The walk up Powell street looked not bad on the map, but alas, maps - transit or otherwise - do not show altitude changes. I am fairly sure that Powell is one of the steepest streets out there. Half way up, I looked at Kuri (who was not huffing at all, I should point out) and
At any rate, I walked Powell, and I want a t-shirt.
It is Golden here. Even in the pea soup mist that hides the tops of the towers, it is golden. It is both old places and new. The place that Mr. Spit and I ate at during our perfect day, and the wonderful french church with the priest who prays for Gabe, and lights a candle for him on those days that hurt.
It has been a magical afternoon. Our hotel room is at the top of a small hotel, with a lovely resident golden retriever, and it has an elevator with a door you close your self. The room is small and lovely, with a claw foot tub that reminds me of home. I can hear the clang of the cable cars, and I can see outside my window.
A meal in Chinatown (I am not so adventurous as Kuri, and did not go for the entire roasted duck, with head still attached. For someone who has butchered chickens, it looked, well to bird like. I found lovely gifts for my mother, and a few small things for friends, and greatly enjoyed walking around.
Coffee and dessert at the french place again, and back to our room. I will post this as soon as I can, the wireless is slower than the second coming, and I am too tired to go all the way down to the foyer to post there.
(Next morning note)
A wonderful sleep, and a great breakfast. Leaving shortly for the boat visit to Alcataz. See you tomorrow!