The Golden Gate bridge. 3 kilometers of concrete and steel and girders and triumph of man over nature and blah blah blah. You know what I mean.

For all that the bridge is a gate into San Francisco and a major transportation hub and all, it’s ridiculously hard to get there and back. It’s in the middle of the gigantic Presidio park, so walking is long and tiresome, though pretty. Only a handful of buses get there, and not all of them actually have stops by the bridge. I ended up walking for an hour, getting mildly lost, until I suddenly spotted an in-park shuttle making the rounds. Joyously I leapt into it and took it all the way back to the bridge where better transportation might be found, only to discover I had waylayed, misplaced or otherwise lost my camera. So I rushed off down the same route, the same twists and turns I took before, checking for my little red camera in the grasses and dirt.

Just as I was giving up hope, reaching the end of my route, I found it. It apparently fell out of my pouch during my aforementioned joyous leaping into the bus. I rushed in and held it close to my heart, rejoicing in our renewed relationship. Looking around, I was still in the middle of the park.

Then a taxi passed by.

The San Francisco Chinatown, the most well-known one, is a tourist hell. Amidst the overpriced Chinese trinkets and overpriced Chinese food you can see and hear people from all around the world. They walk around, gawking at everything – EVERYTHING. In one shop, a Chinese woman was folding dim-sum. The tourists stood and gawked. In a street corner, a Chinese woman was playing a strange stringed instrument. Tourists stood and gazed appreciatively. In a shoe store, a Chinese woman was vaccuming the carpets. Tourists looked in in admiration.

My laptop power cable is rapidly disintegrating. It’s held together by electrical tape and two kinds of copper wire and a hell of a lot of optimism. Just 12 more days, and I’ll get it replaced.