Loving San Francisco Day-By-Day

I don't believe I have ever underestimated my fitness levels before. When I've been at my best I could run 10 miles comfortably through a mud trail and at my worst I'd feel out of breath after climbing two flights of stairs. I hide my embarrassment through humour as always. However, recently I have had a change of heart about my well-being during my travels.

Yes, I did struggle with the beast to begin with. In fact, it was always a struggle but I did start off with just 12kg which almost doubled before I caved in and bought a suitcase in Australia. I'd almost always opt to walk long distances if it'd save on bus fare - weather permitting of course. Most days actually included a lot of walking as I visited tourist sites and discovered places and views of my own. I never really thought about it until now.

At present I'm back to working a desk job. My movement is very minimal. The furthest I move is the two minute stroll to the water machine or ten steps to the printer. Rather than heaving the beast upon my back, I bicep curl a 30g chocolate bar into my mouth. I am back to my poor breathless worst where those two floors (four flights of stairs) seem to defeat me every day. This is not good.

Although I often joke about how unfit I was whilst travelling, I have a new-found respect for how much I actually did. I am now a sloth in comparison. I have signed myself up to do a half marathon in September. It's the kick up the arse I need. I like my food but I enjoy having an above average level of fitness. I actually turned down free chocolate today. I know, I nearly fainted too. I won't be doing that every day though, I don't have the willpower!

*****

To make up for our fumbling efforts at conversing the night before, Nathan and I headed out for breakfast. I learned very quickly that San Francisco has the best of everything and I am falling for this place day by day. In light of this, it wasn't difficult to find a decent place nearby to eat. Nathan took me to a bagel place and then to a local cafe. Although I served plenty of them in Australia, I'd never actually tried a Chai latte.

Bagel and latte in tow, we walked across the road and sat outside Starbucks. I didn't mean to be square but I asked Nathan if we'd be told to leave what with us having coffee and bagels from elsewhere. In England we'd be challenged on the spot. I wanted to tuck into my bagel undisturbed. Nathan shrugged and said he does it all the time. It's a better spot to catch the sun and a small way of sticking it to Starbucks. I'm on board with that!

Nathan and I people-watched whilst tucking into our tasty bagels. I found out a bit more about the stranger who let me kip on their couch. Nathan is laid back, confident but not cocky and incredibly world-wise. I listened to Nathan regale a series of exciting adventures from his travels in Europe. I was slightly envious as this guy had no apparent worries in his life. He's lead a fulfilling life, travelled, is constantly learning, has enough spends to do as he pleases and is in a seemingly healthy relationship. All this and he makes it look effortless. He could just be a very good actor masterfully hiding the details that would taint this picture but I would be pretty darn happy if I was in his shoes. One shining light in all this is that Nathan is around 10 years my senior so I have time to get to that point. I have something to aim for which is always good.

Finishing up I thought I'd make a quick toilet stop, may as well take full advantage! I went to open the entrance door and was accosted by a rather rotund lady. For some reason I offended her for which she then proceeded to shout at me and tell me that I should let her through the door first because she's older than me. Again something that would never happen in England unless the lady was 80-odd. Age is a fiercely guarded secret for a lot of women in England and perhaps Britain as a whole. I took no offence and chuckled to myself.

Pleasantly full (my Chai latte was wonderful if anyone wondered...), I said my goodbyes to Nathan and went exploring. I started off with Nob Hill. I have to confess, I was drawn to the name more than anything, Nob tee hee. But apparently it's a good neighbourhood with parks and nice views. Honestly it is. Ok, I can do this...

No I really can't!

In all seriousness, and a Google search later, Nob Hill was penned after the numerous magnates who built mansion after mansion in a bid to out-do one another. Nob, I have come to realise, has another meaning - a shortening of the word nobility. Perhaps I should feel ashamed for giggling at the name, but then I read that the area where the edges blur between Tenderloin and Nob Hill is nicknamed Tender Nob...I mean come on!!

Whether or not I passed through that area, I don't know. I did, however, visit the pristine green expanse that is Huntington Park. I was tempted to run like a lunatic and play in the pretty awesome looking park but no, I am a grown up now, pfft. Instead I sat on a bench and looked at a replica of Rome's Fountain of Tortoises.

The fountain lights up at night

Grace Cathedral was close by and a worthy sight. I took a quick snap and moved on.

As I looked out towards the horizon, I could see the faint outline of Chinatown. I descended down one of San Fran's synonymous dipping roads where I was almost shrouded by a cluster of towering hotels. It shows there is still a definite air of affluence in Nob Hill. I felt like an Oliver-Twist-like imposter so I didn't hang around.

Chinatown in San Fran has the usual attributes - hanging lanterns, curved rooftops, oriental (usually dragon- draped) lamp-posts and an abundance of cheap eats. Perhaps this might have been the first time I truly opened my eyes in a Chinatown distract, but I saw a tremendous amount of strange edging on eerie shops.

There was the samurai sword shop which I thought was impressive. I tried to imagine the reaction I would get trying to take one of those bad boys through airport customs. I didn't have enough money for a sword holster never mind an actual sword.

Moving on I found shop after shop selling odd antiques, displays and statues. There were people in the shops genuinely looking around and not laughing and pointing like me. Maybe this is what you would find in a typical American household and I'm just culturally naive.

I need something that ties the room together. I'm thinking...a fat man...grinning menacingly...with a cocked leg and a dangling ear lobe. Where the chuff am I going to find that? Don't worry, Chinatown has all the answers!

My day wouldn't necessarily be deemed as productive. I did a lot of walking and I saw quite a lot so I was happy.

Back at the apartment, Nathan invited me out for a drink with a couple of his friends. If I'm getting ready with others I tend to judge my outfit on what everyone else is wearing. I looked at Nathan who was pretty casual yet somehow quite slick and smart. I can never get away with that. You can definitely tell if I've put effort into my outfit. I'm either dressed up and 'prettified' or I look like a person who's struggling to piece an outfit together on laundry day. I don't do breezy smart-casual.

The situation certainly didn't call for my maxi-dress and my blue dress was incredibly creased. I opted for leggings, a denim skirt and a casual top. I looked like a backpacker. Nathan refrained from doing the 'once over'. You know the look. A frown and a quick flick of the eyes from bottom to top (or vice versa). I'm used to that! Then again, most people I have seen do that are women so perhaps it was inevitable that Nathan wouldn't give a crap what I wore.

Emptying my mind of flurried thoughts of what I could wear if I was at home, we departed for a nearby wine bar. I met Nathan's friend Lisa who had already ordered snacks and was sipping red wine from a large glass.

Looking around, I decided I should have made time and ironed my blue dress. I did feel like a hobo but that feeling was short-lived as Lisa embraced me and offered me helpings of the bread and cheese platter she had ordered. What an angel.

Nathan ordered a glass of red wine and was about to do the same but I objected. White only for me I'm afraid. All eyes were on me. This was an upmarket establishment where I imagine business meetings take place during the day and accomplished San Franciscans came to let their hair down by night. People who are well versed in wine ordering. I just tend to pick a bottle with a nice label, kind of like how a young child picks out a book to read. I know nothing about wine. I asked for something light and sweet. The waiter nodded, said something that I could not understand and disappeared. Nathan and I shrugged and went back to our conversation.

Soon, we were joined by another one of Nathan's friends who had clearly just dismounted a motorcycle. Woooooow. This guy looked like a movie star. Not because he came by motorcycle but because he was ridiculously good looking! I picked my jaw up from the ground and attempted to act breezy as I was introduced to Charlie.

The common guys vs. girls debate was fiercely discussed both in the context of relationships and the world in general. Obviously nobody agreed but it was all in good fun. I made fun of how Nathan pronounced cashew nut. I say c-ashoo nut and he says cash-oo nut. Ok, that sounds boring but it was funny at the time and I have it written in my notes so I felt like it was something that I wanted to remember.

Something that we joked about too was Charlie's uncanny resemblance to Clark Kent/Superman. Haha, this just gets better and better. Don't worry, my tongue was firmly enclosed in my mouth as Nathan was busy playing cupid. Lisa and Charlie was a setup, how sweet.

We talked into the night about my travels, Nathan's travels and life as we all know it. I had great fun and didn't notice the time pass at all. Charlie mentioned a good website to find out about free stuff to do in San Fran. He also mentioned a festival that was coming up but I couldn't quite hear what he said. I'm sure he said something like "Up My Alley" which sounded dodgy. I got Charlie's number as we hoped to all meet up again to witness the weird festivities.

The evening came to an end naturally. Lisa intended to get home on her bicycle despite it being incredibly late and being fuelled by quite a few wines. Lisa's braver than me! Charlie offered to give her a ride back on his bike. That was it, Nathan lunged in there before Lisa had chance to protest. Nathan insisted Lisa leave her bike at his apartment and head back with Charlie. All because he wanted to make sure she got home safely. Ha, you're fooling nobody but I like your style. Who could refuse Clark Kent's noble gesture?

