Day 1

Flight was uneventful if extremely fucking long. Watched Quantum of Solace, Burn After Reading and Vicky Christina Barcelona. All OK. Thought about Penelope Cruz for a while. Greenland and Baffin Island both looked spectacular.
Got to America. Nearly sent home straight away. Immigation phoned Si. Si confirmed I wasn't going to work for them illegally. Cast into San Francisco a free man. 'Have a good trip sir!'
Bus into town. Heard some rucksack recommendations and extreme 'free climbing' anecdotes from the yank lovechild of John Lennon and one of Spinal Tap. Let's hope they're not all like this. Got into town. Cab to see Si and Jackie. Didn't know the tipping etiquette. Didn't pay a tip. C'est la vie.
Tea with Si, Jackie and Si's sister Rachel. Greek Salad. It's fucking massive and well tasty. Pint of Stella too. Go for walk to Haight Ashbury, the birthplace of the 'beat.' It's like Affleck's Palace stretched out into one long sunny street. And full of homeless people. Sweet.
Walk back with the intention to go for a drink. Realise I've now been up for 85 hours. Sack it to the hostel. Looks like a refuge for the homeless at first sight but is actually OK. Bed is very comfortable.