I'm presently in a window seat over the wing on Southwest flight 3556 to San Diego. The flight departed SFO on time. I just ordered a cup of coffee that I can doll up with creamer (dairy or non-) and sugar. Seated next to me, seemingly asleep, is a woman with her earbuds plugged in and her legs crossed. This is (almost) the worst kind of person next to whom I could be seated. Not only does she take up physical space (though she's chosen to limit herself to her own seat, thankfully), but she takes up aural space and rhinal space. I'm glad the air vent over my seat is on, as there is, at least, a source of relatively fresh, or at least unscented, air pushed in my direction.
This is one of the few times in my life when I could almost (but only almost) wish to be a smoker, since they can't smell (or taste) anything anyway and therefore would not be offended by the scents (and odors) of others. Perhaps that is why smokers tend to perfume themselves to everyone else's discontent (and my personal disgust). At least I've been given my coffee, and the smell (and taste) of that keeps my nose occupied to a certain extent. Well, at least she doesn't smell like a smoker.
Why am I returning to San Diego? Well, I had just spent almost exactly a week in San Francisco, having arrived last Saturday afternoon. It is now Saturday afternoon again, finding us departing San Francisco, though with different destinations.
I accompanied my lover, who was on a business trip to the Game Developers' Conference, held at San Francisco's Moscone Center. Peter had a series of meetings to attend, and was answering questions, both in and outside meetings, about the new technology his firm's introducing to the gaming industry.
I spent much of my time this week walking the small portion of the city between the Ferry Building, Chinatown, the Moscone Center, and Union Square. Not a very large area, but enough for me to cover on foot.
I spent my first morning looking for the location of a 24-Hour Fitness (I'm a member), located on Market Street. It turned out to be the further of the two closest ones to our hotel, the closer one being located on California Street. I sauntered up Market Street to the gym, then walked back towards the Ferry Building, when Peter phoned to ask me to meet him for lunch. I met him at one of the plethora of Starbucks in San Francisco.
After I managed to find the coffee shop, I saw Peter looking for/at me. We walked in when I decided I wasn't in the mood for coffee. We walked across the way to an establishment that served sushi, soup, and tea. Peter sat with me for a while, tasted a piece or two from my platter of sashimi, and then went off to another meeting.
For me, the highlights of the trip were our meals together. As I just mentioned, I had sushi, mostly on my own, on Monday. Peter had not eaten with me because he'd eaten during the meeting he'd just finished.
For lunch on Tuesday, Peter and I met in South Park, which is located on the other side of the freeway overpass from the Moscone Center. It was decorated with French-style cafe furniture and signage (though when he ordered a "cafe," they served him drip.
On Thursday morning, I walked to the Ferry Building, where I bought some fresh strawberries at the farmers' market, then went inside to find wine, cheese, a ripe pear, and something for dessert. I was not disappointed. I went to the wine merchant, who recommended a couple of reds. Deciding on the lighter of the two, I walked a couple doors down to the Cowgirl Creamery, where I tasted several different cheeses and chose four to buy, two soft and two hard. One of the soft cheeses was reminiscent of a brie or camembert, and the other was a plain chevre, as they had a couple that had other things added, like chives, and, after tasting them, I decided that plain would be easier to take in combination with other cheeses, nuts, & fruit. One of the hard cheeses was quite similar to a Spanish manchego, and the other had more of a parmesan or asiago texture, but a milder flavor than either. At Farm Fresh to You, I bought a ripe red pear. To finish the picnic, I picked up some almond brittle with a dark chocolate-coffee coating on one side. As a last-minute consideration, I returned to Cowgirl Creamery and bought some blanched salted almonds and some dried fruit that had been reconstituted in wine. Our in-room picnic was very pleasant indeed as we listened to the music put together by the Apple Genius from my music collection on my MacBook.
Before our flight to San Francisco, Peter had bought us tickets to go to a modern dance production titled "Two Room Apartment," performed by a couple, Israeli dancers, who reinterpreted the dance from being about a woman and a man to one about two men. It was difficult for me to understand at first, because it was rather abstract, but after Peter explained some of it to me, I could understand the context for the motions and the meanings of the interactions between the dancers and the story they told.
After the performance, we caught a taxi to the restaurant where Peter's colleagues had eaten dinner and were enjoying some after-dinner drinks. The decision was made to reconvene at a nearby bar, just around the corner.
It was louder in the bar, but it was easier to find agreeable drinks for all attendees.
Eventually, Peter and I decided it was pumpkin time, so we excused ourselves and wished everyone good night and a safe journey, since many of them were based in England and would be taking the long flight to get home.
This morning, Peter and I had a nice breakfast in the restaurant in our hotel. There was a buffet that included baked goods, which we left by themselves, made-to-order eggs and omelets, fresh oatmeal, fresh fruit, and dry cereal. I took some fresh fruit and spooned yogurt over them. We were served by a woman who appeared, to me at least, to be disappointed with her place in life. She was probably about our age, but here she was, a waiter in a hotel restaurant, whereas here we were, guests in same hotel.
We skipped lunch, for neither of us was hungry when we arrived at the airport, just a little after 12. My flight left at 2:05, Peter's at 4. After I checked my suitcase, we sat for a little while in the outer lobby, since Peter was flying out of the international terminal and would be enjoying the British Airways lounge after I left him to go through security. I went through without being accosted and only just had a enough time to open my computer to look at a file when the announcement for boarding was made.
It was an uneventful flight on the whole, though I was sitting next to the heavily-perfumed woman who listened to really loud, high-pitched music on her earbuds.
Enough for now.
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