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We reached the Haight at around 12pm and, in true style, I began shopping. Well, I don't suppose you could really call it shopping as I only bought one item, but the majority of my time there I spent moseying round the quirky little trinket shops, the oriental stores, taking in the Eastern delights of some of the areas best kept secrets, and marvelling at the vast amounts of smoke shops, equipped with outrageous paraphernalia. The Haight is one long strip of stores and cafes. It is easily accessible by foot, and only takes 30 minutes to complete the whole strip. Surprisingly (or maybe not, seeing as I was in the USA) there was a McDonald’s conveniently situated at the bottom of Haight Street, where, being a true westerner, I purchased my salad and water. As well as the variety of second-hand shops and thrift stores, cafes and smoke shops, the Haight offers an abundance of music and record shops. I ventured into one of the stores, intent on purchasing maybe one or two CDs, and left empty-handed. Why? Well, the main reason being that it was bleedin' huge! I couldn't have made my way around that store if I'd had satellite navigation devices pinned to my chest. Rows upon rows upon stacks upon stacks of vinyl, CDs, DVDs, and music memorabilia littered the shop floor. Despite all the records being in alphabetical order, I couldn't get my head around the vastness of the place, hence my quick getaway.
 | | Amy at Yerba Beuna Gardens roof top |
Deciding that the Haight was pretty amazing, but quite limited once all the shops had been exhausted, I ventured back towards the bus stop. Once I arrived back at Market Street, there were a couple of hours to kill before I had to meet Inky at our hostel. Being so close to a picturesque attraction, I decided to head to the Yerba Buena Gardens, an urban oasis situated between Third and Fourth, Mission and Folsom Streets. The gardens feature a park with Esplanade gardens, sculpture court, areas of open space and a 50ft-wide waterfall that leads to the Martin Luther King JR Memorial. At night, the waterfall looks spectacular, all lit up with small fairy lights to capture the beauty of the place. The MLK memorial is also fabulous as one can walk behind the waterfall to access the plaques on the walls. With a vast park space reserved for concerts and displays, families and couples sat with picnics and papers, basking in the mid-afternoon sun. I meandered around the Gardens for a while before heading back to the hostel. On arrival I met Inky and we decided to meet with some other friends to go for a delicious Italian meal. The restaurant was situated in Little Italy, just north of Chinatown and involved some strenuous walking up some very steep hills. If we hadn't been hungry before, the journey certainly gave us a healthy appetite. Following the meal, Inky, Amelia, Susie and I ventured back to another hostel where we planned to relax with a chilled bottle of white wine. What happened next was so bizarre that I had to catch my breath. We always presume that the world is a huge place, and being in the same city as someone we know only ever happens in the movies. Well, not that night! As we entered the USA Hostel on Sutter and Taylor Street I had to do a double take. In the doorway stood a tall, dark, handsome man, with a glowing tan. To my ultimate surprise it was Ben, a friend I had been to school and college with and had not seen for over two years. We were both gob smacked: "Oh my god! What are you doing here?" was the simultaneous sound that escaped our mouths. I couldn't believe it, here I was, on my own with people I'd met only days ago, in San Francisco, and I bump into an old friend. I can tell you, it was the weirdest thing that happened to me all summer. After conversing for what seemed like hours, catching up on what each other had been doing, reminiscing about old memories and laughing about random exploits of lost youth, Ben propositioned me: "Amy, come out with us tonight. We're going clubbing and it would be great if you could come with us, after all it’s our last night in San Fran. What do you say?" My instant reaction was yes, I was well up for a bit of debauchery. Then it dawned on me: I wasn't 21 and I didn't posses a fake I.D. "Sorry Ben," I replied, "I can't, I don't have a fake I.D!" Debate followed, only after a well-deserved telling off for not coming to the states with some sort of identification back up, even if it was illegal. Then, an insanely genius idea cropped up. “Why don't you borrow someone’s passport?” Ben offered. Hmmm, this could be quite a useful idea, but whose could I take? Well Amelia and Susie were out of the question as I wouldn't see them again, so my only hope was Inky as we were in the same dorm at Globetrotters Inn. Without further ado, I approached Inky in my sweetest manner, expecting a firm NO, and was pleasantly and excitedly surprised when she answered with: "Well, you can borrow my drivers licence…" Yes, I was sorted!
 | | San Francisco's Chinatown |
With our drinking heads on, Ben, his co-travellers, and me (armed with a Dutch driver’s licence, where I had to memorise the difficult to pronounce Dutch name) headed to the small Cellar Bar on Sutter Street. Queuing to get in, butterflies did loop-the-loops in my stomach. What if they could tell I wasn't Dutch? What if they foiled my plan by recognising I looked nothing like the photo on the ID? I was scared. I got to the front of the queue, handed over my ID and stopped. The security guard gave me the once over, handed me the ID and I walked in! I couldn't believe it. Once down the stairs, Ben gave me a huge hug and kiss, bought me a rather expensive looking drink and, as they say, that was that! I was on a total high, and our group partied until the small hours of the morning. I figured by this time that being under the legal drinking age meant nothing, as long as you could prove you were over 21 then all was ok, even if you didn't resemble the person you were pretending to be. My last night in San Francisco was one of the best nights of my life. Not only had I fooled some American door staff with my Dutch ID, I had bumped into a friend halfway across the world and had spent the best part of my trip with him and his friends. What more could I have asked for? San Francisco is definitely a place I would visit again. The city brims with culture, diversity and character. It houses many quirky little attractions, hidden gems and world famous landmarks. My time there will certainly remain cemented in my memory for years to come. And who knows, maybe I'll visit there again next year…when I'm legally old enough to drink.
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