Fermi tail, narrow streets, up and down. Genoa? Yes, but now I'm talking about San Francisco. Hippie stronghold city and taste a bit 'Italian, blocked traffic here feels right at home. The houses all stick, no corner left to chance, exactly the opposite of Los Angeles.
Trying to reach the bridge, drive along the famous Golden Gate Park, basically a huge forest in the middle of the city. Once again we find ourselves facing the ocean, cold and gray. Suddenly a red pillar out of the fog: "Here, here boys! By Lello is with the camera. " I
driving, Lello navigator, Bacci out the back window to take pictures, Andre gives directions to the center, Willy sleep: these are the official positions after five days of travel.
half an hour we must return the Flex, we already know who will be missed. But first you have to cross the bridge, fast!
Play! "If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear Some Flowers in Your Hair ..." I hold the steering wheel in disbelief, dramatically I would say, "Wow, I'm driving across the Golden Gate ... is a bit 'stupid yes, but they are emotions that the bridge does not Polcevera. We
breached, after yesterday's fine with Warner Bros. that we will end up paying more in a day's drive. Instead, the Alamo is the bustle of Union Square: Five Genoese pissed (not us!) The Knack with "that idiot at one's desk that should break your face" which made them run for two hours before returning the car. After a long wait, we get from this, claiming to be reached in time and do away with it.
Corso Cristoforo Colombo, lampposts adorned with a tricolor flag, the sign to North Beach with his boot, an old woman covered by a jacket of the Giants we note dealing with a map and asks if we need help. "No, thank you" proud and suspicious, return to us "Hey guys, then where are we going to eat?". The lady in broken Italian, "But you are Italian, my mother was in Tuscany, blah blah ..." his life.
At Pier 39 in the evening there were few people. Rafts on an impressive number of sea lions, fighting for a bit 'of place or a girl, who knows.
But the wind pushes the few people to burrow in the only shop left open late: photos, posters of the city, huge and extraordinary, to take home if they were in a suitcase. The Caltrain
awaits us next weekend again here in San Francisco, but tomorrow Redwood City. Ten days before the Study Tour, but a slight sense of purpose holiday.
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