In the morning I organise stays for the next week. It’s high time I set off early on Thursday. After two hours and 40 emails, I set off into the city. I’m still missing Haight Ashbury. By bus via Golden Gate Park to the west. If you pay attention, you can see exactly where San Francisco burnt down after the big earthquake. The most colourful Victorian houses start right behind it.
First I wander through the park, go to the De Young Museum and the Flower Conservatory. Then across Haight Street to Buena Vista Park. The bum rate in SF is generally high. In Haight Ashbury, normal people are almost outnumbered. No idea who lives in the expensive houses. It smells of weed everywhere.
After a few more steep hills, we take the bus back into the city. My sister had a flight to San Francisco. I meet her at her hotel and we go out for sushi. I’m quite exhausted again from all the walking, so we watch a bit of “Bourne Ultimatum”. Well, a sprinkling is good… the sound hits our ears with the elemental force of a 100 metre waterfall. The whole time I’m waiting for deaf people to jump up and start praising the Lord. Miracles can happen at 103 dB.
Afterwards we wander through a few pubs. Today Scott has our shared key to the flat. When I try to snatch the key at around 10pm, unfortunately no one is there. We go to a small pub on Polk Street. The barman recommends a local strong beer at 5.2%. A fun drink. He buys us a third round. Why is the percentage not labelled on any bottle in America? Not even the barman knows the answer.
Given the lack of response to my second ring around midnight, it’s clear that this evening is going to last a while. We take the bus back into town and go to two more pubs. Gold Dust and an Irish pub with a woman who sings and looks like a man. Luckily Katja is tired early. I sleep with her in the hotel.
Next morning. The cancellation was just right. One more beer and I’d have to let an alcoholic pull me up the mountain. Shortly before eight o’clock, I notice a number of very sad, bleary workhorse faces. My head gets thicker with every metre of ascent. I reach line 1, panting and sweating alcohol, and ride up the hill to Franklin Street. On my second attempt, Bree opens the door. Scott didn’t come home yesterday. This day is over. Sleep, rest, prepare for the tour tomorrow.
Thank you very much for all the lovely birthday greetings, I was very pleased!
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.