Our first night in San Francisco saw us do something of a rarity. It was almost a date night. Dinner and a movie. Both were excellent. Chestnut Street in SF boasts some fine eateries and he one we chose for night 1’s meal was excellent. An Italian by the name of Delarosa. We opted for a couple of starters and a pizza, in a bid to save money, however all that meant really was we saved room for a plate of doughnuts and an extra cocktail for Conny. However, all were deeeelicious and I would happily recommend to anyone. For the movie, we sat in an old school cinema to Fantastic Beasts, which we and the other four or so people in there enjoyed muchly.

Day 2 saw us meet up with an old flame/friend of mine from my very first summer in Nice, Miss Sara Whiteted. We went on a drive and a walk to see the sights. The palace of arts, the pier (including more fried food than you can shake a stick at at Bubba Gump’s) a store for the cack-handed (lefties) folk and a bunch of sea-lions, that kind of shenanigans. Most wonderful however to spend a day with a wonderful lady from my past, whom I introduced to the lady that is my present and future. Gladly, both got on fine! The real icing on the cake is that my present/future lady and I got to meet the lady that is Sara’s present and future…her fantastic daughter Eleanor. She’s one of those rare bright sparks where the mum says “Oh my kid is sooooooo smart.” and you actually agree. Not only that but she is charming and an overall genuine bundle of joy. Soooooooooo pleasing to see the mother that Sara has become and the astounding job she is doing raising such a child, on her own. If you are reading this dear Sara, I said it then and I’ll say it again, you should be very proud of yourself, I am!

Conny and I headed out for another wander down Chestnut street intent on some other fare and stopped at a tapas bar(Mezes). Absolutely delicious once more. Small portions and the chips with greek cheese and stuff were a let down but still, the more authentic dishes were pretty spot on.

Day three saw the obvious trip to Alcatraz. As one can imagine an impressively foreboding place, with that sense that some serious wrongs had gone on there, but what did surprise was the brevity of which the island was indeed a full fledged prison. I thought it had been such since the early days of America. I was wrong. Merely a hundred or so years of history to it really, first as a simple fort during the civil war, then as a military prison, then a proper prison. Then abandoned and a reclamation attempt by the native Americans was stomped out in the 70s. I also learned that the Rock (action movie with Nic Cage and Sean Connery, not the wrestler/movie star of Polynesian decsent, wouldn’t dare say he is wrong) is wrong. That scene in the showers, couldn’t have happened. The showers were open stalls and nothing like those in the movie. I also learned that the families of workers lived and grew on the island in their own little community, which seemed both and odd yet strangely idyllic place to do so. The most interesting nugget however that I picked up was that during his stay there, Al Capone was a bit bonkers due to his syphilis.

Tour over we headed back to the mainland. Here is where Conny had the brainiest of brain waves.

“Lets hire some bikes” she says.

“Why not?” comes my equally brain filled response.

We hired the bikes, for 24 hours. Rode them along the waterfront and sat by the beach at the foot of the Golden Gate as the night drew in. The locals making the most of the warm evening, taking to the water on some very impressive hydrofoil kite surf thingymajigs. Nothing too alarming yet.

The next morning was Thanksgiving, we awoke to get our slightly stale breakfast and cups of coffee down us so we could head out across the bridge, again no hassle. Then came the tour of SF. The most god damn mother fucking hilly city on the planet. Swear down. Fucking stupid idea. I did only once get defeated by the hills and get off and push but I’m not sure the chaffe was worth it. Fuck that place is bumpy. Lombard street(that curvy one that you may have seen on the TV, I first saw it on record breakers with Roy and Cheryl back in the old days…If I am correct someone was doing a rollerskating/waitering/drinks-on-tray record in some very high socks and even higher shorty shorts…I’m not sure if it was real and scary or just a straight up nightmare but, hey that’s the memory in my head, anyway, I digress), if you are interested, don’t be. People queue for hours just to drive down that fucker in their oversized rental Escalades et al, snapping and selfy-ing away like proper bellends. At least one dude burnt the bajesus out of his clutch and managed to spin a tyre streak on to the road. Reet C-nuts the lot of’em.

Walked home, again via Chestnut street and really only intent on a beverage and a stool for our sore arses, we sat at a somewhat unassuming looking bar kind of place, with nothing really in it’s identity to suggest what lay in store. A quick glimpse of the ridiculously droolsome Thai menu saw Conny and I once again eating. This time sharing a fanfuckingtastic vegetarian sandwich with mounds of avocado and salad and Thai awesomeness alongside potato wedges. The best part however was meeting Sharif. A guy in his late forties or fifties I’d say, from Egypt. He’d come over here to work at Palo Alto and was properly living and loving life. The kind of dude you instantly warm to. A genuine smile and a hearty laugh. We discussed the usuals without getting too heavy, you know, those things I’m banned by Conny from discussing, politics, religion, life in general…the good stuff. I’m sure we may agree on some things and disagree on others, but we shared a very similar spirit about the importance of being honest with oneself, not being a general dick to people, and hoping that one day something we do will not only be beneficial to us, but also help or be beneficial to someone, anyone, that we leave a positive mark. Sharif is a good dude. That Thanksgiving, I can say with certainty that I was thankful to pull up a seat at his table.

