The tighty whitey mighty fighty.

Today we spent the day like real tourists. We strolled through Union Square and up on into China town. It was bustling, the air was full of exotic smells and the streets were swelled with Chinese people. The 4 or 5 blocks of China Town we walked through had the heaviest footfall of anywhere in the City.
It's a great place. Everyone there is respectful and cheerful, and apologetic when they inevitable bump into you because the crowds are so thick. All too quickly we had strolled through it, and we stopped off at City Lights. City Lights is a bookstore / occasional publishing house that is one of the Historical homes of the entire Beat Generation of writers that I adore. Across the street is the Beat Museum. A door down is Vesuvio, the famous bar pictured in many of the most famous Beat scenes. This was another real highpoint of the holiday for me.
Just walking through there, I felt connected with all the drunken, crazy, esoteric glaring genius that the place had sucked an existence from. I browsed through more Beat writers than I knew ever existed and felt elated. Hairs were actually standing up on the back of my neck as I red the placards under the pictures on the wall. It really was a shrine to the Beats, the star fucker of the entire 50's literary and musical counter-culture scene.
There is an air in the place like a hushed church. Jazz music plays slow in the background as people quietly amble through pictures of Ginsberg and Dylan.
Something else has been happening lately.
For some corny reason, I can feel my faith and spirituality is re-awakening. I am beginning to comprehend the thoughts of higher powers without making a face or contorting in the anger of a staunch atheist. I don't think I was ever a good Catholic, and the idea of their doctrine is still laughable to me, but somehow I am feeling a higher power looking over us on this trip.
Sarah lost her credit card in the bookshop.
I think it must have happened when she opened her wallet to pay for three postcards, little paper plaques to connect us to the place.
The guy working behind the counter came out onto the street and asked
"Are you Sarah Madden?"
She nodded affirmation. We were both really confused, not knowing if we were to get some prize or the cops were about to show up.
He handed Sarah her credit card. It was a bit of a shock for both of us. We were delighted to have it back but incredibly freaked out at what might have happened had this worthy guy not been so perceptive.
Phew all round.
And thats what I mean, little strokes of luck like that have cropped up a number of times since we got here. Tidbits from conversations, sage advice, crazy fun, all have popped our way for no reason and for which I am grateful and slightly shaken.
When we were outside, we started talking with a college professor who was taking some students on a tour of the area. He started asking me about writers that I had never heard of, but also had a font of information. He pointed out Francis Ford Coppola's building, and also the cafe where he wrote his screenplay for The Godfather. He showed us a famous speakeasy on the corner, and the first topless dancing bar in San Francisco.
Apparently the Beats were allowed to flourish in North Beach, a largely Italian area. I was wondering if this was because of the continental, ignore what you can't fix attitude, but either way, when I left the bookshop i was in awe.

From there we went to Coit Tower. It was a gift to the City donated by some kind and moneyed lady, and stands tall on North Beach with a towering view. You have to pay four dollars fifty to ride an elevator to the top, but once you are up there, a panorama of the city awaits that is quite breathtaking.
The view was great but the plastic windows you had to peer through made it feel fake.

Pier 39 was our next stop. It's the most tourist friendly area of the city and also one of the worst money traps. It has a lovely atmosphere and a million vendors lined up to take money off of you for sea lion teddies, candy floss and hot dogs. Everyone there is not a local because there is nothing in Pier 39 for any non-tourists.
I remembered from being here 4 years ago that one of the main attractions were a huge number of sea lions that lazed around on floating crates at the end of the pier. I thought it would be fun to take everyone down, because we were in the neighbourhood and it's great cheesy fun. They fight each other like puppies. We watched them for ages, completely transfixed by the strange interactions.
By this stage we had walked through most of downtown and I was ready to drop. I strolled to pier 33 to buy tickets to take a ferry to Alcatraz and then we caught the bus back to the hotel.
We had a nice smoke and took the weight off of our feet, but after an hour we got up again and we all hailed a cab for Golden Gate Park. We ended up getting a limo there. We hailed a normal cab which passed us by, but this small black limousine pulled up behind it, ready to take us. The guy was really decent and took us all the way to Golden Gate Park for 20 dollars, like 5 dollars each. and we got to ride on leather seats with the windows open and hear him tell us stories about how it was his first day back and his boss was already on his back.
When we got off at the Haight it was just as dodgy as before. It was made even more dodgy in our heads because the Cab driver had told us stories of people being gunned down in broad daylight by automatic weapons. So understandably, we strolled past upper Haight and Hippie Hill quite quickly. The only trouble was that by the time we got there, all the bike and boat rental places we were closed and we were all too tired for serious hiking. Cormac found us a bus and we took it all the way downtown so we could get a BART back to the hotel, find a local restaurant, eat there and fall asleep early for tomorrow, when we are hiring a car and driving to Santa Cruz. I'm really looking forward to it, and also to the La Luna Inn, where we are staying tomorrow night. We are leaving the El Capitan two days early to head back to cable TV and motel based king size bed comfort. It's only 50 dollars a night each and is worth it for the toilet in our own room alone.
Really looking forward to tomorrow. It's one of the few times I will be on the open road in America. Meg is driving as she is the one with the American licence, so I can drink when we get there and everything.
Excited!