Kia Ora, Reader

I spent my last day in the United States in a similar fashion to how I spent my first: having a conversation with a mentally suspect individual about the relationship between the US and Britain, and the overwhelming sense of hope in the younger generation to rectify all the bad things done by their parents and granparents. This individual I met as I sipped a coffee in San Fran's Union Square. She was actually far sweeter and more interesting than I've made her out to be. She moved to Frisco from Boston in 1969, and got caught up in the beat and hippy movement when she began writing poetry as a student. She went to Woodstock. She's probably seen some amazing things, in the city that influenced Counter Culture more than anywhere else. This woman from the most dynamic generation in history told me that it's my generation that is the interesting one. That's something. My eyes did glaze over a little though, when she started explaining her thoughts on the development of telepathy as an extension of the communicative power of the internet.

The days previously were spent casually strolling San Francisco without any real plans or goals. I went to China Town and Little Italy. I also went to the Golden Gate Bridge again, this time on a clear day when the fog was thick beneath it. If I'm honest, I never thought I'd ever get so far away from home that I would reach this landmark, and I felt it only right to walk across the whole thing and back. I caught the wrong bus back to town, and thanks to an upset stomach caused by some dodgy Chinese food, I realised this when I decided to get off and use a convenience. I was at this point located somewhere that wasn't on the map provided by the hostel. I was lost but, sadly, in terms of storytelling anyway, not in a very dramatic way. Some help from a local put me back on the right path.

In the evening I popped in to a nice looking bar called Cafe Royale, and instantly felt I was crashing a party. After a few moments I realised everyone was Russian, and the man on stage playing guitar was singing in  Russian, and that his chords had a very Russian feel to them. If there is such a feeling as 'Russian'. Eventually though, I did feel comfortable there, even transported a little in fact, to Russia. I felt the same in China Town too. This struck me as something unique to San Francisco. In multicultural London, you have your little spots of other nations, but you always feel like you're in London. In Frisco's international districts you feel somewhat more emersed.

On the way back a homeless man managed to stop me, a man called Robert from Jamaica. I decided to buy him a KFC. He was lucky, as I'd become quite skilled at ignoring tramps and such. If you don't know anything about San Francisco, you should know that as well as being beautiful, it is also abundant with the homeless and the mentally ill. In my opinion it's a big problem that needs sorting out. Anyway, Robert was a good guy, and I wish him all the best in getting back to Jamaica like he said he wants to.

The next evening I went to a gig with the two remaining members of the Intrepid tour, Patrick and Alison. We saw three bands: the first I can't remember the name of and were rubbish anyway; The Melvins, who were a massive influence on Nirvana in the '80s; and Butthole Surfers, who enjoy looping clips from horror films on big screens as they play. Five years ago I probably would've been really in to it, but today it's not really my cup of tea. Still, I'm glad I went. The constant smell of weed in the venue gave it all a very San Franciscan feel.

By the time it was time to leave America I felt I'd had enough. My journey to New Zealand would require two flights, to LA then to Auckland. At the airport I drank three double Morgan's and coke to cushion myself for the first flight and then somehow found myself having dinner with a Canadian girl called Sarah while waiting for the second. I suspect she found me an irritating drunkard. I took some sleeping pills for the 13 hour trip, but they didn't work, so my time in the air was spent bored, uncomfortable and slightly hungover. I wasn't, however, scared at any point. This is good.

We took off on Saturday night and arrived Monday morning. Once arriving at the lovely Freeman's Lodge at 11am, I had some sleep, as they'd considerately prepared my bed already. Waking at 5pm, I washed with the intention of exploring Auckland, but then realised I was dizzy and had an ache in my stomach. I slept again, not emerging until 7am the next day, meaning I'd lost not only Sunday but Monday too. This is also good, because everyone knows those are the two most rubbish days in the week.

I felt better today and explored Auckland. My first impressions are that it is a fine, clean city, especially compared to San Francisco. However, it is unsettlingly like home, with indecisive weather and everything. They even include the 'u' in 'colour' and Axe deodrant is called Lynx. More high brow insights like that later.