A friend, who shall remain nameless, accused me of being a romantic because of my affection for San Francisco and my desire, during my regular visits, to live as a local. Well guilty as charged: because as I drive in from the ( clean efficient) SFO in a shuttle driven by a prosyletising Buddhist I DO feel a little like you do when you're on your way to meet someone special that you haven't seen for a long time. The sky is blue, the air crisp and while ( as with all homecomings) I had forgotten the seediness and shabbiness of parts of the city, I do feel at home. The plane flight over had nothing to commend it aside from my seat buddy, 84 year old Peg who travels to all sorts of out-of-the way and exotic places (this time NZ!) from her home 150 miles north of San Francisco. I have an invitation to 'drop in' if I'm up that way - and I think I'll take her up on it!
So off now to find a taqueria for lunch, and early to bed. Here's the view from my balcony: