Not the bus the Who were thinking of.

Contrasting inclinations of what to do on the last day. we were going to rest the legs but there were so many things we haven’t seen. Is this a time of winding down or making that last push.

My inclination is to make that last push. But first we had to prepare for the new regulations of airlines by posting all our liquids back to Peasants Pissoir. In San Fran it is easier to find an internet café –even in the Tenderloin – than a post office. Even the postal worker had problems.

That done, I was at a loss. The idea was to wander the Castro and the Mission districts but both of us were tiring of Market Street and the filth of Valencia that we gave up at Dubose. One can take so much filth.

We decided to head to the ocean one last time as it was a perfect day weather wise – around 12C.

One thing we liked are the non automated transfers where the drivers were giving us about three hours instead of 90 minutes. We headed back to the hotel, picked up our winter gear then waited for the Geary Bus to the Ocean.

While I was complaining about the residents being stand-offish, it seems that while waiting for the bus, we ran into one who had had a double espresso in every café in Nob Hill, she chatted away, where was everyone from, what were we waiting for, she was awaiting her hubby who was circling the block, welcome to the United States. We breathed a sigh of relief when the bus came.

We wish that we hadn’t as the bus could have been the George Orwell Down and Out in London and Paris Theme Bus from the rank odour that rushed out like so many commuters on a rush hour bus. It stank, stale air, unwashed clothing, it made me think longingly of Greyhound coaches as the air would be fresher. No one would open the windows as it was cold out. This couldn’t be blamed on the people of the Tenderloin as we caught it just west of Union Square.

The excuse for the walk was the usual sightseeing spots, Cliff House then along the ocean to see the Golden Gate Bridge again – actually I just wanted to wander and getting down the giant windmill interested me more than the ocean.

Finally got the giant camera, didn’t see where it was a camera except for the camera obscura aspect until some other tourist after realising it was closed – the boarded windows nor the padlocks weren’t clues – pretended to turn a nob while her boyfriend photographed her.

Too many people about. Wanted to photograph around the Sutro Baths but people were climbing all over them. A few surreal images, a bit of documenting the graffiti, and a walk to see the Golden Gate.

Until we saw that the path was closed. This proved to be the theme of the day. Both of us thirsty we searched out a café like the ones we found south of the park but found ourselves in a rampantly residential area. Walking toward the city and not wanting to be fooled again. We determined to walk only so far then take the bus – Carol had a hankering for some take-away from Greens for one last time.

One last chance to see the Golden Gate as we tried before hopping on the California bus to see it from China Beach failed.

I didn’t want takeaway – even from Greens, I wanted something Asian – I thought so I left Carol at the hotel and headed out on the same transfer to find some food. Walked the Tenderloin but having a flash of déja vu or my modus operandi in Baltimore, headed down to the MUNI to see the ocean one more time down by the zoo at the end of the L line. Heading out I saw how most of the MUNI rail – J.K.M - had a terminus at Balboa Park. I thought that I would – all on the transfer – head over on one line the M then back on another the J. When done I would ridden all the MUNI Rail lines.

Liked West Portal, like Taraval got down at 48th and Stoat and walked to the ocean in the dusk but first photographed the mini area of old motels in the area – without too much success as I tilted the camera a bit much. Arriving at the beach I made some standard snaps when the sun came out from under the clouds and set in the ocean. Events like this make wandering worth it. Some more snaps of restaurants, the offices of the motor inns and façades before hopping back on the L Line which – luckily for me not for anyone else - was the K and was heading to Balboa Park.

Too dark to do anything – meaning photograph – so stared, got down at Balboa Park and waited the J to head back.

And waited, and waited, waited, saw everything else leave. An hour later – when they are to run ever 15 minutes – I saw a J at the station, waited for the driver to open the door.

Even though she saw me standing there, I must have been at the wrong spot as she drove off, ignoring me. Being in San Fran this long I didn’t expect her to open the door to explain, but I did expect a pointing to where the stop was. Raced beside the tram until I got to what I thought was the stop but I must have missed it by a millimetre as she pulled past then opened the door. No comment no remarks simply adhering to the Red Stripe Advert admonishing bus drivers for not being more humane.

The ride again showed me how compact the city was as I was heading down Church Street. Paralleling the area we had planned to walk. Wished that I had more time but it couldn’t have been a better ending.

Returned with no food – I find that I only eat when I am bored the reason I lost so much weight last summer – as Carol was picking up the phone to ring missing persons.