As usual we did plenty of walking. On our first full day, George was pulled by her extra-sensory shopping powers to the vintage stores of Haight-Ashbury. Having travelled up and down the length of that colourful neighbourhood, and gulped down yet another Vanilla milkshake for sustinence, I sought out the Cartoon Museum in the area south of Market Street - "SoMa", naturally. George left me to my own devices, presumably to visit more shops.
The following day, we once again trekked over the city's hills, through Chinatown and Little Italy, to tourist friendly Fisherman's Wharf, where, after gawping at the diminishing population of sealions at Pier 39 (some say they are leaving because a big quake is imminent) we hired bicycles and pedalled off towards the Golden Gate Bridge. I am happy to report that in the 7 or so miles we covered, over the Bridge and back again, George managed not to fall off. She did however give voice to her suspicions that she had been given a "special" bike as it seemed extra hard to pedal.
We located a small bar near the hostel - dark and showing sports on the box, as we drank on the bar stools and nonchalantly flung down dollar bills as tips, we smugly felt we were living the true barfly experience. George even accused me of ogling the barmaid. I wasn't (although she was very pretty). Any jealousy issues didn't stop George recommending that we visit the bar again the following night, with Andrea and Mitch, who we met for a slap up Japanese meal. As a result, the following morning, a gnawing hangover attempted to distract me from steering the car over the Bay Bridge and out of the city towards Yosemite.