It was sorted, Lisa and Clark...I mean Charlie, left together. Nathan and I didn't stay up long as we were both beat. I aired my concerns about my next hosts as I'd not heard anything back since I received an acceptance message a week before. Nathan kindly said that I could stay as long as I needed. It was very tempting and would save me a lot of hassle shifting my crap again.

Before I had chance to snap up Nathan's offer, I received a text message from my next hosts. My gut told me to stay at Nathan's but I was curious about my new hosts. It was a chance to meet new people and stay in a new part of San Fran. I thought it would only be fair to go through with my original plans and messaged the new hosts back confirming an arrival time the following day.

Perhaps it was the wine or seeing Charlie take off with Lisa, but I felt like I needed to ask or I'd end up regretting it. I turned to Nathan and asked if there would be any chance that he could take me out for a spin on his motorbike, even if it was just around the block. I've never been on the back of a motorcycle and I'm all for new experiences. Nathan gave a tentative answer and said he'd let me know. It wasn't a firm no so I was hopeful.

All I wanted to do was sleep but I made sure I had everything pretty much packed and ready for the morning so I could depart in good time. I was venturing west towards Golden Gate Park the next day. Fingers crossed my next hosts are just as welcoming as Andy and Nathan have been.

There's No Place Like Home

Having been back in England for six months (a sharp reminder of how far behind I am with my tales I know) I have fallen into routine life again. Not just that but I've picked up a lot of old habits and in some ways, have slotted myself back into society like I'd never left. It's only when I look at photos and remember that I do have a blog to update that it becomes real, that those moments actually happened.

A big part of my life before travel was how lonely I would feel. I worked hard and exhausted myself to the point where social interaction seemed like an unbearable option. Instead, I locked myself up in my room watching TV or or surfing online as it felt easier. I spent all day talking and fending off people that I just wanted a rest. I didn't want to talk to anyone. It sounds a bit sad and perhaps it was. You're forgetting that the last nine months before my trip, I worked two jobs. My brain was only just functioning.

It may surprise some of you, but travelling solo was far from lonely. I was always surrounded by new faces and exciting places. Every city runs at a different pace and you have to adapt and keep up. Thinking back, I'd have to try really hard to isolate myself. My times of loneliness came when I missed home and my closest friends. I did make new ones though and had a great support network in certain countries.

There is a way around everything with travel which is why it always seems so dream-like. When I constantly moved, problems that occurred were dealt with and then forgotten about. There's always so much to contend with that focusing all your energy on one particularly negative aspect of a day is wasteful. There's so much to see and do so what's the point in moping?

Now my life is static, I can't help but look back. Of course I only remember the best memories but life on the road was, in many ways, a lot easier. Dorothy said there's no place like home after landing in Oz but she only started moaning when things got tough. Not so long before, you could see Dorothy skipping up the yellow-brick-road with her new buddies. Being in an unfamiliar land with recently acquired friends provides a perfect distraction from reality. Problems fade, stress is a distant long-forgotten nightmare and all that matters is the here and now. It's exhilarating. Although Dorothy had exquisite taste in shoes, I was in no hurry to clack my heels and wish to be home.

*****

San Francisco does not run short in transport options. Light rail, bus, street car, cable car, metro...I even saw a guy peddling about on a unicycle. Granted, it's not for everyone, but this place has a mode of transport for everyone.

Although I didn't trust my unicycling skills, I did like the idea of adding another wheel to that equation and rent a bicycle. One of my favourite days in Kyoto, Japan was when I rented a bike.

My first priority was fuelling up so a hearty breakfast was needed. I fancied a fry-up. I think Andy's omelette the day before stirred my dormant morning taste buds that craved greasy fatty goodness. I found a couple of empty cafes and spotted an IHOP which is pretty much the American symbol for breakfast. It was rammed. I walked inside and families were huddled in a corner until their table was ready. I overheard someone say that the wait was 2 hours. Either IHOP is really good or everyone in San Fran had the same bacon-cravings as me. Dammit. Very rarely am I prepared to wait longer than half an hour for food. Unless it's being served by a naked Ryan Reynolds in a tiny strategically placed apron...ooof.

Instead, I settled for a pocket-friendly cooked breakfast from a nearby cafe. The hash brown took up half the plate! I shouldn't be so surprised, America do like to go big on everything. Who needs IHOP? Ha, not me.

Energised, I marched over to the bicycle rental place. A kind and rather dashing attendant assisted me in choosing my bike. I had the bog-standard, the mid-range with a comfy looking seat or an electric bicycle. I decided to go for the mid-range bike as I'd like a comfortable ride. I laughed at the idea of getting an electric bike and saw it as a waste of money. There's nothing wrong with my legs and it's not like I don't need the workout.

With that out of the way, I opened up the map I was given and asked for some tips on where to go after I'd tackled the bridge. I was told there's a beautiful view point not too far from the bridge. I circled the area and made a mental note to look out for any sign posts that mention Seal Rocks.

There was nothing else left but to follow the road round to the cycle path that leads to Golden Gate Bridge. I placed my belongings in the handy front-basket and fastened my bike helmet. I looked like a wally but I didn't fancy cracking my skull open.

Shakily, I began my journey to the bridge on the weird side of the road. You think it's strange driving a car on the wrong side of the road, try cycling! I felt like any moment a car would come along and clip me. I needn't have worried as the cycle lanes in America are very wide. I'm used to tucking in my elbows and taking a sharp intake of breath whenever I rounded a corner. If I had the balance, I could outstretch both of my arms and make an airplane noise...but then I really would be making full use of my bike helmet. I'd like to keep my clean record of no broken bones thank you very much.

There was no chance of getting lost as tourists meandered towards the bridge like competing daisy-chains. I stopped every now and then to take a few photos but it didn't take long until I was at the foot of the bridge.

My experience on the bridge itself was somewhat rushed. It was absolutely packed. Although there was a pedestrian lane and a cycle lane, there wasn't much room. I am glad I had my bike as I cycled half way along the bridge, paused, looked out and cycled to the end then back again. San Francisco's trademark rolling fog clung to the skyline whilst the arching sun punched through pockets of clearing. It was a beautiful view and no amount of tourists could ruin that.

At this point I must have taken at least 30 photos of the bridge. So I am as bad as the people on Lombard Street. I wanted to capture the bridge at varying angles to ensure I had a selection to look at later and choose my favourite shot. I took a few photos of the view and moved on. I couldn't wait to get off the bridge and away from the crowds.

There was still plenty of time left before I had to return my bike. I thought I'd be adventurous and deviate from the cycle path in search of Seal Rocks or whatever the guy at the shop said. I had a map, what could go wrong?

Oh dear. What was I thinking! Every film and TV show that's based in San Francisco shows panning shots of the Transamerica Pyramid building and then the mountainous streets. Two iconic symbols, a pointy building and hilly streets. It's not difficult to remember but after that day of cycling, I certainly won't forget it.

Now I know that people aren't pansies when they pay the extra few dollars for an electric bike. They are bloody smart-arses. I panted and I wheezed my way across to Lincoln Park and Eagles Point. I thought I came close to finding Seal Rocks but I failed in my mission. I took my bike down a dirt track but soon found out that bikes are not allowed. I noticed the signs about half an hour in after carrying it up and down several steps. I even got the odd puzzled look by a few clued-up locals.

One local power-walked past me with his bike resting on one shoulder and was completely caked in mud. He grinned at me as if to say - "Isn't this great? Wow I feel awesome." I tried to emanate the same sentiment rather than admitting failure.

It was reassuring to find that I wasn't the only one who made this error. A family decided to take their bikes down the same path just as I walked back up. They asked for my advice - as if my sweaty and dusty demeanor didn't already answer the question - and I recommended they go back and search for another way across. The mother agreed but the 'macho' dad and two peppy kids disagreed. I'm sure they found out the hard way like I did.

Despite the detour, I did have fun and still found some interesting view points. It was time to head back which seemed like a simple task looking at my map. As I got lost earlier (oh did I forget to say that...come on, this is me, of course I got lost!), I decided to cycle in and around the area until I hit a main street, cut across accordingly and head up to the piers. I didn't get lost but it was completely knackering. As well as the dipping streets, there were traffic lights after each block. I could only cycle fast enough to pass through one or at a stretch, two green lights. This gave me a couple of minutes to catch my breath before I had to power through again.

Determined but utterly beat, I finally arrived at the rental place. I made sure I caught my breath before dropping the bike off. I admitted that I couldn't find Seal Rocks but explained where I went instead and left with a smile on my face. Phew, right I need to get back and sort my stuff out as I was due to meet my new host.

A set time wasn't made so I didn't feel like I had to rush too much. I got back to Andy's, showered and packed. My phone was playing up and I wasn't getting full text messages. I was too nervous to call as I wasn't sure what impression that would leave.

Suddenly things changed and I needed to get over there right away as my host had somewhere important to be. Naturally, I flapped and got on the wrong bus...twice. I felt terrible. This guy was waiting for me to arrive so he could let me in. What is wrong with me? (Don't answer that). Normally I'm a lot more organised than this and usually leave even earlier if I have no idea where I'm going. This time I actually did know where I was going.

