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| From San Francisco |
Well, here I am in the city of so many films, car chases, disasters and general mayhem. Familiar though it is, it's still a bit of a culture shock. How much do you tip the bell boy, how do you use public transport and where's the bloody ice cream vans?
The latter is important. For my first day I wanted to walk to the Golden Gate Bridge. This is a 5 mile stroll through some touristy areas (fishermans wharf) but also through some pleasant parks (fort mason, beach area alongside chrissy field). And not an ice cream van in sight. In fact, the place was so devoid of any sort of van/kiosk I was wondering if I was on some private estate and was going to be escorted off by some guy with a gun and a rotweiler (I must have been watching too many films).
Distracted though I was by the total lack of Essential British Sustenance, the walk was enjoyable. At Fisherman's Wharf some nice person asked me if I'd like to donate some money to help the American Homeless (uncharitably I said I had enough problems supporting the English homeless without helping the Americans out as well). I watched some people swimming in the Bay's Aquatic Park, tested the water and realised that eccentricity isn't a completely English preserve. I took about 20 photos of the Golden Gate Bridge at various distances (subsequently honed down to about 5). My arms got totally, horribly sunburnt; so much so that the American Lighthouse Association approached me to find out if I'd be willing to stand at Fort Point and wave my arms. All this ... and I still didn't get an ice cream ... I had to settle for a fruit melon medley, which although nice and healthy, Is Not The Same.
Finally, I got to the Golden Gate Bridge, after a walk of 6 miles and 5 hours. If you think that's slow, then you have to factor in the hunt for the occasional ice cream van and fending off hoards of amorous lobstaers who thought my arms were sending out mating signals.
So .. been there, done that .. what else is there to do?
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