I left my shirt in San Francisco

Neatstep parking comic - going on vacation

It’s always fun to visit San Francisco – assuming, of course, you can afford it! The fascinating thing about being a tourist is that you are immediately recognizable as such. So you get to speak to all kinds of interesting people and also, some rather interesting people get to talk to you! But you know there’s a problem when the street guy complains that living here is not so affordable anymore and the next one tells you the tax break doesn’t help because he doesn’t pay any tax…..

It’s clear that San Francisco is getting progressively more expensive. However, with some careful planning it is possible to enjoy the city on a budget. Getting around is easy and inexpensive with the public transit system which offers a variety of passes and travel cards. For casual dining, there is a really nice food court near the tourist info center and one can stretch the travel dollars by frequenting some reasonably priced bars and cafes “outside of” the city center. Unfortunately, I can’t recommend any of these places. Why not? Because then they wouldn’t be reasonably priced anymore, would they and anyway, my name is not Rick Steves, is it? So go ahead and enjoy the city, but hang on to your shirt!

No travel blog of mine would be complete without my regular airport security story. True to form, our local airport gave us the usual hassle. This time it was my wife’s luggage which was re-screened and minutely scrutinized. After much deliberation the guy finally said she could keep her nail-file. This episode highlights the difference between guys and girls. I would have just thankfully moved on. My wife however, delivered a parting shot. “No one ever queried my luggage before”! The guy began to reconsider his position. I was nudging and prodding my partner to stay silent. Eventually we just about escaped with our luggage intact.

On the trip home though, my wife apparently enjoyed the security check so much that she decided to do it all over again. We were in the transit zone at Seatac airport when I suggested we head for the food court “over to the right”. My wife’s response was predictable. “We’re going to the left – through this door”! We suddenly found ourselves in the main terminal, having just exited from the secure area. Despite my pleas, there was no way the uniformed lady was going to let us back through the exit door. We were directed to a very long line-up for – what else but – the security check! Fortunately, our flight was delayed and we were not on the last minute like some people. So, in the end, the good news was, I may have left my shirt in San Francisco, but not my pocket-knife, my scissors, or my nail-file!