Pressing the buzzer, I wondered what awaited me. I hope he wasn't angry with me! Moments later a tall figure emerged and approached the door. I couldn't see very clearly and didn't want to smile and introduce myself to the wrong person. It was my new host, Nathan. He took me to his place. I chuckled as I entered.

Was Charlie Brooker known in America? I asked, he wasn't. Nathan had no idea what I was talking about. He bought the mat as he thought it was funny. It was a subtle rebellion against the generic 'welcome' mats. Fair enough.

Nathan pointed at things, showed me where I'd be sleeping and took off. I hope I didn't make him late. I didn't hang around for long as I went to meet Laura and Bree one last time before they left San Fran. Nathan left me a key so I didn't have to worry about not being able to get back in. I met Laura at Bigfoot Lodge which was a bar that was within short walking distance to where I was staying. We later met Bree and went to a nearby Mexican restaurant to stuff our faces. I feel like my waistline is slowly puffing out like the burritos I constantly scoff. Perhaps you are what you eat.

Once we had eaten so much that it hurt to move, we planned our next stop. Laura and Bree said there's a shisha bar nearby which sounded like a good plan to me. On our way we passed many 'happy' souls high on life or possibly something else err natural. A bouncer certainly expressed his joy at Bree - "Daaaamn, you got buns!" Me and Laura were in stitches. My buns went by unnoticed, hmph.

As time marched on, we didn't seem to be anywhere near a shisha bar. I'm sure Laura said it was only a few minutes away. When I asked, it turned out it was a few minutes away from the hostel where Laura and Bree were staying. I didn't fancy that long stretch back by myself so I decided to give the shisha bar a miss and headed back to Nathan's. I saw Nathan when I got back but we were so beat that neither of us could understand each other. It felt like we were having separate conversations as I thought he was talking about one thing and he thought I was talking about something else. Our heads hurt with confusion so we mumbled our goodnights.

Tonight marked my first night on an actual couch like the namesake. Plenty of pillows and covers made it a very snuggly sleep. I'm having the best sleep I've had in a long time and it's not costing me a penny. Why didn't I think of this before?

Rolling With The Tourists

There was a time when I used to get up early and head straight out to experience as much as I could. The only time I would rest was when I sat down on a bus or train. My surroundings fuelled me and I never seemed to tire. In America, I grew lazy and complacent. I'd already done so much, it felt like my body and mind was ready to give up. I floated along, pushed by passing friends and circumstance. Perhaps I didn't tick off all the boxes on a generic travel website's top 50 must-dos but I had a damn good time. The scales definitely tipped towards letting go and seeing what happened rather than a forced cultural experience. Anyone can get a bus to an ageing building and take a photo. It might look impressive on Facebook but is there really a story behind that?

Each country seems to have taught me something. Japan was definitely confidence and social awareness having pushed myself in the deep end. I entered a country where not too many people openly spoke English and the majority of backpackers there were couples or impenetrable packs. I really had to seek out the solo travellers. I made some great friends but it also helped me be comfortable in my own skin. That's something I've not felt in a very long time. The rest of SE Asia was more of the same as I was still at the early stages of my trip.

Australia was an eye-opening experience. Don't believe the bullshit that goes around. It's funny what people say and what actually happens. Australia was the Marmite of my RTW trip. It's a place you either love or hate. I've made peace with my time in Australia but I know to take people's travel opinions with a pinch of salt as one man's paradise is another man's hell. I did leave with two very strong friendships. Mel and Steff have made me a better person. It's rare to find people who tell it straight. I always know where to get my tough love from.

New Zealand reinforced my repulsion of forced socialisation but opened my eyes to true natural beauty. I learned how to break things down and process them with a laid back ease. It's hard to describe but I used to be the kind of person that stresses about truly insignificant details. These tiny 'problems' would build and build until my inevitable crumble. I'd put so much pressure on myself. Who knew all I had to do was hurl myself out of a plane, off a canyon or down a ski slope to overcome it all. Sometimes things aren't as bad as you think. All you need to do is step back, take a breath and leap. There are times when you succeed and times when you fail. If you're lucky, it's something you can control and understand but sometimes shit really does happen. Putting all your time and energy in focusing on all the seemingly bad stuff that's around you will generally make you feel crap. So flip it over and focus on the good. Sounds so simple when you say it like that but it's true.

A lot of positive things have happened to me and I truly believe it's because I've learnt to see the good things and forget about the bad. Nobody likes a Debbie Downer (good ol' SNL).

Fiji certainly amplified my relaxed approach to things. Everything runs on Fiji-time there so you have to have a heck of a lot of patience, or generally just to not be bothered what happens. "If I get there, I get there. If I don't, I don't. It's ok, don't worry. Beeee happpyyyy." I think that's their motto in life.

Now it's over to America...what do you have for me?

*****

Daylight quietly crept in through the blinds and gently stroked me awake. A peaceful night's sleep meant that I awoke with a relaxed sigh. No snorers, no smelly people, no angry dope-heads...just me and a collection of Andy's keepsakes neatly organised at various points in the room. A book case full of writing aids and classic favourites - I later learnt that Andy is part of a writing group who meet and trade hints and tips. A music stand and sheets stood to attention next to a cello. Did Andy play or was this an antique? I lay for a moment taking everything in.

One final stretch and it was time to move, I can't spend all day in bed...as tempting as that was. I quickly and quietly showered and changed. I wasn't sure if Andy was awake. Another thing I also learnt about my host is that he doesn't like being woken up early. He asked that if I were to get up early and leave in the morning, to take care not to make too much noise. I assured him that there was no chance of me getting up early. Unless Andy constitutes early as 9am. I still think I'm the only person who classes this as early, for most people that's a lie-in!

Andy had left out a few guide books and a couple of maps to peruse at my leisure which was sweet. I flicked through and picked out a few points of interest. I loosely plotted out my day, making sure that I didn't pile my plate too high. I have a lot of time to play with so there was no need to pack everything in. I was very much up for taking casual strolls rather than booking open top bus tours or day trips. On the other hand, I did have a mammoth task at hand, I was hoping to visit Alcatraz. I tried booking a ticket a few weeks beforehand but they had already sold out. I'd been told that tour companies buy up a bulk of tickets for their day packages. When these aren't sold, they release them back to the Alcatraz ticket office. This was my only shot. With this in mind I decided to head out to the piers.

Let's not jump too far ahead, I needed something to eat. Andy had kindly offered to cook me some breakfast. This was very much unexpected. I assumed I was fending for myself. I joined Andy for some eggs and toast. Somehow Andy had managed to construct the perfect omelette. I don't necessarily mean by taste, although it was yummy, but the omelette itself was a perfect circle. I remember the last time I tried to make an omelette but gave up part way through and pretended that I wanted to make scrambled egg all along. I'm sure to most people it's not that difficult to make but I did look at it in awe. Most of my breakfasts are eaten on the go or are whatever is offered at the hostel - usually fruit and toast. Very rarely do I get a proper cooked breakfast. It's funny the small things that I class as a luxury. An omelette is luxury I tell you!

After a reasonable amount of time had passed (I didn't want to seem rude and eat-and-dash), I left Andy to his day. I had the bus system to tackle. It does surprise me that each place I've visited in America has had a different way of doings things in regards to buses. I only used the bus once in LA, but it was a lengthy trip for less than a dollar. San Diego was an easy $5 for unlimited journeys for one day. In San Fran it's a bit more pricey. It's $2 per trip no matter the length. If you keep your ticket, it is valid for the next couple of hours if you need to transfer. If you time it well and it's only a quick journey, you could get a return out of it. No such luck for me today.

One thing is for sure, you have to have the correct change. Don't EVER board a bus in America and stick a note higher than a dollar in their machine as you won't see the change. I only saw one poor guy do it but he only put in $5. It could have been a lot worse. The bus drivers aren't very sympathetic. That seems very familiar. Bus drivers in England seem to have a chip on their shoulder. With us, they're not that strict on what cash you hand over but I would tread very carefully if you hand over a note. I hated the days I had to go on the bus with a ten pound note. Handing that over is the equivalent of taking a well placed shit in their hands. Seriously. You'll either get a death stare or attitude. Not to pigeon-hole all bus drivers in England, I've met plenty of nice ones, but the cash issue is a definite bug-bear. I bet they'd love to roll out America's policy of only accepting exact change. Knowing us Brits, there'd be a definite backlash. That's too big a change for us to handle.

The perks of being a backpacker...a poor lowly backpacker, is that I had plenty of one dollar notes. I didn't even have any issues in navigating myself on the bus route. I have my trusty map to thank for that. It's still going strong from yesterday when meeting Ulas. As well as street names, it has the different coloured and numbered bus routes on. Wonderful.

As there was no reason for rushing, I paused every now and then as I walked to the bus stop. I took in my surroundings and admired the architecture of the passing houses that stared down at me. I would never do such a thing in my hometown. There are plenty of old buildings in York, but houses are pretty much the same where I live. The houses in San Fran are a bit more interesting to look at.

