SF1
I’m sitting in my little room at the Aida Hotel, listening to police sirens going up and down Market Street. Today is apparently the big California primary or something, but I’m not sure if that has anything to do with it.
Packing was a mad, last-minute scramble, as usual. I wasn’t really in the mood for a trip, actually, but here I found myself entering that world of travel, step-by-step, from station to station, whereupon one surrenders ones local identity and becomes A Traveller. Afraid of being late, I took the HSR to Taoyuan and a bus to the airport, but I needn’t have worried; Eva Air, I was told, had sold all the good seat a year ago already. While I doubt this was true, I still ended up in a middle seat from Taipei to San Francisco. Granted, it was exit row, but that just meant that I could have my stuff with me, with nowhere to stow it. The woman next to me watched the same episode of Downton Abbey over and over throughout the flight. She also ate spicy crisps and filed her nails. The. Whole. Time.
But it was nice not to have to change airplanes. When I got to SFO I purposely avoided white immigration and customs officers, and thankfully everything went smoothly this time. Lines were long, Â the Bart took forever, but eventually I found my way to my hotel. It should do.
There are photo events happening here and there throughout the week. We’ll see how it goes.
