Things learned while in the Bay Area.

If the voice you use to talk to yourself with takes on a french accent you have been alone with your thoughts for too long and are most likely going crazy.

I like buses and I love subways. Except I am perpetually nervous about missing my stop.

I have the uncanny ability to get turned around even with a map in my hand.

If up to me, I will never stay in a hotel again. I will frequent hostels, getting little sleep but much satisfaction.

Taqueria Cancun on Mission between 18th and 19th serves the best vegetarian burrito I have ever eaten. And I've eaten a lot of burritos in my day, trust me.

I smile easily. Especially if I'm tuned into what's going on around me. The kids begging for gelato and the old asian couple doing synchronized arm exercises while on their walk, even just the sun glinting off the steeples of a church, I smile like a fool.

There would be no need to insert "hill routines" into your running regimen in San Francisco. You'll be all set whatever route you take.

Keen shoes can handle pounding the pavement. My right leg, specifically knee and back of ankle, does not handle it quite as well.

I'm terrible at decision making when I'm tired.

I'm drawn like a magnet to bookstores. It doesn't matter where I'm at, they suck me in. City Lights has a third floor poetry and beat literature section with rocking chair labeled "The Poet's Chair" and for a bit I was a The Poet.

You can use the same bus ticket for two days. I think the bus drivers hate their jobs and could care less whether or not you have a ticket.

The North Beach is one of my favorite places. There are cute old italian men roaming the streets, little italian flags painted around the light poles on the diagonal, slightly slopping street, tons of trattorias, canolis and gelatto. And a book store. See above.

I grew up in an incredibly homogenous area. Sadly, I have rarely, if ever, been a minority until this weekend. I think it's something I need to experience more often.

Fisherman's Warf is most beautiful as the sun is setting. Leaning over the rail looking out at the ocean at this particular time is also a great place to meet up with God.

I love cities. For exploring. Not for living. At least not as big as San Francisco. And by the way, they call it "The City" not San Fran, according to Justin the front desk guy at Fort Mason Hostel. Like it's the only city, a bit pretentious no?

I genuinely love traveling alone. There is a freedom that you cannot obtain while traveling with others. I can get lost and nobody cares. I can wander aimlessly in and out of random stores, and wander right back out. I can stop and take pictures at random. I can dart across streets haphazardly.

About the only thing it's missing is being able to share all of these little morsels of joy with someone. With you. And so that's why I write. Or at least that's the conclusion I came to while spending the last two days alone. Many of my conclusions and realizations, my observations and discoveries, happen when I'm flying solo. But as quoted from Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, "Happiness is only real when shared". So this is me making these delights real.

Or maybe just an attempt at securing my memories because otherwise the will be lost in the sea of my forgetfulness. Probably both.