In which Layla and Roz visit the devil's mud-bath and eat lots of ice cream

By Layla

Landing in Cartagena was like landing in a totally different country - the heat and humidity hit us like a wave, and we threw off our Bogota cardigans in shock. We definitely weren't in the mountains any more - and given that our last experience of mountains had been fleeing rioters, we weren't at all sorry.

After checking in at our charming hotel and donning our summer clothes, we went out on the town. We are staying in a pretty, colonial area called San Diego with a crumbling aesthetic, all narrow streets, plazas bustling with cafes, little bars, restaurants, boutique shops, surrounded by old city walls that you can stroll along the top of, with the walled city on one side, the Caribbean Sea on the other, and the skyscrapers of the Bocagrande district in the distance. It feels very old Spain, and this feeling is enhanced by the almost complete lack of European or English-speaking tourists. We stopped in at a delightful local bookshop which also doubled as a bar. My strawberry daiquiri was excellent; Roz's mango less so... There was also cake. After a stroll around town, encountering a concert in one of the plazas, we returned to a nice wine bar near the bookshop and treated ourselves to a pre-prandial glass of wine. Dinner was mostly hummus-based (no bad thing), at a nice restaurant overlooking a raucous Plaza San Diego, and there was a sneaky mohito before bed - a successful first evening, and hooray for not being trapped in Villa de Leyva. 

The next day was started with a walking tour around town from our Michelin guide (Lonely Planet is rubbish on this trip!). We viewed all the main churches and city gates and the like, paid a visit to the small but nice modern art museum, and covetously eyed a theatre that hosts the Hay Literary Festival annually in January. we then took refuge from the sudden rain with drinks in yet another plaza, followed by tomato soup for lunch in a hip little restaurant. 

After trying to spot the house of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, we decided that our location on the Caribbean demanded a swim. We took a taxi to Bocagrande which had a Benidorm-style ambience... But it was very jolly to join the locals on the beach. The water was somewhat murky, the sand was grey and the waves were vigorous - so while it wasn't the quintessential Caribbean beach experience it was rather fun. We jumped in the waves for over an hour til I was frankly exhausted and in need of ice cream, thankfully duly delivered. 

Back in the old town, we headed out for a drink at a cool outdoor bar on top of the wall. We read our books while sipping Club Colombia beer and gazing out over the sunset, til it was too dark to see the words if our books (well, for Roz - I have a Kindle Paperwhite which Roz eyed enviously) and we headed to dinner, at one of Cartagena's best reviewed restaurants. Which was a... strange experience. Despite being a wine bar, with wine lining the walls, they couldn't seem to offer us any wines by the glass except for horrible ones. The previous bustling restaurant essentially emptied on our arrival. But we persevered and had an adequate veggie paella before fleeing to a more pleasant bar on another plaza where we had a very cheery time chatting and drinking much nicer wine. As we strolled home after ten o'clock, ladies and gentlemen, we congratulated ourselves on managing such a late night! 

The next morning we wolfed down our breakfast and were ready at the honk of a horn for a bizarre-sounding tour we had arranged: a trip to bathe in a mud volcano. The story goes that a devil lived in volcano Totomo but then a priest prayed to turn it to mud and drown the devil, and thus it was so. After an hour's drive, along with our fellow tour-goers, we eyed the ladders ascending to what is often described in appearance as a large termite mound. Tentatively we donned our swimming costumes and ascended. 

At the top, we peered down into a big hole. At the bottom was a weird scene of mud-caked people cavorting in a big weird grey mud bath, including being rubbed with mud by the locals. After a while getting sunburnt as we waited our turn, finally we were instructed to descend. The slippery ladder gave way to the mud, and as I let go, I found myself in one of the strangest sensations I've ever experienced. There is no bottom that you can stand on. Instead, the mud weirdly suspends you. It's a bit like what I imagine space is like! A local immediately grabbed me and started rubbing the mud all over me. I lay there in the mud like I was lying on a table. But nothing but gloopy mud below me. A glance to the side found Roz having the same experience. After, we cavorted in the mud, trying to push each other down to find the bottom, to no avail, and moving ourselves around this bizarre pit. Afterwards, we ascended a very slippery ladder to the top of the volcano, then down to the ground, where we stumbled about 100 meters to a lake where women poured water all over us til the mud was all off. Completely mad but definitely jolly. 

Afterwards they drove us to a beachside restaurant which might have been nice if (a) we weren't vegetarians in a fish-focused restaurant, and (b) it wasn't raining vigorously! But we did enjoy watching some people kite surfing before we eventually returned to our hotel - amusingly we both fell sound asleep and had to be awoken by the other mud-bathers when we arrived. 

That night, we ventured to a delightful ice cream parlor called Gelateria Paradiso - apt! We ate a lot of ice cream. And then wandered down to the area just outside the walls called Gethsemane, home to hostels, nightlife, and such, before returning to a nice outdoor cafe for beers and ambience. We ate at a deserted but pleasant restaurant, Torreluna, which had the novelty of a vegetarian menu, and polished off the evening with drinks at an outdoor cafe in a nearby plaza. 

Today was a snorkeling day. People keep saying the Rosario Islands can be a delightful Caribbean island experience, or a tacky tourist trap, so we increased our chance of the former by going with a posh-ish company called Dive Planet. An hour long pleasant boat ride found us on charming Managua Island, blue sea lapping at the shores, hammocks aplenty... Alas we'd signed up to snorkel, so it was back in the boat for two snorkeling sessions. Lots of fun, though not much coral or fish... Poor Roz, as usual, (1) remembered she doesn't like snorkeling, and (2) sustained a snorkeling injury (coral cuts this time), but after ditching her snorkeling kit for a pleasant swim, was rewarded with a quick lunch and a delightful laze in a hammock before it was time to take the boat home. One of our loveliest days so far on this holiday!

