The trip to Pacifica (just south of San Francisco) was only 90 miles, but it rained all the way and we had several miles of construction backups, so it was not an easy drive. Fortunately for me, Becky wanted to drive the whole way, so I didn't have to hassle with the traffic and rain.
We are at the San Francisco RV Park, where we stayed six months ago. We had arranged to have the best site in the park (it's nice and wide and overlooks the coastline), so we are thrilled.
We also have satellite reception, in spite of the drizzle and fog. Only two problems: In backing into the site, we failed to notice the post behind the rig (it's now bent at a 45 degree angle) and the next-door neighbor thinks it's OK to park her car nd a friend's car on part of our site.
They are both supposed to leave Tuesday, so we don't plan to make a fuss. There is overflow parking for our truck within a few feet, so we will cope.
Monday night, we celebrated by having dinner at Ocean Fish, the Japanese restaurant we visited three times the last time we were here. As expected, it was yummy.
The next-door neighbor decided not to leave Tuesday, so we had a bit of a confrontation about the parking rules. She rather snottily agreed to move the cars, but didn't do it until three hours later. It always amazes me that some people believe that rules (and common courtesy) simply don't apply to them.
Tuesday night we took BART to The Embarcadero to have dinner at a restaurant called Prospect with Bann and Chris Covington,
old friends of Becky's from UC Santa Barbara days---and beyond. (They spent a lot of time together when Becky was in Germany for three years after graduation.) We last saw them in Atlanta in 2004. They now live in Berkeley. Very nice people. Their son, Scott, an Army captain and graduate of West Point, is a Blackhawk helicopter pilot in Afghanistan, due home for good in a few days. Many thanks to Scott for his service. (By the way, I had a green goddess salad and a delicious piece of salmon for dinner, finished off with an apple tart a la mode. Yum.)
Between the BART station and the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco was a bunch of demonstrators protesting whatever the group of losers was protesting (presumably the same as those on Wall Street and elsewhere these days) that makes no cohesive sense. It really looked like similar demonstrations over the years: Unkempt people sleeping on the sidewalk and yelling nonsense. No wonder they don't have gainful employment.
Wednesday was haircut day for Becky, while I relaxed. Thursday, Becky had lunch in San Mateo with Lynne Johnston, an old banking cohort, while I wandered the streets with the dogs. Itwasour last day in the area, so we geared up for the trip south.
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