I can’t sleep. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does its harsh. This is my first picture processed from my recent trip to San Francisco. It was taken in Chinatown mid-day with a 14mm pancake lens stuck onto a GF2 Micro four thirds camera. It takes good shots but is a pain in the ass to shoot with -poor ergonomics and controls. Homelessness is rampant here, to a point where it is obviously problematic. At times it seemed like we were wandering around in a giant outdoor ward of mental illness patients and addicts. It detracted from our trip at times but made for some colourful photos. It is a great place to shoot pictures and I was regretting not touting more gear along with me after the first day. Truly an inspirational city to photograph with a massive variety of different locations and goings on.
I blame part of my insomnia on the three hour time difference. The other part I am not sure of.
We cycled across the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a bit hair-raising and Daniela had to take a few time-outs on the way. It was all a mad rush of heavy breathing, car horns, wind, bike bells, perilous cliffs, winding hills and breathtaking vistas. Unfortunately on the day we took the excursion there was a multitude of breast cancer wing nuts tooting horns, chiming chimes and chanting chants about pink power and all things breast-related. Bikers with pink beards and old grannies in tou-tous prancing around like Krishnas. At some points I fantasized about drop kicking a few of them on the way by. (not the bikers the grannies) So all in all the trip across the bridge was not the highlight of the trip, but we were glad we did it.
We hated Haight-Ashbury. Daniela got the idea to visit a local fruit market in the center of it all and we found ourselves surrounded by giggling piss-soaked pot heads. I am not exaggerating. We sat in the sun wolfing down juice-bursting nectarines with far too-few napkins. Even the stoner dogs were staring at us. It was like a collective mob trying to make us feel like we were unwelcome. I tried not to yield to their influence but they kept getting closer and grosser as our hands and forearms grew stickier and stickier from the nectarines. We made our escape and headed in any direction that didn’t smell like cannabis.