Driving and parking around here is like a giant game of chess. There are strict rules, it’s a constant battle and although you might win skirmishes, one day you’re probably going to lose and end up paying dearly. You might want to move like a Knight by jumping forward two then turning left, that’s fine. Just don’t try turning left on a Monday to Friday between 4 and 7PM. And under no circumstances leave your pawn parked outside at 6AM on a Wednesday or you’re sure to interfere with the military style street cleaning operations and get towed in a surgical fashion that Magdi Yacoub would find inspiring.
You roll up to buy gas and pay with your card. You would think that this requires you to enter your PIN on a keypad. Not so fast, hombre! Instead of using the “industry standard” PIN, somebody has had the ingenious idea of requiring you to enter your ZIP (post) code instead. Apparently it’s for security but I’m really struggling to understand how a ZIP code could be more secure than a PIN. Perhaps their statistics on fraud indicate that this method really works, but my logic says otherwise. If somebody steals your wallet, they will probably end up not only with your card but your driving license along with it. What features on your license? That’s right Einstein, your address! How hard is it to lookup a ZIP code using an address? About as hard as finding snow in Siberia. But do most people ever write their PIN down? No. Perhaps I’m going mad…
I took a sunny drive east across Bay Bridge towards Oakland. My mission: to go where no man has gone before and find some new furniture for my semi-naked bedroom. With a pickup this size, it was far too boring to order online and ask for delivery. So in true DIY fashion I headed to Ikea in Emeryville to find it myself. After a quick unplanned detour to Alameda (where they keep zeh nuklearr wessels…sorry, sad Star Trek in-joke) I found the huge Ikea store and the perfect table and chair combo.
Coming back though, what a nightmare. To get in to the city over the Bay or Golden Gate bridges you have to pay a $4 toll, either cash or using a dashboard widget. On a sunny Saturday this means huuuge tailbacks. The Bay bridge is far longer and more impressive in the very dullest of ways than the Golden Gate. Half way across it turns in to a tunnel through Yerba Buena (good grass) island. People actually pay hard cash to live on this no-man’s land. The days of Bay Bridge are numbered though, for an obvious reason – you wouldn’t want to be driving across the current one during a heavy quake… A substantial chunk of the replacement bridge is already sitting in place.
Sunday was gorgeous so I took a long walk all the way across Golden Gate park to Ocean Beach. It’s a long, spectacular strip of golden sand with some impressive craggy cliffs at the north end. It’s also only two miles from my house, which still hasn’t really sunk in. The waves were definitely surfer dude territory, only I heard no cries of “dude” or “woah” and saw nobody acting remotely territorial whilst wielding a pot of board wax. I can only assume that better surf is to be found nearby.
In the park itself there was a real “urban” thing going on. A Brit will struggle to understand this so I will attempt to describe the recipe for San Francisco Urban. Take one pair of rollerblades. Apply a long double-dutch style skipping rope. Add two shakes of cheesey dance music, preferrably at about 110 decibels. Dress lightly in colourful clothes and then dance on the blades, within the confines of the spinning rope, whilst wiggling to the beat. In strong sunlight. For three hours. Get the idea?