The evening saw our laziness, unbeknownst to us at the time, take its toll on our credit cards. Grubhub.com sucks dick.

How a company can offer a payment system that automatically shuts down not one, but both mine and Conny’s Visa and Mastercards instantly, due to its dodginess is beyond me. Particularly when that company specialises in online credit card takeaway food orders and offers a ten dollar incentive to use your card. But that is exactly what happened. They were quick to respond with a 5 dollar voucher for my next order when I told them of my woes…which of course I can not use as the site wont accept my card and vouchers can only be applied to card transactions, therefore, an entirely useless offer, but hey, I learned a lesson. I say I learned a lesson. That didn’t actually come until a few days later. We hadn’t realise our cards had been stopped. So when we rolled up to procure our convertible Mustang for the trip down to LA, shit got real. Turns out the folk at Alamo SFO though are proper decent folk. When both our cards worked, for clearly no good reason, and given we had prepaid the hire, they just took a cash deposit. Now when I heard those words I was thinking probably what you are thinking now, that must be a shitload of cash. A brand new Mustang Convertible, cash deposit incase of any wrong doing. Minimum hundreds, probably thousands. Nope. 50 bucks. Seriously. 50 bucks. I laughed. Out loud. I actually properly LOL’d. So there it was. We had recently sent the Black Beauty to pasture, and I was about to sadly up my jumpy and twitchy young Mustang. Too fucking right.

Highway 1, with the top down is a dream. Winding along the coast, the haze of the sea, the colours of the light, the smell on the air and the wind through whats left of my middle aged man hair is ridiculous. We pulled in at Santa Cruz and got a quesedilla to share(from a little shack called the Steamers Lane Supply, and it was fantastic) with some coffees and watched the surfers doing their thing. The old and new surfer generations, all a bit hippy this was a proper little place. Kind of reminded me of the Lost Boys, without vampires/and or the Frog brothers. I could happily retire there. I suppose however, in order to do that I would have to get a job first. Big Sur is beautiful. We watched Star Wars (Return of the Jedi no less) while eating at a good friend of our’s recommended eatery, the Fernwood Tavern. He said it was the best he had in the US. He clearly hadn’t been to Gan Shan Station, but it was definitely good. So good we enquired about a room for the night. It wasn’t however 250 bucks for a room good however so we moved on. The next morning, we had backtracked a little to get a reasonable motel, we got to do Big Sur all over again, but in the morning light, then passing the quaint little seaside towns. Onwards and downwards we headed to the big smoke of LA. We went past a sign saying no parking, but clearly given everyone else had parked, we assumed there must be something to see and followed suit. A beach full of elephant seals, wallowing and, I assume at least, mock fighting. The big blubbery beasts barking and biting at one another to catch the female’s gaze. Certainly a sight to behold and quite unexpected too.

Our trip to LA however had been unwittingly abbreviated by our new flight date, so we didn’t get to hit up Venice as we planned, but as we got close to LA we kind of realised that was no bad thing. The weather was souring and the sky darkening as night stormed in. That’s not the real reason though, traffic there is fucking shit. The drivers get worse as you get closer and what are already terrible drivers become ludicrous. To be honest, by the time we handed back the keys and gave the car a quick adieu, we were suitably done.

Then. Panic.

I had stupidly, last minute read a horror story about someone wanting to go to Rarotonga but the flight crew then said they needed to prove onward flights from New Zealand, something I thought sounded off, but was perhaps plausible. We tried to book flights from NZ to Australia. But guess what. Cards didn’t work. We checked at the desk, but the check in lady seemed clueless at best. We made our way to the gate. Hitting bricks incase they asked. My phone stopped working as I tried to speak to my sister in law so if necessary she could back us up. My messaging apps decided to fully fritz out at this exact moment too, so Kerry was then only getting half messages in decidedly un-real time. I was getting nothing back. The internet then timed out. As did our wait for boarding. Here goes nothing. And that’s exactly what happened, nothing. Not a sausage of bother. Easy and peasy. Thos bricks that I shat were for nought. We arrived at Rarotonga, complete with Ukelele reception and flowers around our neck, zero hassles. Welcome to paradise.