Men in Cages: Tori's Travelogue - Day I

When Emily announceed this week's theme, I thought to myself, "You know what, Tori?  It's up to you to be the Tubber who goes above and beyond and actually travels this week."  So I threw some shit in a suitcase, had my mom drop me off at the airport, and boarded a plane headed for the west coast.  (Lucky for me, I just happened to have actually purchased a ticket for this plane ride months ago.)

In truth, Travel week coincides with the week leading up to my friend Naomi's wedding, which I am out in San Francisco to attend.  While here, I will be providing you, my fare readers, with a daily travelogue entries, so get psyched - you've got a whole lotta Tori comin' your way.

Day I in San Fran was quite fantastic.  I've actually been to this city once before - on a family vacay a few years back.  I remember being generally disappointed by the vacation on account of the fact that the trip consisted solely of walking extremely long distances in hopes of catching a "great view" of what Nikita Khruschev called "the most beautiful city in the United States."  But no matter how far my family walked, this "beautiful city" remained elusive to us, views of it completely obscured by preposterously dense fog.  Things have improved since the last time I was here, however, as illustrated by the following two photographs of me in front of the Golden Gate Bridge:

I was honestly stunned by what a bright and sunny day I had.  So too was my skin, and now I am decidedly sunburnt.  Fortunately, my face was really the only part of my body exposed to the elements, so my burn is not too far-reaching.  (I would assume the nudists I saw sunbathing on Baker Beach cannot say the same for themselves.  Link is to a picture of the beach, not of the nudists.  I've learned my lesson about posting explicit material on this blog.)      

Baker Beach was just the first of many beaches I encountered as I hiked the whole of San Fran's Coastal Trail.  The trail is spectacular - even when it inexplicably stops being a trail and becomes a sidewalk through an absurdly ritzy neighborhood for half a mile, you're happy to be on it.  The only downside to my trek was that I completed it in Chacos and now my feet are quite angry with me.  (All the other gals who are here for the wedding are currently off getting pedicures, but I'm so ashamed of the current state of my feet that I opted to skip out.)

Getting back to my San Fran abode upon completing the Coastal Trail proved to be a bit of a challenge, as it required cutting through Golden Gate Park.  GGP is vast and beautiful, but, as far as I can tell, none of the paths running through it travel in a straight line.  Thus, I spent a solid hour wandering off in a northerly direction, only to end up at the southernmost end of the park, over and over again.  It was in while walking in circles that I thought to call my beloved mother and let her know that I'd arrived safely on the west coast.  When my mother asked what I was up to, I foolishly replied, "Oh, I'm lost in a park."  My mother had a temporary lapse of sanity, forgot about the existence of time zones, and went into a panic over the fact that I was going to be raped, mugged, and left for dead in the woods of the seedy city I'd run off to.  I calmly informed my mother that, though it was assumedly quite dark in Maryland, the sun was still shining bright in the skies of California and rapists and murderers hadn't yet replaced joggers and small children as the park's main clientele.

Thankfully, I did eventually escape from the park and was able to take part in some Bay area nightlife.  Evening activities included heading to a bar in Berkeley and getting trashed on $5 appletinis.  (Yes, you read that right - FIVE DOLLARS.  That is 45% of what I pay in Adam's Morgan.  Ridiculous.  I'm moving here immediately.)  Anyway, once drunk, I engaged in two of my most beloved inebriated activities: flirting with bartenders and trying to convince people with an accent that I also have an accent.  Bartender Hazel Marie seemed vaguely amused by me.  The bride's Australian cousins, not so much.

The day concluded with lots of well-earned slumber in a bed far more comfortable than the one I normally sleep in.  Much fun was had, but, much more is yet to be had, so I am off. 

I'm sure you're all very sad to see my post come to an end, but, no need to jump off a bridge or anything; there are several more installments of this travelogue to come.  So check back all weekend for more fun and excitement.  And remember, though jumping off a bridge might seem like one of those happy-go-lucky ways to die, the consequences of juming are both fatal and tragic.

Men in Cages" runs Friday afternoons.  You can read more about Tori here.

Comments

[Jerome]

At least on your 2004 trip, there was a little bit of clear sky in the area immediately around your body. Otherwise, that dense fog would've REALLY sucked.

[Inactive account]

"My fare readers"?! Is that the sequel to "My Fare Lady"?

[Naomi]

You didn't tell me about the Aussie cousin being non-appreciative, we should get him drunk and make him talk in a pirate accent...I think that would loosen him up.