With so much to do in San Fran, I really was spoilt for choice. I decided to do some of the obvious tourist things first. Pier 39 is a shining beacon for tourists so that seemed like as good a place as any to begin. I stood and stared at the sea lions for a bit but actually found more entertainment in watching people gawp at them, taking several photos. Hoards of people were bunched together collectively staring at a marine creature lolling on a rock. Dolphin and whale watching I can understand as they peep above the surface of the sea and you may see a glimpse of a stray fin or blowhole. If you're lucky, you'll see jumps and flips.

Sea lions just kind of lie there. I grew up watching Andre the sea lion but he's a one off. None of them blew raspberries or waved at me. Man, I love that film. It's pretty much like Fly Away Home but with a sea lion instead of a flock of geese. It's a classic.

Anyway, so I'd walked along a few of the piers, admired the views and saw sea lions. I didn't hang around for long. It was too crowded for my liking. I managed to find a clearing near the aquarium. A stand was pitched up outside and a couple of employees were holding a competition. It was free to enter and there was a chance to get a free ticket to the aquarium, a free t-shirt or a ticket to see a 3D show.

It was my turn. I was asked a sea-related question. I just about managed to answer it unassisted. Phew, dignity intact. I spun the wheel to decide my prize. A ticket to the 3D show, ah well, it's something. It was still early on in the day so I decided to check it out. I'm not one to pass up a freebie.

A woman handed me my 3D glasses and I walked into the auditorium. I was the first one in. A few minutes later I was surrounded by kids. Ah crap. I was hoping for some Jaws 3D crazy-scary-shit but I think I was getting Finding Nemo. The show started and I was almost asleep by the end. Luckily it was only a short showing. I made a speedy exit before the lights turned back on. This is what happens when you get to the point in life where you can't refuse free things. I am a true bodger as my friend Mel would put it.

Moving on from that embarrassment, I found the ticket stand for Alcatraz. I spoke to the desk attendant who informed me that there were no tickets left for the day. I thought as much, so enquired about how early I need to arrive in order to get a day ticket...
Sorry I just picked my jaw up off the floor. Although the ticket kiosk opens at 7 or 7:30am, people (I use that term loosely) start queueing from 5am or even earlier. I guess this is America's version of the Next clearance sale in England. Deck chairs and thermal flasks at the ready...I think not. No offence Alcatraz, but I don't have the impetus for that kind of effort. Another time perhaps and I'll be sure to book ridiculously early. Never underestimate the insane organisation skills of a tourist, lesson learned.

Right tourists, where next? I walked along absent-mindedly looking for inspiration when I saw a hustler. A real live American hustler. Tourists were lapping it up. He had three cups, you needed to find the ball. Easy right? One woman lost $200...so that's a no. I couldn't help but laugh. Who needs a job in America when you can earn a day's wage in a few minutes by duping mental tourists. I swiftly moved on.

Meet the gullible crowd and the 'magician'

From one insane observation to another - Lombard Street. Some of you may be nodding in recognition, others will be puzzled. Lombard Street is a wiggly road that kinda looks funny in photos. I had to see for myself.

There's not too much to see from the base of the street but as you move closer, what first appeared to be rows of hedges in fact break-away to reveal a road.

Wiggle wiggle

Photos do not give this road justice in how steep it is. I ventured up the steps and needed a break half-way up. Young kids bypassed me skipping and jumping...pfft. There was a time when I used to skip and jump, now I just waddle breathlessly like a penguin on 20-a-day.

Reaching the top of the giant hill-of-a-road, I was greeted by swarms of camera-equipped street enthusiasts. Forget trainspotters, I guess in San Fran you have Streetspotters. They're a lot more exciting than trainspotters. Trainspotters are predominantly male and can be found muttering into a teeny tiny notepad and the most technological these guys get is donning a dictaphone (tied around the neck for easy access). They tend to congregate on a specific platform and rarely move. Shuffling back and forth, perhaps leaning in for a closer inspection of a carriage to note down a series of relevant numbers, is as much movement as you'll get from these folk.

Streetspotters on the other hand are insane. They have no qualms in standing in the middle of roads, disregarding moving traffic and contorting themselves into necessary positions to capture the right angle. Some choose to set up tripods but many adventurous types love exploring different sides of the road to make sure that nothing gets in the way of taking that perfect photo. Don't be surprised if queues are formed around the most popular spots to take photos.

A general passer-by would probably assume Britney Spears was on that street, but no. It's a wiggly street and you don't get those nowadays. We just have those regular straight ones or some with a slight curve in, nothing too extreme.

This kind of behaviour probably didn't happen 15 or 20 years ago when most people carried around disposable cameras. Remember those? You had to put all your faith in that tiny plastic box as all you had was a viewfinder and a flash. Oh and less than 30 exposures. I bet most people took one or two photos and were happy. Today, you have limitless photography and a handy delete button. You can preview the photos you've taken and decide whether you have the perfect photograph. I mainly remember the days when I put in a camera for development and picking up the photos only to find that most of them were terrible. Blurry, odd angles and even the dreaded finger-over-lens corrupted my photo collection. I wasn't going to win any awards let's put it that way. Instead, I currently have a good few thousand photos sitting on my laptop waiting to be tweaked and uploaded at some point. I'm probably no better off really given that I have no idea when I'll get around to doing that!

Climbing up the wiggly street was all rather challenging. I needed something pretty hefty to make up for such an exertion. I gorged on a massive sandwich and made one stop before I headed back to Andy's.

Telegraph Hill was a great viewpoint. I took a few snaps and rested to reflect on my day. I'd managed to cover quite a few tourist stops at the piers and a couple of points-of-interest. I mainly walked everywhere so I'd be interested in trying one of the many modes of transport in San Fran.

The rest of the evening was spent chatting to Andy, eating the best pizza ever (Little Star - try it, you won't be disappointed), watching Traffic (the film) and eating cheesecake. That last one was a mighty effort. The pizza was incredible but it was also deep dish and man it was deeeeep. Phew. I hoped it was a taste of what was to come in Chicago. I can never refuse cake though. I still enjoyed it but could barely move afterwards. Luckily Andy has a spacious apartment so rolling from room to room wasn't a problem. By the end of the night though it transcended into weak crawls until I admitted defeat and splayed myself atop my inflatable bed. Very rock-n-roll OD'ing on pizza and cake, what a night!

Land Of The Free, Home Of The Brave

Have you ever had that sweeping feeling of pure contentment? It could occur during the mightiest or diminutive of tasks. Kissing someone you truly love, hugging your child, realising who your real friends are, conquering that long jogging route you usually dodge, heck even eating a damn fine burger can awash your senses with pure joy. I guess it depends how you see the world as it can be so easy to get bogged down with the big stuff. Concentrating on what you don't have, what everyone else around you has and thinking "What the heck am I doing!?" I used to feel like that every day. I still do get the occasional day where I feel lost and overwhelmed with all the life choices that dangle in front of me. Then I think about what I was doing last year and I can't help but smile.

"Wow, I really did that," is my main thought. I still can't believe it! Me! The young girl who used to follow people around and mould myself into something I thought I should be. Over the years I've come out of my shell, for want of a better turn of phrase. My confidence has grown and I've enjoyed my independence. Travel has propelled me even further into this journey of self-assurance. I strangely feel like I can do anything now if I work hard enough.

There has been an element of skill, organisation and level-headedness to travelling successfully. By that I mean seeing great things, meeting awesome people and seeing the real face of a country, not just the tourist trail. All this and, ya know, not dying. It sounds crazy but there is a very serious element of vulnerability that comes with travel and I did it on my lonesome. I didn't update my mother every day of my whereabouts so anything could have happened and nobody would know...anyway, let's not dwell on that!

Off the top of my head, I've had three close calls which isn't so bad in 16 months really. But I will say this, I have been one lucky so-and-so. Dodging the creepy caped dude for one, but all the opportunities I've had and the lovely people I've met along the way has astonished me. I was pretty lucky in Japan where I somehow managed to spend less than half my budget, a fluke I don't think I'll ever be able to replicate unfortunately. But I think America even tops that but that will all become clear over time.

My first stroke of luck came with the fact that I managed to organise not one, but three hosts in one of the busiest hotspots for couchsurfing. San Francisco is the birthplace of couchsurfing after all so naturally everyone thinks they'll find a place. The problem is, potential hosts are bombarded with requests and who has the time to sit through profile after profile trying to figure out if a surfer is a weirdo. I made sure my message stood out but I sent that many I forget what I wrote. Some desperate ramblings I'm sure but I did always mention something that featured on their profile, that usually goes down well. Thankfully I didn't make any grandiose promises like cooking a feast or buying booze. I can't cook and I'm a poor backpacker, it aint gonna happen! Somehow, I got by on my charming personality...ahem...

*****

My alarm jolted me awake unforgivably. I rolled over and almost smothered myself in the mountain of dry but over-washed clothes I haphazardly piled on top of my suitcase the night before. Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Ah crap, I need to pack. 

