Our day on the town

My friend, Carol, and her spouse, Maureen, had arranged to collect us at 10 AM. And at 10 AM, they were in front of a different Holiday Inn. Fifteen minutes later they were at yet another Holiday Inn. Finally they arrived bearing Ghirardelli chocolates. Who cares what time it was? Not I. I have been to San Francisco on numerous occasions, including with Carol, and Joyce, so I had no preferences about where we went, except Pier 39 because I thought Aunt Marion would enjoy the seals, and she wanted to see a vintage trolley. I was really there more for the fun of the company than any sights, so anything and everything was okay with me.

I am the world's worst photographer. This shot was meant to be about the seals. Nice lighthouse, huh?

After Pier 39, we drove to the Presidio because it's historic and pretty. See? Check out the purple flowers (no idea what they are), which I tried to use to create interest. The bridge is back there someplace. Click or squint to see it better. A lot of soldiers returning from the Philippine death camps and hell ships were treated here during and after World War II.

Then we went to the Cliff House for lunch. I should mention that we drove by a lot of famous San Francisco sights, and even getting turned around in traffic gave us a chance to soak in a lot of architecture, such as in Chinatown.

Here's a view from Cliff House. It was nouvelle cuisine, and we all enjoyed our lunch very much. I think I had crab and artichoke ravioli. Something exotic, anyhow.

 

Following lunch, we drove briefly along the coast and then through Golden Gate Park, where there are windmills.Note how I cleverly concealed a streetlamp in this shot.

 

Then it was time to return to the hotel and pack for our late checkout. Took the shuttle to international departures and waited in a very long line of mostly Filipinas to board. Many, many children, much extra baggage. We met the tour operator and kept looking for Carol and Fred. I called and they said they were on a train. We had no idea what that meant, but we went on to the gate to wait for them, meeting other tour members on the way. Finally they appeared about 20 minutes before boarding, explaining they thought they'd give their family a break and try to get to the airport on their own, but their nephew came anyway, negating their intentions. Oh, well. We heard he was a good sport about the whole thing.

Once we were all assembled I brought out my surprise: Uncle Karl baseball caps, tan with his photo (see first post)  and red lettering identifying him as a Battling Bastard of Bata'an. Carol took many pictures. I don't have them yet, but later you'll see me wearing this hat in the Philippines.

 

Here's the poem by war correspondent Frank Hewlett:

We're the Battling Bastards of Bataan,
No Mama, No Papa, No Uncle Sam,
No aunts, no uncles, no cousins, no nieces,
No pills, no planes, no artillery pieces,
And nobody gives a damn!