#3 on my list, the Hotel Utah and the German Brian Blessed

#3 on my list, the Hotel Utah and the German Brian Blessed

The penultimate day of my travels saw me take in a wine tasting tour of the Sonoma and Napa valleys - the heart of Californian wine country. On our way we'd crossed the Golden Gate Bridge but the fog and mist had descended upon the city meaning the iconic landmark was, yet again, almost completely hidden from view.

Walking across the Golden Gate Bridge was #3 on my list - but at this stage I feared I'd never get to see the bridge in all its glory. Fortunately, on our return from wine country, the sun was out, the skies were clear and the tour guide took a detour and we found ourselves on a hillside looking down over the bridge. It was an inspiring moment - one that I was so glad I got the chance to see.

Feeling elated and ready to sign off my holiday in style, I got back to the hotel, had a quick shower and then headed out to explore the city at night and take in some live, San Francisco music. So I went to a local bar, had a drink and asked the barmaids if there was anywhere they'd recommend for live music. They told me to get the bus to Soma district and find the Hotel Utah.

It was a good 30 minute bus ride but when I arrived something didn't quite feel right. I found myself walking under the concrete overpass of the freeway and wandering into a part of the city which I hadn't been around on the sightseeing bus. I had to walk about six blocks. I eventually arrived and learnt a very valuable lesson in life. When you ask someone if there's somewhere which plays live music - you should really stipulate which genre. For those who remember the upstairs of the Varsity in Wolverhampton; well that was like the O2 arena compared to this. There I was, stood in a rock/grunge fest looking exceptionally uncomfortable. Think Hugh Grant at a Blink 182 concert and you'll begin to picture just how out of I place I both felt and looked. I  couldn't quite tell whether there were more tattoos or body piercings - it was a close call.

After sipping a pint nervously and wondering how the hell I would get out of here, two guys approached me asking if they could take the chair which was opposite me. I said that was fine and they clearly clocked my accent as being British. The one guy said "you're British...the last Brit we met in here, we set his hair on fire". I nervously smiled whilst secretly thinking 'I'm dead' and wondering whether the barmaid who'd sent me here was still chuckling to herself.

Turns out it had been some bong experiment which had gone wrong. James and Jeff, as it turns out, were two really nice guys who bought me a beer before telling me to catch a cab to Mission, to a bar called Blondie's on Valencia Street.

It turned out to be the best piece of advice I'd received in a long time. When I arrived, there was a 1930s/1940s blues/jazz band playing. Saxophone, stand up bass, piano and a great singer. The bar was buzzing - helped no doubt by revellers dancing a proper jive dance. It was a great night - I was ready to go home after this; I was happy.

But I couldn't head home without doing my walk across the Golden Gate Bridge. I'd had an aborted attempt earlier in my stay when I took in a guided walk - but that only went half way across. So, on my final morning I got up at 8am and made my way to the bridge. As I made my way across the 1.7 miles of crossing I put Chuck Berry on my ipod - and I reflected upon my travels. It was a calm, serene morning - although I did inadvertently end up in the middle of my first 'Free Tibet' demonstration. That inspired me to listen to Bob Dylan on the way back over. And no word of a lie - 'The Times They Are-A-Changin' came on as I stepped off the bridge to complete my quest. How apt.

Heading for home

Well, aside from a 10 hour flight back to Heathrow - that was my travels done. I hoped for a quiet flight where I could maybe get a few hours sleep before landing back home. It wasn't quite to be. I was a little grumpy and on edge by the time I got to the airport anyway - so in the departure lounge, when this really loud German guy sat three seats down from me and began incessantly tapping his arm rest, I was beginning to get irritated. So I moved seat. When I got on the plane I began to relax  - but then the big loud guy came into view. He couldn't possibly....could he? Yes. Plonked himself right down next to me. I was not amused. Turns out he was a German living in London who'd been on some computer geek conference. Not only was he loud but he was a really big unit too. The man even yawned in decibels. I christened him the German Brian Blessed. I of course didn't get a wink of sleep as he tossed and turned and continually tried to tell me which films were good to watch. Grrrrr!

Still, I landed home safely after what had been an incredible three and a half weeks to be greeted by my good mate Bordy and his wife Becky who had kindly agreed to pick me up. It was nice to be home.

So - that was my journey. I've seen some amazing things, met some incredible people and got myself into a few scrapes along the way too.

I've completed a few more things on my list - but there's plenty still to do.

Thanks for reading - have a nice day...