The smoke hanging over Californ – Ia (as Mark calls it) has reduced the Human-Be-In masses on the Golden Gate Bridge. We did, however, see a few ageing hippies in the tie-dyed kingdom of the world, Haight Ashbury. Jimi Hendrix continues to look down on the streets, and the streets did make me hum a little “Purple Haze”. Our bus driver, who rescued us after a massive walk from Fisherman’s Wharf to across the Golden Gate Bridge, did a bit more than hum and entertained us with renditions of San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair). He might not have been Scott McKenzie, but his rather cool African American rendition took us back to the “Summer of Love”. Oh well, should I say took me back. Mark reminded me numerous times he wasn’t born then and had no idea what I was talking about.
Our little stroll (Carol’s idea) resulted in about 25km of pavement pounding. We had a few marching bands to keep us company for the first bit as we walked into the middle of Veterans Day marches as we strolled toward the most famous Art Deco bridge in the world.
As a lover of architecture, my senses have been well and truly blasted with the most fantastic collection of eclectic buildings. We returned to the hotel about 5.30pm and needed to lie on the bed. I was in charge of dinner reservations and found a little Italian place, Capannina, that came highly recommended on trusty Trip Advisor. The food was absolutely delicious, but whoever works for Google maps hasn’t ventured far from 345 Spear St cause the walk definitely wasn’t flat.
Sleeping under the stars 