September 8, 2005

a sensible level of limping

I am walking the downtown area today. Fun fun. Assuming you like hills. I see some buildings and some rich people – and some buildings belonging to rich people. Honestly, in case you can’t yet tell, I am a little disappointed. I had high hopes on the drive in, and I know that I’m having a very shallow experience, but I really don’t see as much of an appeal here as I do in Portland. I’m not sure what it is about the Rose City...

At any rate, the waterfront is sterile and commercial (except the sea lions, which are mostly just animals, you know, doing their thing, pushing each other off their perches and bellowing and the like). The hills, however, are indeed pretty. What I didn’t realise is that it’s not as if there is one big hill sloping from the water to some point where all the rich people live. There are many points, an undulating landscape like that thin yellowish mattress foam, such that you are always walking up or down a hill to a point where rich people live. For that matter, rich people live in the valleys and on the slopes. The Victorian houses have a certain charm, but I’d rather own some downtown St. John’s property. Of course I could sell a property here and buy seventeen of the same in Newfoundland. Though there’s opera, theatre, dance, etc. in San Fran.

Walking toward Lombard street, the “crookedest” street *groans*, I meet three girls trying to bike their way there. At first I thought they were French, but then they were clearly speaking German. And now clearly French. Swiss! I ask where they are from and the alpha female replies that they are in fact from Switzerland. They stop and I comment on the hills here in San Francisco, feeling the beginnings of a blister between my toes. She replies that they have hills in Switzerland also. Indeed. I resist the urge to comment on here cute blonde pigtails, and where is her little green feathered hat today?

“I thought you guys did well,” I say. There is nodding, but no reply. Clearly the moment is passed.

“Well, good luck!” I say. “Bonne journée.”

“Ah, you speak French! Where are you from?” Says pigtails.

“Canada,” I say. “Newfoundland.”

“Ah!” She says, “Non! A friend of ours is studying in Montréal now and she took a trip to Newfoundland and said it was very beautiful.”

“Yes, it’s a great place to visit. Especially if you like the outdoors, bad weather, and flies.”

She cocks her head a little and says: “I want to kiss you.”

*Les shocks!* “Probably a bad idea,” I reply, “I have really bad coffee breath.” I am fanning my hand in front of my face for emphasis, but it’s too late as she is already off the bike and off to the races. So to speak. Glancing at her friends I am faced with knowing smiles. What the heck – bisous for everyone!

She grabs me by the waist and reaches up with open eyes and lips. We kiss.

“Now I can say I have kissed a Newf also!” She says, turning to her bike. The others giggle. She mounts it, turns, and says: “Thank you, you are a nice kisser.” They ride off.

That was bizarre. I walk some more, see some more, and nurse an ever-enlarging cancer on my foot. Back to the hotel to sleep a bit and then limping to “Chez Nous” for dinner. I look at the menu and see that PEI muscles are on special. I ask to make sure that PEI does stand for Prince Edward Island. It does. This is a little scary. I say no thanks to muscles and get a 20-year-old tawny and a cheese plate. The cheese is enjoyable, though all specimens but one are banal. The borek is better and the Lillet on ice is a nice change.

On the way home I am now obviously favouring my left side. My forced gait is annoying me, so I embellish for effect. Ha ha! I am funny, I am spontaneous!

Someone offers to help me across the street; I graciously decline saying that I’m capable of crossing by myself, thank you very much.

I drop back to a sensible level of limping.

Checking my foot before bed I am treated to a ripe blood blister. What of hiking Zion?