Birthday in Northern California, Day 4

I was not a happy camper today, in the middle of a horrible horrible flu. I spent half the day trying to find a hotel nearby. I had been a pretty good sport with staying at the hostel, sharing every inch of your space with complete strangers. I ended up booking a very cheap hotel that thank goodness was just a block down the hill and got out of that place quick. There is nothing more wonderful than scraping yourself off the nasty street and getting thee into a corporate run hotel if just for one night. My room was quiet, clean, air-conditioned, and best of all had the WHITEST bathroom I have ever seen. I laid in the dark and rested, taking some drugs to recover from the fevers. By sun break, I felt like a million bucks... well maybe not a million but definitely a thousand.

After bathing off the travel grime, making myself a cup of complimentary coffee, and molting a bunch of hair, I headed out to get some food from Chutneys. Their Palak Paneer looked like spewed green pea soup from the Exorcist but it tasted wonderful. I headed to Chinatown to get souvenirs before I left San Francisco and ran into a gigantic festival going on there! There were musicians, dancers, and tons of vendors selling new and unique products, none of which I could read. Feeling ballsy with my renewed health, I stopped by North Beach for some espresso and a drink at Vesuvio's one last time. I was approached by a young man wearing a paperboy hat. He was so incredibly shy. He was a young writer named Todd, who had just returned from Afghanistan serving in the military. Though I did know how much of what he said was true, we talked very briefly and I felt sorry for this young disgruntled man. Among being 'bored' and 'tired', he insisted on paying me money because I was sick (which I gratefully declined). What is with people giving me money my last day in a town (particularly the Italian district)? He wanted to take me to France, and I was about to take him up on it. With a pat on the back and a blessing for better time, I left him and headed back.

Last stop that night was at the Bourbon and Branch, an underground cocktail lounge in which you needed a password. Located on the edge of the Tenderloin District, this place was in a non-descript building that mockingly had the title "Anti-Saloon League" on the sign outside. With a buzzer and a door and nothing else to imply there was a full service bar on the other side, it was exactly what I'd think a speakeasy would be like. Inside it was dark with classic 1920s jazz playing faintly. The waiters were all wearing period-style clothing and the drinks were very interesting!

I got the Cucumber Gimlet which was frothy, sweet, and delightful! Again I was awkwardly standing alone at the bar and sipped up my drink and left.

Not a complete waste for a day! Tomorrow would be my birthday and I needed to rest up.