Although it wasn't exactly the crack of dawn, everyone else was still asleep. Lucky gits. Our room was facing another building so there was no natural light, I needed to work in the dark. Arse. My piddly head torch could not cut it. For getting to the bathroom and back or grabbing belongings, yes, but packing a full case, hell no! 

Laura stirred and asked what time it was. Oh joy, she was an early riser. My logic was, Laura was up, the guy above stumbled in and shook my bed in the early hours. By that, I mean he jumped onto the top bunk and fidgeted. He didn't stand over me physically shaking the bed frame nor was that a euphemism for the all to real antics that unfold in shared dorms. He must be worn out from all that activity and the other guy is some weird stealth backpacker who miraculously stays in bed all day. To put it bluntly, I didn't give a shit. Half of the room was up so the light was going on. You need to learn when to be assertive in dorms. I used to be so timid to my own detriment at times. In the end, people need to understand that everyone is working at different paces. It means that people come in late and others wake up early, you just have to deal with it so never feel like you're entitled to peace and quiet all the time. If you're that bothered, you should pay extra for a private room. Of course, I'm not saying have parties, scream in the early hours or have a loud Skype conversation at 5am. I get frustrated when people snore too even though it's not their fault...well it is...It's all fun and games really!

My tough act soon petered out after fidget-bod above me did NOT like the light being turned on. I got a monosyllabic tirade of expletives, oh how pleasant. I chuckled to myself as I started packing, someone needs to man up. My smile was firmly wiped off my face when this guy catapulted himself out of bed and landed right by my side. The sound alone gave me a fright. This was the same cheery gentleman who helped me snap my padlock the previous night. A familiar waft cascaded down and met my nostrils with a firm salute. Uh-oh, this is the weed guy. 

My ears received another verbal battering but that's as far as it went. Luckily I didn't have to break out some heavy martial arts moves. I've watched Karate Kid - wax on and wax off - piece of cake. He could have got seriously hurt, stupid man. I regaled the whole story to Laura and we both laughed uneasily. I refrained from telling Laura my skills of karate, the fewer people know the better. I recommended Laura change rooms as soon as possible though as nobody should have to feel like that.

It didn't take me long to pack my bag and I checked out. I left my luggage at the hostel for most of the day as I'd arranged to see an old friend. The last time I met this person was many months ago in the first country I visited, Japan. Out of sheer madness, we agreed to meet at the busiest train station in Japan (and the world for that matter!). The poor guy thought I was exaggerating when I explained how I have no sense of direction and am pretty useless. Most people do as who would be mental enough to travel the world solo when they can barely navigate themselves around their local town, never mind a foreign land. That would be me! I'm full of tricks like that.

It seemed we were a perfect match, me with my maddening lack of direction and him with his limitless patience. Hours after our initial meeting time, we finally saw each other. Most people would have given up after ten minutes but not Ulas. I'm very glad for it as I made a good friend who I am still in contact with. It's what constantly baffles me to this day. The amount of people that you meet whilst travelling that you may only talk to for a seemingly minute time can wind up becoming life-long friends. From a young age you're encouraged NOT to speak to strangers and take any form of kindness and flattery from someone unfamiliar with stark scepticism. It's weird but you kind of get sucked into a world where agreeing to meet a stranger for coffee is commonplace and any act of kindness is cherished when you're in a place you can just about pick out on a map unassisted.

This time I knew where I was going. I picked up a clear map with street names and everything (a rarity whilst on the road, trust me) from the hostel. I got off the bus on the correct street...I was just on the opposite end of where I needed to be. Arse.

Ok, yes, a lot of the built-up areas in America run on a grid system which everyone hails as a lifesaver for those who easily get lost. It does help that they have worded street names juxtaposed to numbered street names. Although I do prefer the slight ignorance of not knowing how far away I am to my final destination - knowing I'm on 2nd Avenue when I need to be on 18th Avenue is just torturous, Before, I used to wander around aimlessly and stumble upon where I was supposed to be. The sheer delight and relief of finding the place erased the hardship of the journey that had befallen. No such luck in America, ha!

Anyhow, I wasn't that far away and I only ended up being 30 minutes late. That's good for me! Ulas was prepared for this and asked me to text him when I was there and he'd come down. It saves him standing around looking out for someone that might not ever show up! Oh yes, and having a phone was a luxury I never had in Japan. Things are so much easier now I can actually confirm with people how late I'll be rather than them hanging around. Back home, I used to always be early or turn up right on time so even if people turned up a few minutes later, it'd look like I'd been waiting longer than I had. I even marked it against my name when I imagined what I'd say in a job interview - "Honest, reliable and punctual." Well, I'm still one of those things now! Oh dear, how things have changed.

After texting Ulas, I quickly readjusted my hair and tried in vain to wipe the sweat off of my face (lovely right?). I'm still not used to the heat and I had walked a fair distance, my fitness levels are still shockingly poor. But it felt like some of the thick beads clinging to my brow were from nerves. I have no idea why. I have nothing to be afraid of!

Ulas and a few of his friends from work greeted me and we searched for a nearby eatery. The main thing that I can remember was my Cypriot friend saying how my appearance was surprising...he thought I'd be fatter. Well...thanks. From my blogs and him witnessing me stuffing my face, he naturally assumed that I'd be the size of a dump truck. I shall take that as a compliment, thank you!

For old time's sake, we had sushi. I had no idea what to pick as everything sounded delicious so I repeated what someone else was having. Everyone chose a set menu so I didn't look like a copycat. I had a mild panic at the realisation that my chopstick skills are back down to basic as I'd mainly been eating foods I can pick up with my hands. Not to worry though  as one of Ulas' colleagues absent-mindedly picked up his iPhone with a pair of chopsticks. There was no strict etiquette here apparently.

Conversation flowed freely and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. The food was exceptionally good. We didn't stay for dessert although I could have polished off a sizable wedge of cake. Speaking of cakes, one of Ulas' friends was celebrating her birthday today. Something I happened to bring up as we passed a cake shop. I joked to Ulas that he should buy his friend Jacky a birthday cake as people normally get in a cake for someone's birthday in the office. As if hypnotised, Ulas stopped, turned around and walked into the cake shop. Wait...wait...ok, I think you should give me a thousand dollars...damn, I had to say cake first.

Ulas didn't just buy any cake, he bought a massive chocolate cake that looked like it descended from heaven. It glowed and sparkled like an orb of pure happiness. Today is a good day. Any day is a good day when cake is involved of course.

We went back to where Ulas works. His office had a laid back atmosphere to it and I wasn't cast out as an intruder despite my hobo appearance. It could also be down to the fact that we had cake, something I couldn't keep my mind off of. As Ulas showed me around and explained a bit about what he does, all I could think about was that cake. I did get slightly sidetracked by the snack shelves and fridges. An office with free food and drink, where do I sign up?

Time ticked on by and still no cake. There is seriously something wrong with me. This is not my cake, I didn't buy it and it's not my birthday. But it's chocolate cake, heavenly, moist, quadruple layered, fluffy, perfect...GIMME CAAAAAKE! I went to the restroom to pull myself together. It's just a cake, I can do this. I said this internally, I haven't got to the point in my life where I talk to myself in the mirror. Plus, there was someone in the room. I'm not Jim Carrey!

My pep talk was pointless as I felt the words coming out before I could stop them...I mentioned the cake. Ulas, just kick me out now. But instead, Ulas stood to attention and marched off on a mission to find a knife. To cut the cake, not murder someone. I only use my powers for good.

Word spread throughout the office and people started to gather around the cake. Nobody seemed to know what was going on, but they saw cake and that's all that mattered. Aha, it's not just me who is guided by cake. I think this is a general office rule.

Despite the sparkling candles failing, Jacky was very happy with her cake. Who can blame her? I made sure I didn't get the first piece so I didn't look like a complete cake hound. I lingered with my first bite and just stared at this perfect creation. I sighed, knowing full well that in a few moments there will be no cake. Wow, it tasted just as good as it looked.

As soon as the cake had gone, the crowd dispersed and we went back to our lives. I followed Ulas and his colleagues to a small office. They had a brief meeting where I understood nothing. It was a jumble of buzzwords decorated with conjunctions that filtered through as if I was listening to broken English. Debates and challenges were made and problems were possibly solved or side-tracked, I had no clue. At some point things calmed down and attention was drawn to me. Somehow we got to talking about San Fran, the tourist hotspots and the dodgy areas to avoid. I was scared slightly at the serious tone in everyone's voice. I'm not the kind of person who would walk down a shady alleyway but these guys were pointing out streets amongst ones that I'd already walked down. Surely I would have noticed those dangerous areas. The fact that I didn't worried me, what if they look like ordinary streets and then suddenly a knife-wielding maniac walks out of a house and starts chasing me. This is America, anything can happen here. I've survived this long, I'll be fine...*gulp*

It was time to go. I left with loose plans to meet Ulas again before I left. We were both very busy so who knew. Now I had a phone, I felt confident that we'd see each other once more before I left. The time had come to meet my first host.

