Loeva and Flo – short for Florian – were surfers. And French. Her native accent not easily discernable, the result of studying in Bangor, North Wales, and work experience in Fort Worth, Texas. Curious combination I thought. How, I asked, did one fair surfing in Texas? Tropical storms she replied. We were sharing the same hostel.
My exit earlier in the day from San Francisco had been far less tedious than I’d expected. Straightforward navigation. Retracing my steps back to the Golden Gate Bridge. Then a decent street map to lead me south. Heading a little less than thirty miles or so to stop at Point Montara hostel. With a lighthouse. Very Enid Blyton.
I’d relished the chance to return to stopping in smaller hostels and wasn’t disappointed. Friendly, convival atmosphere. Vicky at Reception had come for a year. About five years ago.
