Freinds reunited in San Francisco

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It is late in the evening when we arrive in San Francisco. We pay a toll and drive across the Golden Gate bridge into the financial district of the city. We find Lombard street fairly easily after navigating the grid layout of Streets and Avenues that we have become quite used to in the US. The Lonely Planet guide informs us that there are many motels along Lombard street but after driving up and down what appears to be it's full length we cannot find any. We turn off Lombard street when we see a couple of motel signs. The first is laughingly expensive but the second is a reasonable price with an Indian restaurant opposite where we eat an average meal before retiring.

The next day we enjoy a slow morning. Lou washes her hair and I do some exercise before we go to return the hire car leaving ten minutes to complete what Google maps works out to be a one minute journey. Cars hurtle down the hill towards me as I get out of the car at the Budget office. People drive faster in San Francisco than anywhere else I have seen in the US. We just manage to return the hire car at the alloted time by the skin of our teeth and pop into the Starbucks next door for breakfast. I am trying to enjoy my protein packed start to the day ignoring the staff who gossip loudly inserting 'it's like' before everything they say and liberally sprinkling in a generous helping of 'so' to add emphasis.

'It's like just so annoying how they like do that all the time. It like just so drives me up the wall'.

I pluck a grape from the stem and it slips through my fingers I make a grasp for it and juggle in mid air for a few moments before grabbing it. Unfortunately in doing so I knock my breakfast tray with my elbow spilling my egg onto the floor. I wonder if this is going to set the tone for the rest of the day. We watch tourists queueing up to have their photo taken in-front of the 'Welcome to Fisherman's Wharf' sign for a while before phoning Kevin. Kevin is a great guy who we met in Ecuador whilst on the Archipell 2 touring the Galapagos where, after much rum he offered us a place to stay with him, his wife Susan and their dog Stewart in San Francisco. We arrange to meet him after work at his home then make plans for the rest of the day. We walk towards Fisherman's Wharf which turns out to be a glitsy, tacky tourist hell hole with spangly T-shirts, caps and mementos for sale along streets lined with amusement arcades and shops selling tours of San Francisco. We make a sharp exit and head towards the museum area. We get to the tram stop when the heavens open. We are getting absolutely hammered by torrential rain and take refuge in the library across the road. Lou hooks up to the free wireless Internet and I find a couple of books to peruse, 'Book of Sketches' by Jack Kerouac and 'The Beats: a gold medal anthology' by Seymour Krim who in it writes a fascinating essay on his experiences of being institutionalised and what he feels to be society's incorrect definition of sanity and insanity. After about an hour and a half the rain has not stopped and my interest in going to a museum has waned. We cross the street and go into a cafe bar called The Underground where I order two of it's three guest draft beers. It's a cosy environment with battered sofas, music posters and a TV. There is a slight counter culture edge to the place. We order a snack and another couple of beers relaxing in the pleasant atmosphere. After a while we decide to move on and take a short taxi ride to a Hookah bar. The taxi driver is on his mobile phone when we get in the cab and does not terminate the call or speak to us before moving off. I decide that I had better tell him where we want to go and shout the address over his conversation, he half hears but does not understand and looks around irritated, I repeat the address and he nods before turning back to his conversation. We arrive at the address and as we go to exit the cab a poorly dressed, scruffy homeless looking gentle man approaches the driver who waves him away. As we get out the scruffy gentleman takes the door and says 'Here, I'll get that'. The driver motions for us to shut the door which makes me feel quite awkward. The scruffy gentleman has shown us more curtesy and manners than the taxi driver. We leave the door open and walk away. The driver drives down the street with the door open and stops for another fare with the scruffy gentleman in pursuit. We enter the Hookah bar past a cracked window where we drink hot sweet tea and share a pipe. A few men sit across from us having a gentle conversation in between watching music videos on an Asian network TV channel where beautiful women dance and sing with rugged men. An hour or so later we get a cab to Pacific Heights where Kevin lives. We are greeted with a warm welcome by Kevin, his beautiful, charming wife and adorable dog. A bottle of wine is opened and we are shown to the gorgeous guest room complete with on suit bathroom, TV and DVD player and WI-FI who could ask for more?

We treat them to a meal in their local Italian Restaurant in way of thanks before hitting a local bar, that is a well decorated corridor squeezing in the well-to-do inhabitants of Pacific Heights and a DJ to celebrate the end of another working week. The bar maids dance to their favourite tunes as people lean across us to get served and a man to our left farts in our direction whilst attempting to chat up the woman standing next to him. We have a couple of drinks before returning to the Flat where we retire.

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