Golden Gate Bridge

So after one adventure in Golden Gate Park, today I decided to walk across Golden Gate Bridge, symbol of San Francisco. After about 5 hours sleep, I first had to change hostels - am now staying at one in Fort Mason, surrounded by 4 acres of national parkland and with gorgeous views of the bridge. After climbing up about 100 steps to get to my new 'home', the bridge didn't look so far away so off I went.



The walk was long, but worth it. Going along the waterfront I could see yachts and birds and walked through a marshland conservation area where I spotted a heron among the coots. To the left of me were huge houses facing the water, to the right the bay, Alcatraz and the bridge, of which I took many, many photos. After a rather winding, long walk to get up to it, I was finally treading its metal frame.

It's strange to be on a monument, a romantic idea you had of a place, something that speaks to you about a destination. When the bridge was nearby, it seemed like something from a film, but walking on it I could not deny where I was, and wondered about the people who built it. By the time I was nearly at the other side I was quite looking forward to getting the bus back across it...my feet hurt (probably due in part to my wanderings around the park yesterday -- after-effects aided by some drinks in a cool Irish pub near China Town). Could I find where to catch the bus? No. So, I walked back, faster this time, other than a few moments when my right foot decided to send shooty ache pains up my leg. My thirst was great and I felt a bit dizzy and stopped at some over-priced cafe place to buy a cup of tea and some caramel-coated popcorn to fuel my journey to the bus-stop I could see outside. It was surrounded by people. Coralled like a misbehaving horse, the thin metal pole gave hope that the bus would arrive soon. It did, and hardly any people got on before it left, packed. Crap. The sun was getting low, I was starving, my feet felt like hell and I had to get back to the hostel. Walking it would be. Half brain-dead, trying to focus on the glorious landmark of the Fort Mason Center (with Safeway right near by - score for dinner tonight!), I caught myself mumbling - yes I fear I might have gone a little insane with the continual ache in my feet. How do refugees do it when they flee from their homes on foot, carrying all they can of their lives to a new place? I was wearing shoes and only a shoulder bag (pretty heavy but still, nothing in comparison).
Stumbling (believe me I nearly gave in to crawling) up the hill towards the hostel, I could only think of one thing.... sitting down. Now I am, and am nearly too lazy to get up to eat. This place is nice. The kitchen is vast, there's a wood-burning brazier-thing in the common area I am currently seated in and laundry is free (if you use the staff washing machine by accident like I did).