I spent much of today giving an automobile tour of San Francisco to my friend G___ C___, whom I met on Second Life. G is a young Dutch woman taking a few months to travel. When I learned she was planning to visit the Bay Area, I offered any help my local knowledge might provide, and also volunteered to play chauffeur if she wished to see places out of range of public transportation. One of the most useful things I could do was help her get from the airport into the city, with a little sightseeing on the side.

    Her flight arrived late Wednesday night; at noon Thursday I met her at a hotel near the airport. She hadn't eaten breakfast, and fortunately I knew an old-style American coffee shop nearby (Peter's, in Millbrae) that served pretty good traditional US cooking -- one of those places that looks like something left over from the 1950s because it has actually been operating since then. She pronounced the french fries and patty melt good and the cappuccino up to European standards, she liked the taste I gave her of my garden burger, and she kept commenting how American everything looked. This coffee shop indeed resembles the Howard Johnson restaurants I remember from the 1950s (think “Denny's primeval”), so it was good tourist experience for someone wanting to see the real United States -- though I do not remember any Howard Johnson having an espresso machine.

    We next hit another typical bit of Americana -- a huge drugstore, the local Longs. G had been buying small sizes of shampoo and the like at each stop, so as to minimize baggage weight and avoid airport security hassles. She was intrigued to find that what was nominally a drugstore stocked everything from canned goods to underwear, and was open 24/7. I bought some things myself, and in so doing admitted to a most hedonistic vice that few would suspect me of practicing.

    On to San Francisco proper! We entered on Highway 101, then took city streets to The Embarcadero, the long street that runs along the rather newly-renovated waterfront, driving slowly along its full length, passing such tourist attractions as Pier 39, The Cannery, Fisherman's Wharf, and Ghirardelli Square. We doubled back along Columbus Avenue, through North Beach, almost to the financial district, then through Chinatown and up the hills to drive down the celebrated twisty and steep section of Lombard Street. I expect it wasn't really that steep and twisty compared to some streets in Europe.  G. was taking pictures regularly along the way.

    Returning to the waterfront, we continued through the Marina district and on to the Presidio, giving G a good view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Then we drove south and meandered through Golden Gate Park, all the way to the beach. Here we parked, and G walked down to the Pacific Ocean, which she had never seen before, removed her sandals, and went wading while I took her picture. In due course, a wave got her a little wetter than she had expected to be: I documented the occasion with photos and eventually scrounged a towel from the back of my car, so all was well.

    We next went to the Haight-Ashbury district and parked. After coffee at another favorite restaurant (Crepes on Cole), we explored on foot. I mostly let G be the guide, following her as this or that shop caught her eye. She was intrigued by the look of the hippie era that is still featured by many shops in the district -- some have been in business since then -- and she liked both upscale and downscale clothes and shoes in the stores lining Haight street itself. She was determined not to spend any money, and I kept picking out items that she agreed would look good great on her; she thereby accused me of being horrible, and -- being a gentleman -- what could I do but agree?

    It was fun clothes-shopping in real life with a person I knew from Second Life. We kept finding shoes or clothes that would look great on some of the Second Life citizens we knew; that is, that would look good on their avatars, assuming there were some way to transport the items into virtual reality. (There is, actually, but it requires more skills at photoshop and the like than I possess.)

    For dinner we ended up at Massawa, an Eritrean/Ethiopian restaurant next to Haight-Ashbury Music Center. I had eaten there before, and G had had Ethiopian food in Europe; we both liked the fare. Then we went back to the car for the drive to her accommodations in the city. G said she had enjoyed herself, and so had I. How small the Internet has made the world.