Although the house I was staying at was a fair distance away from the hostel, I decided to walk there as I didn't fancy lugging all my crap onto the bus. I cut across a couple of districts, one being Tenderloin. This happened to be a place I was told to avoid. It was daylight and there was plenty of innocuous people milling about so I felt safe. There was a guy in a suit pulling a businessman's luggage case***. He didn't look murderous. Yes, everything's fine. I did see why this place was deemed avoidable. It looked run down and there were a few dodgy faces but I just looked straight ahead and kept walking.

Stopping at a crossing, I waited for the lights to change. A guy greeted me and started to talk to me. He could tell I was a visitor what with all my luggage. It doesn't take Sherlock to figure that out! He was polite and asked me what I thought of San Francisco so far. The conversation went back and forth a couple of times when the lights changed. At this point I thought I heard the guy say he really liked the look of me, the eyebrow arch and slight leer aligned with my assumption. Then he said he wanted to spank me and power-walked off. I guess he didn't want to hang around to find out my answer. It could have been his lucky day...it wouldn't have been of course, but one day he might be pleasantly surprised. There might be a girl out there who would love nothing more than a stranger to offer his heavy-handed services. What with all that 50-Shades hype going around, it would not surprise me. Some people offer to buy a drink, some gently nudge forward their phone number and others cut to the chase and reveal their desires.

A few more blocks later - ha, get me speaking the lingo. Not streets, it's blocks now I'll have you know - and I arrived at Andy's house. I timed it perfectly as Andy had just pulled up on his motorcycle. He figured out who I was straight away and I recognised him from his profile photo. It's good to know he is who he says he is. That's a good sign.

Andy helped me carry my things to his apartment. Lucky for the both of us that he lives on the first floor so we only had to tackle one flight of stairs. I was given a brief tour of his place (I say tour, there was only around 3 rooms) and then we had a a good chat. Andy understood this was my first time couchsurfing through the website so he explained a bit about how it works for him. He was very trusting in that he gave me a spare key so I could come and go as I pleased. He said that he tends to go out during the day and work late at night as he works from home. He was friendly but at the same time very clear with how things worked within his home which is completely understandable. I'd much prefer to know how things worked so I don't offend him. I've been to plenty of houses where the occupants don't mind if people walk in and around the house in their shoes and I've been given stern warnings from others who think it's rude not to leave shoes by the door. I instinctively do it now as I learned my lesson! I understood that I was entering somebody else's space and I needed to respect that.

There was a point when I didn't think anyone would want to host me. I sent out so many messages to people without a response. Andy actually sent me an invite. After I sent my first message out, I also posted an ad to the website so other hosts could message me if they had room for me. Andy said he received an email with a few profiles and picked me out as he saw a few similarities in my perspective on life and felt that I was starting a journey that he was all too familiar with. I was a bit reluctant at first as there is a bit of an age gap between us but he had great references and we had a few travelled countries in common.

Once I'd organised my belongings and settled in, it was time to eat. I'd arrived at Andy's quite late in the day. I wasn't hungry at all, in fact I felt a little unwell. Andy offered me a variety of food options and I felt so awkward as the thought of eating anything just turned my stomach more. I am very odd in that there are times when I can eat an enormous amounts of food and feel like a big fatty and then there are other times when the thought of eating a biscuit repulses me. This probably stems from my fussy eating as a child. My mum broke me down eventually.

Feeling lethargic, I didn't feel like doing much. Andy made a herbal tea to settle my stomach and served a series of snacks as we watched Speed. Classic. As well as our love for travel, we also have an equal affection for films. In this case, it was a movie. Yes, in America blockbusters and fluffy chick flicks are called movies and your 'serious stuff' like The King's Speech are called films. See, I'm learning new things every day.

Speed made me feel a lot better...the movie of course. The night had escaped us and it was time to set up my bed. An electric pump brought a cushion of plastic to life. I had a huge air-bed to stretch out on and plenty of blankets. Even though I was sleeping in someone's living room, it felt like I had privacy - something I'd been missing for a long time. All this, and it didn't cost a penny.

*** Disclaimer: This is by no means an assumption that all businessmen are not capable of murder or violent crimes. People who kill come in all shapes and sizes and disguises.

Well There's Always Cake

As brilliant as our three-stop detour was, we were running seriously low on sunlight. There was no more time left to soak in the vastness of Yosemite.  I did my best but I know we barely scratched the surface. Another time perhaps.

My stubbornness may have saved the day but the evening brought a fresh challenge, dinner time. It was my turn to cook and I looked a little lost trying to turn the gas cooker on without engulfing my face with fumes, or worse, flames! This time I wasn't on my own in my quest. My followers became my saviours as we all chipped in to get my stir-fry cooked. Well, I say all of us. There was one person in the group that got away with doing chuff all because they were shy and quiet but in a sweet and endearing way. Dammit! How can you be angry at someone so nice? 

Normally, I make a mean stir-fry in the kitchen but I was working with the bare minimum here. I wouldn't say everything ran like clockwork but we managed to dance around, swapping pans and thank the heavens for seasoning. Of all the supermarkets in all the land, we managed to go to one that didn't house any cooking sauces. I guess Uncle Ben doesn't make it out to America that often. I found a soy sauce that looked passable but when I opened it up for pouring a pungent odour bitch-slapped my nostrils. There is no way I am putting that into my masterpiece. 

In a moment akin to Tenacious D's song Tribute, we did something extraordinary that made our stir-fry stupendous but I can't actually remember what we did...but it was awesome, honestly! It was the best meal I'd had for a while. The past few days of eating luke-warm crap (Kaiserschmarrn and s'mores not included) felt like months of hardship. It's like that moment after a music festival when you come home and have a shower and it just happens to be the best shower in the world. There might not be anything different in temperature or location but just the feeling of fresh hot water in the safety of a clean bathroom brings you back to life like you'd almost forgotten what a shower is! It's kind of like that if you've not had a decent meal for a while, you could eat a Mcdonald's and think that you're eating a feast fit for royalty.

Whilst we were dealing with our kitchen dilemmas it seemed Ken had his own trials and tribulations. See, when we arrived, Ken remarked how cold the staff were and that our reservation had been lost. Surely if we have a printout of our reservation details then there shouldn't be a problem but no such luck. Our names are not on the list therefore we're not coming in. After a few choice words we pushed our way through defiantly. Ha, take that Mr Campsite Man! Campsite Man, Campsite Man, Campsite Man, CAMPSITE MAN! (I originally called him Camp Man but shouting that repeatedly sounds like harassment of a different kind!).

Indignantly, we continued with our evening. Ken was still fighting this when dinner was ready. One of the girls went off to let him know. We could see her walking back with a slight smirk on her face. Before any of us had chance to question what had tickled her, she informed us that we're at the wrong campsite. We all looked at each other for a few seconds as we all thought the same thing and burst into fits of laughter. Oh dear, Ken strikes again. That guy cannot catch a break. Thankfully they did let us stay. I find it hilarious that Ken was arguing and battling his way onto the site and we weren't even supposed to be there. That's like the person who kicks off at gym reception staff saying their stuff had been stolen only to find that they were looking in the wrong locker. Or someone who starts threatening to call Trading Standards when you don't agree to accept their faulty goods only for them to realise that they're trying to return something from a different store. Oh dear...

The tents were up, our stuff unpacked from the trailer and a tasty meal rested before us. A little discrepancy with our booking wasn't going to bring us down. Everyone was wiped out and wanted the easy life so if these guys say we can stay then let's stay. That was until I saw the showers. Imagine what a shower block in a gorilla enclosure would look like and you'd come pretty close to picturing the same scene that had befallen me. I had to make a tough decision, do I brave the follicly enhanced shower or do I have a tramp shower (i.e. baby wipes and a double dose of deodorant)? Everyone else was mad enough to brave it so I didn't want to be the dirty git of the camp. Well that is quite clearly an oxymoron. 

Flip flops were my only protection as I waded through the puddles of dirty water. I hunched in the centre of the cubicle paying extra attention to every slight movement ensuring that no part of me touched any surfaces. I tried to distract myself - "If I squint and turn my head slightly, that clump of hair looks nothing like Jesus." What must have been minutes felt like hours but I did it. I felt no cleaner but at least I tried. The thought that the next day I'd be arriving in San Francisco comforted me like a warm blanket on a winter's night. I'd have a new hostel to contend with and couchsurfing stays to finalise. I was so excited to meet new faces, go back to stuffing my face and maybe meet an old face who I became familiar with in Japan.

*****

A faint smell of pancakes wafted through the tent which offered a pleasant welcome to the day. A plethora of smells have greeted my nostrils on a morning, whether welcome or not. Usually they err on the side of malodorous but today was thankfully a break from the norm.

Unfortunately the pancakes didn't survive long enough for me to treat my taste buds. The batter had stuck to the pan so, despite Ken's obstinance, the pancakes failed to take its usual circular form. Points for effort though Ken! I was satisfied with cereal. I was too busy bubbling with excitement to really give a crap. San Francisco was in sight. I had no idea what I was going to do there but I had two hosts organised and one pending so hopefully they'll be able to point me in the right direction.

