Travelling Hopefully - American Customs

My plane was late arriving in San Francisco due to the aforementioned issues hosing the straw off it in Sydney.  Once it spat me into the terminal building I found myself being closely questioned by a customs officer.  "Why have you come to America?" is fair enough as is "Where are you going in America?" But "Why are you going to New York when your return flight leaves from San Francisco?" seemed a little much particularly since after sitting on a 747 for seventeen hours I couldn't come up with a coherent explanation.  I think I said something like, "New York, big buildings, yay!".  As for the coming back to San Francisco part the real answer is that I was making up the holiday as I went along but I doubt if that would have impressed him.  Eventually after making me sweat for a while he released my passport and waved me through.  I'm still not sure if he was genuinely suspicious or whether as a proud San Franciscan he honestly didn't know why anyone would want to go to New York.

Through absolutely no skill on my part I've managed to fall on my feet in San Francisco.  I'm staying in The Castro a predominantly gay part of the city.  My host, a charming gentleman named Adrian greeted me with Bloody Marys and a lunch invitation.  Just the thing at midday on a Monday when you're trying to stave off jetlag.  It worked so well that I'm currently writing this blog entry while clinging to a table top and holding my eyelids open with paper clips.

First impressions of San Francisco?  It's hilly, quite hilly.  If you climb to the top of a hill you will be treated to the sight of another hill.  Possibly it's just the area I'm in but the people seem quite friendly.  At least the restaurant staff were quite happy to serve someone whose jetlag status had reached drooling on a plate stage without any qualms.

After a semi delirious car ride (I was semi delirious, not the car) I was released onto the streets where I proved that near terminal brain disfunction wasn't enough to stop me from finding and buying coffee the consumption of which is the sole cause of any passing resemblance to coherence this blog entry possesses.

Now, however I am done for the day.  The afternoon sun is warm and my eyeballs are contemplating claiming asylum in someone else's body.  My body thinks they already have.