Every evening we had a lovely dinner party at a different restaurant with a different group of friends, and every day we went to museums and drove around the city. Add a couple of lunches and a singing event in Berkeley and you've filled up your days to the bursting point.
On our first San Francisco morning the sun broke through a little, so we drove up to the top of Twin Peaks where my father took this picture of me (can you find the Golden Gate Bridge in the background?):
We went down to the Castro where we met up with our old friend Lorien, whom we hadn't seen in decades. Lorien wore the silver seashell around her neck that my mother gave her when she was about 12.
Thursday we went to the DeYoung Museum.
After a rest in the wonderfully campy bordello-reminiscent Queen Anne Hotel we went down to Palo Alto where we looked at the Craftsmen houses in Professor's row and then joined the Zwicky family for dinner.
On Friday we went to the Historical Society for an exhibit of Jack London's photographs of the 1906 earthquake, then to Fisherman's Wharf where I hadn't planned to stop but there was an open space right there so we had crab cocktails. My mother expressed disappointment that although these were called cocktails they contained no alcohol. I have no picture.
After a bit more driving we met up with my host Doug for a farewell to San Francisco dinner. My father likes to take photographs of people posing in front of their homes.
Saturday we went to our respective homes, carrying the hope of a return.