Chris and I went to San Francisco last weekend. I had never been before and was a little overwhelmed by the size of the city. We arrived Saturday evening and our first stop was the Mission District to visit our old confidant, Eric. Basically, much beer was consumed and much walking ensued between bars. We were basically blitzed by the end of the night and Eric confided in me that even he was surprised how much he said “basically” that he dropped almost completely out of his lexicon.
The next day, Chris and I walked to Haight/Ashbury and Golden Gate Park. The day was 4/20 and the potheads had been gathering on Hippie Hill for quite some time. We consumed a couple of beers and Chris’ favorite Irish pub in the area and then went to the park.
The hill was littered with filthy hippies and their offspring. Young and hot girls were passing bowls to homeless dudes. A drum circle played continuously at the base of the hill, morphing from time to time as new arrivals broke out thier instruments. All this unity and brotherly love was making me sick, so I grabbed the nearest instrument and bashed the owner’s head in.
(Oh shit, did I just write that? I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear!)
We left the park before the big moment, so we didn’t get to see first hand the giant mushroom cloud of pot smoke that must have risen from the hill and blanketed the nearby kickball league games and the playground teeming with toddlers.
We had more important things to do. Like go to the beach and look at the Golden Gate Bridge from afar and take goofy pictures. Nevertheless, by the end of the day, we were beat, so we decided to stay at the hostel and drink with some new travel acquaintances from Britain, James and Chris. After consuming a couple of 12 packs between the four of us, American Chris and I went out to eat at a great Czech restaurant down the street. Drunk anew from a bottle of wine with our dinner, the alluring signage of the stripclubs taunted us as we mounted the hill back to our hostel. But we persevered over the temptation and remained chaste. (If you don’t believe that, that’s your problem.)
Our final day was spent walking through Telegraph Hill and North Beach as we made our way to Pier 33 to catch a ferry to Alcatraz. Once on the island, we had a great time exploring the old pre-Civil War buildings, the flora, and all the seagulls that nested everywhere. We decided to take the audio tour of the prison and were not disappointed. It was narrated by former guards and inmates of the prison and was by far the most entertainment I’ve ever had in a state park. I would recommend it to anyone without hesitation.
Once back on land, we gathered our things and met Eric for a farwell beer back in the Mission District. Exhausted, we took the BART back to airport and came home. Everything feels so small here.