Day 2 in San Francisco

I'm not entirely sure how we got home from Bix but we woke up in France, sorry the Cornell Hotel de France. I got up relatively early, had breakfast in the torture chamber, and went for a long walk. I walked up to the top of Nob Hill and over to Russian Hill to get a better picture of Alcatraz. So much for my promise to "stay close".

I met Peter and we went to find him a quick bite to eat. We stopped in what looked like a bagel shop and ordered a few tacos. To call them just tacos is an understatement. They were tacos piled high with guacamole, onions, tomatoes, spicy stuff with a side order of more guac, more salsa, chips, and there may have been rice and beans in there. One would have been enough for the two of us and four was complete surrender.

We met up with Thad at Union Square (not nearly as cool as our US) and got the call to meet Al and Rachelle over in Ghirdelli Square. We asked the bellman at Thad's hotel how to get there and he convinced us that it was a quick walk up Powell and then a walk along the water. A "quick walk" up Powell turned into the summiting of Everest and a marathon through stinky fish and tourists. I would be remiss if I didn't mention the guy urinating in the garbage can (quite a horizontal flow) and the naked lady who seemed to take off her shirt in exchange for money to put it back on.

After our little death march, we met up with the Spainards at Marche. Given the length of our journey, the waitress kept threatening to kick Al and Rachelle out (though it was almost empty). The service continued to suck but the company was, as always, wonderful.

We all wandered home (via cab this time) and power napped before the big event. The wedding was really a cocktail party in celebration of the couple and was held is a very cool converted industrial art space, you guessed it, down an alley. The food was done by a friend of Zach's and was mostly organically and locally grown. My favorite dish was the thinly sliced squash in mint and basil. I also got to hear stories about growing up in NoVA and how everyones' older brother seemed to find Peter and his group of friends to be good punching bags. Or was it Peter's group of friends terrorizing younger brothers. Anywho...

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur of sangria though I'm sure we had a great time and the safe word (used when one of us is saying too much - think beating a dead horse) of "shenanigans" was only used once or twice.