. It’s impressively efficient — something worth borrowing back in the UK. We saw the same trick used in New York, too. Feels oddly retro, but it works.

One way To Travel Market Street

We could’ve taken the tram that runs below Market Street, but let’s be honest — that idea had occurred to everyone else as well. Getting on isn’t usually the problem; it’s staying together when the doors fling open and you're elbow-deep in commuters. We stuck with the bus.

It should’ve been a quick fifteen-minute ride. Naturally, it wasn’t. About thirty minutes later, and after accidentally missing our stop because we were on an express service, we eventually disembarked a bit further up the line. No bother — we weren’t in any hurry.

Back near 5th and Market, we picked up a few evening bits from the shop before heading up to the hotel to wind things down. One particular luxury waiting in our room was an old cast iron deep fill bathtub — absolute bliss after a long day on our feet. A good soak, followed by sandwiches, soft pillows, and a few hours of mindless TV. Honestly, it doesn’t get much better.

We’re not really evening-out people — bars and noise aren’t our thing. Especially on longer trips, when the idea of heading out again becomes more chore than charm.

It had been a long one, but I’m glad we spent most of it exploring Treasure Island. It’s not somewhere you'd usually go, especially when the flea market’s dormant, but today made it well worth the detour.

Reflections on the Day: Treasure, Trolleys & Tactical Pie

Saturday felt like a reward for surviving the flu fog — a day where everything clicked, from bus timings to burger bliss. With Jane on the mend and our appetites fully restored, we set our sights on Treasure Island, that curious patch of man-made land floating halfway between San Francisco and Oakland. It’s not every day you visit a flea market on a former military base with a light seasoning of radiation.

The journey began with a minor miracle: catching the elusive Treasure Island bus within minutes. The ride over the Bay Bridge’s lower deck wasn’t scenic — more subterranean than sublime — but once we arrived, the views made up for it. Palm trees, shimmering skyline, and coffee from a repurposed guardhouse? Not your average market setup.

Treasure Island’s history reads like a plot twist: built for a world fair, turned into a naval base, then earmarked for housing until someone noticed the soil glowed a bit too enthusiastically. These days, it’s part ghost town, part creative haven. The flea market itself was more art fair than bargain bin — scrap metal sculptures, clocks with personality disorders, and food trucks that could feed a small army.

We tackled monstrous bacon cheeseburgers on the grass, half-expecting something to sprout from the soil or us. No mutations occurred, so we declared it safe. Then came the snow machine — a noble attempt at festive cheer that quickly devolved into confusion. Snowball fights in 25°C sunshine? Bold. Doomed. Entertaining.

After a sun-soaked stroll to admire the new East Span of the Bay Bridge — a $7 billion marvel slowly replacing its quake-damaged predecessor — we looped back for ice cream and a scenic ride home on the bridge’s upper deck. This time, the views were worthy of postcards.

But the day wasn’t done. We hit the Ferry Building farmers market like seasoned pros, elbows out and eyes on the prize: turkey and mushroom pies from Golden Gate Meat Company. Rich, savoury, and worth every dollar. We devoured them on a bench while vintage streetcars trundled past and the weather did its usual San Francisco impression of “four seasons in ten minutes.”

The evening wrapped with a Market Street crawl, a bus ride that turned into a scenic detour thanks to express routing, and a triumphant return to our hotel’s cast iron bathtub — the kind of soak that makes your toes forgive you for everything.

Treasure Island might not be on every tourist’s radar, but today it delivered: history, humour, and a whole lot of heart. And possibly a few lingering isotopes. But hey — we didn’t glow, we just grinned.