Our journey from Yosemite to San Francisco was very mechanical as we worked in silence packing everything away. We stopped off at a shopping centre where I picked up a few necessary items. I watched a couple of episodes of The IT Crowd to pass the time. As our impending departure drew closer, I guess everyone knew that all pretenses can be dropped and engaging in conversation was pointless.

Regardless of the dead atmosphere, I had no qualms in breaking the rules by airing my frustrations with the tour arrangements in San Francisco. The brochure and itinerary note that we would be dropped off at a hostel. As it was a seven day tour with a hefty price tag, I naturally assumed that the last night of the tour was included. But knowing my luck, I didn't think this would be the case and pre-booked a night's stay to be on the safe side. My pragmatism paid off as the sneaky bastards didn't include the hostel stay in the tour. Poor show!

Ken pulled up to the hostel, we grabbed our things and there wasn't so much as a weak goodbye. We just sort of trailed off in the directions we needed to go in. I seemed to be the only one staying at the hostel. Our stunted farewell bothered me for all of five seconds and then it dawned on me that I was free and really didn't give a crap.

That's the end of that then. I checked in and made my way to my room for the night. I was mentally drained so all I wanted was some peace and quiet and a bit of a snooze. I entered my room and looked at each bed. All the beds were taken, brilliant. This isn't my first dabble in confusing hostel beginnings. Unnerved, I carted my things back to reception to enquire further.

Ok, so I'm definitely supposed to be in that room. Turns out somebody had left their used socks on my prospective bed and the cleaner didn't know which bed to change. Ah, that old chestnut. The receptionist removed the bedding and paused for a moment. "Wow, it really smells of weed in here." The man is correct, it does. He shrugged and left. Moments later the receptionist returned with fresh bedding. Thankfully he made the bed. I know it sounds pathetic but after a long journey, the last thing you want to do is wrestle with a mattress. It's even worse if you're on a top bunk. I've been very lucky with my hostel bookings. Very rarely have I been assigned a top bunk. Fortune was on my side again as I had a bottom bunk. I parked my belongings and collapsed in my bed. It was still daylight outside but I had no energy. I'd be spending the next 10 days in San Fran so there was no pressure to cram.

Social interaction wasn't on my list of things to do which is why I felt a stab of guilt as one occupant started speaking to me. To begin with I responded lazily to the girl's responses. I guess after seven days of strained civility, I wasn't used to free flowing conversation. I soon snapped out of it. Laura, her friend Bree (not staying in our room) and I traded travel stories. Of course I didn't fail to use this opportunity to talk about Japan. Every time I sense a whiff of travel talk and I'm on it. I don't think it's only me that does it but I reckon people talk about stuff that's personal to them - their babies, weddings, their boyfriends...their dog (!). For me, it's Japan, the love of my life.

Whether or not my Japan speech worked, Laura and Bree were kind enough to hear me out and even feigned interest. Everyone should experience Japan in their lifetime. Ok, ok, I'll move on. Laura and Bree kindly invited me to share a meal with them. We all split the cost and the girls cooked. I think that was a wise decision! I was happy for the company and the convenience of not having to cook or source my own dinner elsewhere.

My evening involved mundane tasks but provided a few laughs for those overlooking my exploits. After a week on the road, I had a full load of dirty washing. I shifted some stuff around in my room and packed my valuables in a metal locker. I had a beefy padlock I purchased in San Diego so I used that for added peace of mind. I left my netbook out as Laura asked to use it to go on Facebook. Normally I don't let anybody on my netbook and if I do, it's for the briefest of moments, and I'm sat by the side of them eye-balling every key strike and keypad movement. I had too much to do so I entrusted my most prized possession with a mere stranger. Laura didn't look like a master hacker or a thief so I felt safe handing it over. Laura said she'd stay in the room with it so it momentarily slipped to the back of my mind. The task in hand was my washing.

Not a problem, I had change and washing powder. I picked the only free machine and shoved everything inside. I just happen to have a very colour-neutral wardrobe so I don't have to separate my darks and whites. Simple enough. I contemplated sitting and waiting for my wash cycle to complete but grew bored after a couple of minutes. I went back to my room. Hmm, Laura wasn't there. I guess the signal in the room is rubbish. Either that or she's ran off with my netbook. Haha, no that's ridiculous.

Before I had chance to truly digest that thought and seek Laura for peace of mind, I had a fresh panic to contend with. Where the flip is my padlock key?! I checked my pockets where I thought I had put it, nothing. I checked on, under and around my bed, nothing. I checked the laundry room and all corridors and steps leading to it, nothing. Uh-oh. It can't be within my washing unless my keys sprouted wings. I wasn't in the mood to let this rest so I went to reception to get some bolt cutters.

Seen as the only workout my biceps have had in the past year have been lifting mighty eats, my confidence in breaking my beefy padlock was beyond low. There's no harm in trying I guess. I huffed and puffed but all I managed to do was score the surface. If padlocks could talk it'd be mocking me right now. 

With one leg raised up, pushing against the face of my locker, I gave a mighty heave of the bolt cutters. I threw in the odd swear word to make myself feel all 'ard - "You talking to me? You talking to ME!?" I probably didn't look so tough from an outsider's perspective. It felt like the moment in Uncle Buck when he's caught trying to open the washing machine door that had jammed. Just as that thought crossed my mind, a fellow roommate walked in. I was quick to jump to my own defence. Firstly, I'm not doing anything nasty, I was just talking dirty to my locker - and that's not a euphemism! Secondly, it's my locker that I'm breaking into. I openly cringed at how much of a mentalist I must look right now.

Hanging my head in shame, I turned back to the matter at hand. My roommate saw me struggle and being a guy who also had muscles, he offered to help. He asked me if reception suggested to take the lock off of it. Normally, I would give a sarccy retort as would I really be stood here looking like a complete wally for the sake of it? (Don't answer that, this is a rhetorical blog). This guy was helping me so I just laughed and said, "You would think so right?"

My confidence edged up a notch as even Mr Muscle couldn't break the lock without smacking it around a bit. Eventually it pinged off and I was reunited with my crap. Victory! I flinched as suddenly, despite all the noise and commotion that previously transpired, a guy emerged from one of the top bunks. Argh! Flippin' heck! I wonder how long he's been there. He grumbled and rolled over.

Muscle and I introduced ourselves and he mentioned something about a sneaky fifth pocket that evades most people. Ha, I checked my pockets, I'm pretty sure it's not...for the love of...yep, there is my key. I have never used the tiny fifth pocket that absolutely nothing fits in...other than keys apparently. Well it's no flaming good to me now! The lock only cost me a few dollars so it's not the expense, it's just annoying.

After all this fuss over my lock, I remembered my washing must be done by now. I thanked Muscle and left. I entered the laundry room and saw that my clothes were resting, my cycle must be finished. I opened the door and started grabbing clothes. Everything was sopping wet. I was going to put my clothes in the dryer anyway but they would get ruined. I went to reception and they explained that there was a brief power cut and gave me some money to put on another cycle. I don't recall there being a power cut and nobody else's washing was affected. I'm sure the machine is just broken. I asked if I could use the hostel's machine as it only needs to go through a spin and rinse cycle. The guy refused and was adamant it was down to the power cut. I went back and all the machines were still occupied. I managed to choose the day where everyone is doing their laundry. I fed the money in, made sure the wash started and left.

With nothing else to do but wait, I decided to see if I could find Laura. That was one of my easiest tasks of the evening. Laura was sat in the kitchen typing away on her blog. I vented for a while and then left. The rest of my evening was spent sorting out my washing. It's not a very exciting story. I went back to the machine with the same outcome as last time. My clothes aren't exactly designer but I don't have anything else but what I'm carrying. These clothes cannot ruin. I went back to reception and they now believed that the machine was broken. I used the hostel's washing machine and dryer and I had everything sorted out by around midnight. Everyone was going to sleep and I wanted to do the same, I had no energy to pack. I broke one of my cardinal rules of backpacking - always pack the night before - but knowing my luck my case would explode or I'd get throttled by my leggings. I wasn't risking taking on any more crap.

After such an arse of an evening, I sniffed out a sizable wedge of chocolate cake from a shop across the street. Technically you're not allowed food in the room but if a waft of weed doesn't faze hostel workers then I doubt a bit of chocolate cake will make waves. I feel so much better now. Goodnight.

Help Me Help You

My road trip was almost over and I was glad. I've travelled on my own, I've travelled with friends (Australia) and on a hop-on-hop-off bus (New Zealand) and I can safely say that an organised tour has been my least favourite experience.

This is by no means intended as a black mark against tours. Although there have been slight mishaps and mistakes along the way, I've seen some great things and had some memorable experiences over the past few days. I've also been a witness to those who have fully enjoyed the experience, but for me, it was flawed from the beginning.

