I arrive at San Francisco International airport and feel ok: a bit tired, but ok. San Francisco time is about 2 o’clock but in Holland it is 23.00 (in the evening); my body thinks its time to go to bed. I catch a bus and a lovely femail fat Afro-American bus driver welcomes me to the USA “Hi bud how are youououo doinnnnnnnnn, get your thing on bus”. Great to meet a happy person on the job. She keeps me from falling asleep and missing my stop. She doesn’t mind I don’t have any quarters yet and lets me of the bus at Ralston, Belmont. “So, where the fuck is my motel” I think. Since nobody I ask knows, so I settle down at Peets café. A couple of minutes later somebody tells me where my hotel is and after finishing my lovely Cafe Latte I head for my hotel. “Are you walking” ask the counter girl at Peets. “yes” “Well have good walk then”. After half an hour walking and struggling with my suitcase I begin to realize what they meant: I arrive at a daunting set of crossroads: no lights, only speeding cars and not the faintest clue about how long I should walk from here. Then in the distance, I spot my motel: Motel6… lovely set between a freeway and the Oracle headquarters: fun.
At the reception I run into a happy face which belonged to a guy whose gaydom one could spot from a fair distance…. “Hi there, hoooooow can IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII help you my friend” Happy having a friend so fast, although it a gay one, I gave him my details and he checks me in and consequently robs me of a dear 1400 bucks.
I go to my room and try to stay awake by not looking at and surely not sitting on my queen-sized bed: if I hit it, I’m surely gone and I want to adjust my body to the new time zone. A walk back to town seems to be the best option and I spend the afternoon drinkin’ café latte and eating some sandwiches. Then at about 20.00 I allow my body to walk back and crash in my queen-sized bed: I can’t remember hitting the mattress