Here are a few images of the city, taken in a hurry and without any art.
The good old Golden Gate Bridge. Still going after all those earthquakes.
Yep, the hills are as stupidly steep as ever, and the rows of white, wooden nineteenth century two story houses are still clinging to them.
The TransAmerica building still looks good as far as sky scrapers go.
Step inside City Lights Books Store, the literary capital of Northern California. This place is owned by Lawrence Ferlenghetti the great American poet, and since the fifties when this area was a Beat hang-out, it has been part of the city’s identity. And yes, I like the comment about ‘printer’s ink’ on the wall.
If you have time, read a couple of Lawrence’s poems on the following page.
In a minute I’m off to visit Muir Woods, a grove of giant redwood trees named after the great conservationist John Muir, and one of the few remaining pockets of redwoods in Marin Country. Hopefully I’ll also go up Mount Tamalpais, or Mt. Tam, the tallish hill that looks over Marin and often has its foothills clothed in the notorious San Franciscan fog. Tomorrow morning I’m off to Big Sur, three hours drive south along the coast, where I’ll briefly visit the retreat centre at one point frequented by Aldous Huxley, Esalen.