A Streetcar Named Melancholy

My parents and younger brother (aka Small Man) came to visit this last week, and we had a delightful time in Krakow, briefly Wroclaw, and also Gliwice. On our last day in Krakow I insisted that we go for a ride in a tram, as my parents hadn't yet experienced that. They agreed that it was in fact better than a taxi. It was Easter Monday, so the tram wasn't crowded and we all had seats. Actually it was one of these newfangled trams that resembles a bus in width and speed; the older ones often move with a hypnotic slowness. I remember in autumn of 2000 on a plane to Moscow I met a gentle Georgian, a former Muscovite and typically melancholy and expansive emigre intelligent on a brief visit back home, who told me he missed riding trams. At the time it seemed to me a peculiar thing to miss, and I told my wife-to-be about it with a snicker, expecting her to snicker along, but to my surprise she told me that she, too, had a deep emotional attachment to riding the tram.
"It goes so slowly," she said. I've since grown to feel almost the same way. It's not exactly, or only, the slowness-- as I've said, the newer ones move quickly-- but there definitely is something wonderfully soothing and peaceful about the tram experience. (Again, provided you get a seat.) Maybe it's the sense of being on track, tethered to something. Do they still have streetcars in San Francisco? I'd like to one day ride one and see how it compares.