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In the course of 12 days we have driven 2860 miles (4576 km) through seven American states, spent 24/7 in each other’s company, often sharing one big room or two small tents, suffered the smell of each other’s hiker-hot feet, fallen asleep to the drone of each other’s snores, discussed the pros and cons of high-tech GPS and good old-fashioned maps (guess what I prefer), chuckled at each other’s foibles, marvelled together at soaring condors, eagles and falcons, been amused by chirpy little squirrels and chickarees, enjoyed the up-close rumblings of bison, been rendered speechless by awesome Bryce Canyon and giggled nervously when an American Air Force fighter jet headed purposely straight for us in Death Valley.
We are now on the last leg of the journey in which all four of us are together. Soon two of us will head for home while the other two will continue the journey for a week more.
For now, though, San Francisco calls. Although we have heard only good things about San Francisco, it is with some regret that we leave the wilderness behind to head for the city. None of us are city people at heart and only one of us (me!) was even born and brought up in a metropolis.
We leave Yosemite and cross the Sierra Nevada mountain range, having to make a detour because of yet another large and smoky forest fire. We stay at a totally cozy B&B south of San Francisco in Half Moon Bay, within walking distance of the Pacific Ocean. The rooms are pretty and the breakfasts sumptuous and flavoured with home grown herbs. The B&B is a nice oasis away from the hubub of the city.
We take the train into town and walk around. The Golden Gate bridge is modestly covered in a hazy gauze composed of a blend of city smog and wood smoke from the seemingly ubiquitous forest fires. We get a distant and hazy view of the island of Alcatraz and its defunct prison building where the infamous Chicago bootlegger, racketeer, gangster and mob boss Al Capone was incarcerated in the prohibition days of the 1930s.
We make our way through the babble of Chinatown. It is Autumn Moon Festival, so the streets are packed with people, vendors and festivitas. It is colourful, lively and exotic but somewhat claustrophobic.
We saunter around Fisherman’s Wharf, which is also packed with people. San Francisco seems to be a tolerant town with room for all sorts of folks: gays, fashionistas, hippies lost in a time warp, druggies, drunks, homeless, skateboarders, obese citizens delving into huge bags of junk food that seem to accompany them everywhere, and thousands of tourists like us. We walk and walk and then spend some moments resting on a bench and people-watching.
Next day, we say our goodbyes. Tove and Bjarne, my wonderful veterinarian friends from Denmark (who else would bend down and check the teeth of a strange dog when chatting up an owner you’ve only just met??) to tend to their four-legged clients, while Tove’s sister Bente and I fly north to Canada for a week more of exploring. So fear not! More nature adventures to follow!