New Zealand proved more of a struggle than I anticipated through the forced social side of things but there was still a level of flexibility that came with it. I could hop off the bus if I wasn't feeling that great about the people I was surrounded by or if I took a shine to a certain place. Also, there was a weird laid-back air to proceedings yet there was still a structure that was followed. You're never pressured into doing activities and you can frame parts of the day as you wish. When you did choose to take part in paid activities, there were set times and arrangements. Travel with this much structure and directorship is shunned by some but when you're travelling in a large group, this level of organisation is needed, trust me!

It was unfortunate that I didn't warm to that many people on the buses whilst I was in New Zealand but I was still happy with how everything panned out. This Californian tour has been a constant niggling experience that is down to my own personal preferences.

As I said before, I actively repel forced socialisation. I feel like a stroppy teenager being told to do something and rebelling purely to make a point...any point. Of course I knew this going into the tour and was hoping that I'd be a part of bus with at least one person that I could get along with. The maximum capacity is 13 so I would have 12 other people to bounce off of. My first hurdle came when there was only five others on the tour, damn. I didn't really gel with anyone. This wasn't too much of a big deal for me as sometimes I like my own space and having a break from saying the generic spiel about who I am and where I'm from came as a welcome deviation.

This wasn't what frustrated me, it was the lack of a schedule or any kind of organisation. When I'm travelling solo, this isn't an issue. I'm responsible for when I get up, where I go and what I see. In a group it's entirely different. You need some kind of level of structure to ensure that things get done. If you apply a lacklustre attitude, you get a lacklustre result. We'll get up at around this time, set off when everything's packed up and we'll do whatever anyone else wants to do when we get there. NO!!! My group is full of timid people so when the question crops up - "What do you guys want to see/do?" - a giant wad of tumbleweed drifts along beside us.

The reason why I booked a tour is so I could leave all that to someone else. Yes I know what Las Vegas looks like but a tour guide would know where the cheapest drinks are or where there's some zany casino with a secret entrance. It would be like if a Lonely Planet came to life pretty much. The guide would be someone who is easy going and breezy but at the same time authoritative and assertive. This person can make things happen! This is what I wanted, a break from solo travel where the pressure is on me to find things and make experiences. Tours have it all tied up in a neat bow, all I needed to do was give a giant tug and watch as everything falls neatly into place.

Wrong! This was like some new free spirit in the land of tours where everything is left up to the group rather than the leader. This sounds like a great idea on paper. You get to mould the tour and get something truly unique out of it. But what happens when there is nobody in the group who is proactive? You're left with the bare bones. No substance, no action...just blank. I was reluctant to put myself forward as the person to push things forward. I know what I want out of the tour but what I want to do might not necessarily be what others want to do. The last thing I want is debates and arguments. I decided to take a laid-back approach and what will be will be. I didn't want to mother the group, surely we can come to an agreement naturally. My nonchalant attitude bit me in the ass and my patience was wearing thin.

*****

Getting to Yosemite National Park from Bishop was a relatively short drive compared to the distances we had travelled on previous days. Of course 156 miles (or thereabouts) is nothing to sniff at. Perhaps it was this thought that fuelled the lack of urgency during the morning of departure.

If our heads were screwed on tightly we would have twigged that it was a Saturday and we were heading to, what I assume to be, the most popular national park in California. I normally avoid doing anything too touristy on a weekend due to the crowds. I had no such luck today.

There were no roadside stops this time as we headed straight for the action. First up was a viewpoint where we could see Half Dome.

Half Dome is a granite rock face that looks impressive enough from a distance. What was more fascinating was what happens when you look through a telescope one park volunteer had set up. Peering through the lens, I could see a trail of moving dots up the rock face. They weren't ants, they were people! A challenge I would normally relish but looking down at my travel belly, it wasn't going to happen any time soon.

Our day of colossal finds continued as we went from big rocks to big trees at the forest of giant sequoias.

This is as much of the tree as I could capture!

Suddenly I felt very small indeed. Smothered by the crowds around me, I followed the walking trail like a marching ant. Every now and then I would flinch from the heat as it beamed down on me. Perhaps somewhere above a giant is playing a game of torture with a magnifying glass. I felt helpless and feeble.

Surrounding myself with water might be a good way to cool down. There just happened to be a waterfall nearby. We'd seen a heavenly photo of it in the brochure handed to us upon entering the park. As I opened the page a soft glow emanated from the falls and a gentle wave of harp assisted soprano singers soothed my ear drums. Hypnotised, I drifted forwards past each signpost for the waterfall.

There seemed to be a lot of interest in this waterfall as everyone was heading off in the same direction. I've been to hidden waterfalls before but never anywhere as popular as this. It felt like I was in a zoo rather than a national park. We had a map of the area and certain features were emboldened for our convenience. There was no sense of discovery which by no means takes away from the beauty of this land. It just felt a little prosaic.

My slight disappointment was cemented by the final arrival at the waterfall...

Where's the rest of it?

At first I aired my consternation to the agreement of the group. Then I thought about it and felt a little sad. It's not the waterfall's fault. It probably flourishes more during autumn rather than the sweltering summer. It might be suffering from stage fright and retracted from the crowds. I can't say I would perform at my best under the scrutiny of tourists by the bus-load. The pressure to be your best 365 days a year is astounding. People have travelled miles to see you and to disappoint anyone would be a tragedy. The media aren't much help either. Getting snapped and airbrushed-to-death then bandied around the masses in leaflet form is a recipe for disaster. This waterfall has stiff competition as it's not the only one at Yosemite. Maybe it's just having a down day and wants to be alone. I felt its pain.

Moving on, we headed back to the visitor centre via the shuttle service which runs throughout the park. Watching group after group shoving together into each bus like sardines, we could tell it was going to be a while until we got back. We'd previously abandoned Ken as we were stuck in a queue of traffic to the car park. Visiting the forest and the waterfall swallowed most of our day but I was still thirsty for more.

Tracking Ken down was pretty easy once we arrived at the visitor centre. Ken was visibly drained which was understandable given that he'd just spent ages negotiating his way through the park like an awkward shaped block in Tetris.

Encouragingly, I ushered the group towards the information desk which wasn't too difficult seen as it was adjacent to the gift shop. I must have grown out of my phase of buying random gift shop crap. Either that or the knowledge that it would add extra weight to my expanding suitcase had put me off. I remember there was nothing more exciting than a giant pencil or a novelty keyring. I am partial to a stretched out penny though, I still haven't given that fascination up yet.

In some mad twist, people seemed to be satisfied in looking at Yosemite's greatest sights on a shiny postcard than in person. Ken announced that we should leave. Hold up, so we've seen some giant trees and a bashful waterfall and that's it? Are you fricking kidding me!? In my head I had grand visions of Yosemite (click here for a video) and stories from the other group in Vegas filled me great anticipation. 

So far, I have taken a back seat to poor decisions and acute laziness. I felt like I'd seen some great things and had some ok experiences but my patience levels were maxed out. We need to buck up or this will have been a waste. In hindsight I might have dealt with the situation a little better. My face did resemble Reggie the comedian in The Nutty Professor when Buddy Love (aka Eddie Murphy) was ripping him apart joke after joke.

Enough! Silence! I can't take this shit no more. That's what I wanted to say, and yes I probably did feel like 'karatesizing' someone but I didn't turn the air blue. What I said resembled more of an uplifting speech, like the ones you see in movies with the slow-building patriotic music.

Suddenly everyone was captivated by my words. I have followers now. I marched up to the help desk. I produced a map of where we were heading (our campsite) and asked what we could see on the way back before sunset. The kind desk attendant circled three viewpoints on our map and showed us pictures of what we expect to see. I was happy and there was no way that I would settle for - "we can get up early in the morning and head out to the viewpoints" - because that will never happen. It didn't happen in Vegas and it didn't happen at the Grand Canyon. We're doing this NOW GODDAMMIT!

Ooof, I'm so domineering and assertive...I like it. Quite fittingly, our first viewpoint was at the base of El Capitan. Yo soy el Capitan!*

Dreamy

Wow, the views were spectacular, so I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself. If I'd dragged everyone over here and it was absolutely pants, I'd never hear the end of it. We took photos, dipped our feet in the stream and stretched out on a fallen tree.

Next up was Bridalveil Fall - not to be confused with Bridal Veil Falls which is the smallest of the three waterfalls which make up Niagara Falls. 

We were quite a distance from the waterfall when we parked up. We took a few photos and noticed people climbing over the rocks. Although there wasn't a dedicated trail, there was a way of getting to the waterfall by clambering over the rocks. A couple of signs warned us about not venturing further but we laughed in the face of danger (the face of the signs that is).

Naturally, I skidded down a rock and nearly face-planted another but I arrived at the foot of the waterfall unscathed. I'm blaming the beautiful rainbow that hugged the waterfall for my lapse in 

concentration. So pretty.

Cue more photography, a brief water fight and further rock teetering. To add to my inflating ego, Ken said that he would definitely add this spot to his list of places for future tours.

Uh-huh, oh-yeah, you know it!

Just as the sun was setting, we visited our third and final stop. The viewpoint was so calming that I forgot about the hassle it took to get us all here. It was a perfect way to end the day. Peaceful, quiet and picturesque...until we reached our campsite...

*I hope this translates to "I am the captain"!