With hindsight, we should have got up earlier and gone for breakfast, but we just didn't have time in
the end. There’s always that nagging feeling of have we got everything? Even though we've
searched the room from top to bottom and looked under the bed, you still feel certain that something
is missing. You look for it in the bags, have absolutely no chance of finding it, and eventually just
hope for the best. By now, checking where the passports were had become borderline OCD.
Bye Bye San Francisco
We left the hotel at about 8:30. Jane got on the bus down to Powell and Market while I walked with
the cases strapped onto the wheelchair. It was simply easier than trying to get everything onto a bus.
It also gave me time for one final farewell walk through Union Square — a quiet moment of
solitary reflection on the trip.
It was then down onto the subway to catch the BART train that takes you straight to the
International Terminal at the airport. Thankfully, Saturday morning isn't a particularly busy time for
people heading out of the city, so it was a pleasant ride. Once the train emerges onto the surface and
passes through the outskirts of San Francisco, you enter the Silicon Valley area where all the big
tech companies seem to live. You can't help but wonder what it would be like to live here. Of all the
cities we've visited so far, this is the one where both of us could happily imagine spending the rest
of our days.
Pocket Watch At The Airport
Thinking about it, we probably should have given ourselves a bit more time. You need to check in
three hours before the flight leaves, and we only checked our bags in at 10:00 a.m. for a 1:30 p.m.
departure.
There's very little to do in Terminal I. Sure, there are the usual coffee shops and souvenir stores, one
of which relieved me of some money in exchange for another pocket watch. My collection is
growing nicely now. We then thought we might as well head through security after checking the one
case we had kept with us.
This is always a fun part of the journey because I invariably set off the metal detector and then
receive what can only be described as a public groping courtesy of the TSA.
By the time we had made it through security, there wasn't that much time left to kill, so it was a
quick bite to eat and a beer. There's actually far less in this terminal airside than you might expect in
terms of shops and bars. There are only two pubs, one of which is a trendy bar and the other so
small that there aren't even any seats inside.
We ended up buying a massive sandwich to share and a beer for me, but had to sit out in the
concourse to eat and drink it. Next time we'll either buy something from one of the shops before
heading through security or have something to eat beforehand, as there seem to be slightly better
options pre security.
After that we headed over to a cash machine to withdraw whatever was left on the prepaid credit
card. Normally this would just be the hotel deposit being returned, but with the way things had gone
on this trip there was considerably more left on the card than usual. We could exchange the cash
when we got home and use it towards the next adventure. At only a couple of dollars for the
withdrawal fee, it worked out far better value than accepting the exchange rate offered elsewhere.
Floating Through The Night
Then it was time to start boarding, which always seems to turn into a bun fight. We went to the
wrong gate first — don't ask me how — and by the time we'd figured that out, they were calling us
over the PA system because the wheelchair needed to go down into the hold. When we finally made
it to the right gate, we had a struggle getting past everyone in front of us, as nobody seemed
remotely inclined to shift out of the way.
The way it works is straightforward enough. If you have a disability, you board first regardless of
which group you're in, so you're not holding anyone up behind you. After that comes first class,
then business class, then the most expensive tiers of economy, before finally the cattle-class herd is
let loose. By the time all that had played out, we were already settled comfortably in our seats,
watching the ensuing battle for overhead bin space with the quiet satisfaction of people who had
absolutely nothing to do with it.
It wasn't long before we pushed back from the gate and began taxiing towards the runway — my
favourite part of flying. There's that moment when the aircraft sits at the end of the runway, engines
idling as it waits for the all-clear. Then you hear the power build, the brakes release, and suddenly
you're hurtling towards the Bay.
The rumbling of the wheels stops almost without warning and you know you're airborne. The
undercarriage thumps up into the fuselage, the nose pitches steeper, and below you the bay and the
city begin to shrink away. With a wide banking turn, we arced out over Golden Gate Park, the
bridge sitting crisp and clear in the window. It was as if the city were giving us one last fond adios.
Thoughts Throughout The Flight
What follows are my thoughts while zooming through the sky at 39,000 feet, somewhere around
500 miles an hour and a long way from anywhere. This is the time when I start to reflect on the trip
just gone. It happens on every journey home from America, without fail.
16:00 PDT
The evening meal has been served — regulation chicken and rice, naturally — and most people are
fixed on the screen in front of them. Others are already wandering up and down the aisle, as people
do when they're not quite sure what else to do with themselves. I know the feeling.
I can't really get into watching TV on the way home. It's not the same as the outward trip. Flying
west, the eternal daylight seems to trick the brain into staying alert, keeping you present and
forward-looking. But heading east, you're flying into the darkness, chasing the night, and somehow
the mood follows. You sit with your thoughts whether you want to or not.
There's something oddly comforting about watching the broken clouds and distant land drift silently
below. I do this on every flight — just stare out of the window and let the mind wander. I often spot
another aircraft high in the sky and find myself thinking about all the people on board, each one
mid-journey, mid-story. Has someone looked up at this plane and wondered the same thing about
us?
Sleep is impossible and I know it, so there's no point pretending otherwise. Instead, I pass the time
adding notes to the journal I've kept throughout the trip — the rough bones of everything you've
read here.
21:00 PDT
The cabin lights are dimmer now. Most of the screens have gone dark, save for a few, including
mine — though I'm not really watching it. It's just something to occasionally drag my eyes towards
when the thoughts get a little too loud.
The hours are collapsing now. Before long it'll be getting light again, that eight-hour time difference
quietly asserting itself whether you're ready for it or not.
There's something strange about moving through time zones. It gives you a faint feeling of time
travel, like being in the TV show Sliders, except the slide is considerably longer and, unfortunately,
far less colourful.
Thoughts turn to home. Back to work. Back to the ordinary shape of things.
The city we love is a long way behind us now, growing smaller with every passing mile, but no less
vivid for it. The quiet monotony of everyday life waits patiently ahead, as it always does, utterly
unbothered by the fact that we've been off having the time of our lives.
But tucked underneath all of that — the tiredness, the slight sadness of leaving, the dread of the
alarm on a Monday morning — is something steadier. The knowledge that there will be other trips.
Other cities. Other days that catch you off guard with how good they are.
And that one day, not too far off, we'll find ourselves stepping off a BART train at Montgomery
Street again, cases in hand, wondering what took us so long.
San Francisco has a way of doing that to people.
Maybe that's why they say you leave your heart there.
Reflection On The Day
Today carried that familiar mixture of gratitude and sadness that comes at the end of a great trip.
The excitement of discovering new places had given way to the quiet process of saying goodbye,
not just to a city, but to a version of life that exists only when you're travelling. There was time to
reflect on everything we'd seen, done and experienced, and to appreciate just how much this journey
had meant to us.
Yet beneath the reluctance to leave was a comforting thought: great trips don't really end when the
plane takes off. They stay with you in memories, photographs and stories, quietly waiting to be
revisited. And perhaps the best feeling of all was knowing that one day we'd be back, ready to do it
all over again.
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