We made it back to San Francisco just in time for evening massages at
Bliss San Francisco followed by an early, less than savory [grumble] supper from
x y z restaurant. There's plenty to recount about these two components of the
W San Francisco, and indeed about this oft vaunted accommodation itself, so I'm going to pass the baton to my wife, Susan, who's designer background makes her particularly adept at critiquing elements that often slip past me undetected. Play this audio clip to hear her thoughts:
It's tough to ruin a 75 minute tip-to-toe massage, and I'm not going to go that far, but it was a forgettable experience. Well, almost. I believe Cyndi (I've changed her name to be politic, but if if she were named Cynthia, I'm certain she'd abbreviate her name as I've done!) is more gifted as a "close talker" with way too much verbal endurance than she is gifted as a masseuse. She recounted her life story, marveled at how similar she thought we were, taught me yoga stretches and gave me a foot paraffin treatment... But the massage was, well, not much of a massage at all.
Nevertheless, I slept long and hard and greeted the foggy morning, this morning, with enthusiasm. We had booked a double header, mid-day and lunch with friends who've recently moved from San Francisco to Orinda, and dinner with other friends who're now living in San Jose but with whom I worked in Paris at the bleeding edge of the millenium. It turned into another spectactular, sunny day. Add good food and great friends to the mix, and you can imagine why we found it difficult to say goodbye. But we did and headed back to our hotel to soak up the media's frenzied (excited?) antics over the whopping snowfall predicted to fall between nightfall tonight and Sunday morning. Will it paralyze the East Coast as predicted? I'll let you know tomorrow morning.