And now I write this from the Gelateria Paradiso again. Life is excellent...

In which Roz learns a sartorial horse riding lesson and we flee a siege

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, we were introduced to a cowboy-esque man called Raoul and led through the town square to where three big brown horses were tethered. Oh yes, it was time for a horse riding extravaganza in the countryside around Villa de Leyva. Despite both of us being incompetent on a horse, we are repeatedly drawn to this... Our incompetence was immediately apparent in the form of Roz's choice to wear three quarter-length trousers. While I trotted (walked) along, gazing at the beautiful hills and villages and weird desert-ish this-was-once-the-ocean-bed, Roz was having all the skin rubbed off her inner calves. Twenty minutes into the ride, I heard a bravely concealed whimper. But at our first stop, a bright turquoise pond (sights around Villa de Leyva are a tad quirky), it was clear something had to be done. Inspiration struck in the form of both of our shirts. One per leg, we stuck her calves through the armholes, tied them up, and created a fetching image of a wounded war hero staggering from the battlefield with makeshift bandages over her wounds. Our hitherto Spanish speaking guide felt moved to break into English for a sardonic "sexy!" comment. But Roz's pain was sorted, we learned a key lesson about riding garb, and it was on to the next 'sight'. 

This one was rather good - being the sea bed millions of years ago, the area is home to large numbers of fossils... Including two cool large aquatic dinosaurs! We may have been the only visitors at the dinosaur museum but I feel I was sufficiently nerdy to be gratifying to the many people manning the door. Onward to an astronomical, Stonehenge-ish site from the time of the indigenous Musica tribe, a field full of stone calendars and penises. Again, odd but cheery...

We trotted cheerfully back into town in the sunshine, having had what we did not yet know were our last few minutes of ignorant bliss. Indeed, we went to Van Gogh's cafe for arepas, sandwiches and juices, and cheerily read our books, til we returned to the hotel to ask their advice for how to get to Bogota airport the day after tomorrow. There was but one answer: you can't! 

When we took the bus to Villa de Leyva, the bus station people had confusingly told us there might not be any buses, but there turned out to be one. Then when it was late, the word 'blocados' was used, which was not in my Spanish lexicon. It now transpired that we had taken one of the last buses to Villa de Leyva before all the roads were closed by blockades created by farmers and others protesting free trade agreements with EU and US (and various other things). Indeed, while we'd been sipping beers and playing with horses, the country was experiencing one of its biggest protests, with the roads blocked since Monday! We went down to the bus station to check and were advised that all buses were cancelled - indefinitely. But we were treated to a TV news programme depicting the protestors, blockades, fires, police in hardcore riot gear and alarmingness. We decided to hope for the best and maybe it would clear.

It didn't, and we soon became panicky that we might be trapped in Villa de Leyva for the rest of our holiday! And even worse, the closed roads had led to the closure of most restaurants, namely the fancy ones we'd specifically planned to enjoy while in the town. So we flew our kite, and retired to Antika for a drink and to recover ourselves. We debated what to do. Then we realised we had more urgent needs: dinner! With all the cool restaurants closed, we searched for something that didn't involve molten cheese and managed a vegetables and noodles dish which was, well, satisfactory. Followed by an early night as everything else was closed. 

We were up early the next day - or I was, walking down to the bus terminal for news. There was no news and definitely no buses, so we both laced up our hiking boots and set off on the second trip we'd booked: hiking to waterfalls and the angel steps. This was quite a delightful trip with a very pleasant guide. We drove into the countryside and to a waterfall. Or rather to the entrance to a long, jungly walk / climb down to a waterfall, with our ecologist guide trying to teach us the names of plants. It was beautifully picturesque, and of course we were the only ones there. After climbing down to the waterfall, our guide had clearly only just begun. What commenced was an extravaganza of rock climbing / canyoning that took us into the big cave behind the waterfall, a sacred place to the area's indigenous people. Great fun! 

After we got ourselves back up to the road, narrowly missing headbutting a wasps' nest, our next stop was the angel steps, a long, narrow, elevated path between two deep canyons. Good fun and great views - the countryside is lovely here. Then en route back we diverted down into one of the canyons for more rock climbing / canyoning fun as we followed the almost dried-up river along for a good while, reveling in having the place to ourselves. We were sorry to return to town, but with a flight to Cartagena booked for the following day, clearly something had to be done about our current besieged state! 

Our afternoon was spent in a whirl of stressful attempts to arrange to leave Villa de Leyva, a dream that seemed perplexingly impossible. The protestors (for whom everyone seemed to have sympathy) had blocked every road, and while apparently they were making a point rather than trying to harm anyone, there was a rough element and there were various clashes with police, and all the roads had been closed. Literally trapped! Without gourmet food too! At first our driver from our tour suggested he might drive us for a hefty fee. With buses discontinued indefinitely this seemed a good idea, but then he lost his nerve and started procrastinating, saying he'd drive us at 3pm, then 5pm, then the following morning. Time was running out. Everyone said we were doomed to miss our flight and should just accept staying in Villa de Leyva which was starting to lose its charm... We briefly considered chipping in for a helicopter being organized by the hotel manager for various rich people who wanted to get back to Bogota (the blockade has no clear end), but this seemed a bit extreme (ie expensive and mad!). With an agreement that our tour driver would call at 5am the following day to confirm he was coming at 5:30, Roz and I settled down to some games of pool (she won all but one and was very smug indeed) and a quest for dinner. Shock horror, our old staple Antika was closed! So, of course, were all the gourmet restaurants. The place was becoming a bit of a ghost town. But then, hooray, a pizza place we'd previously discounted for looking grim was open, warm, and welcoming. We ordered beers and spaghetti with pesto and passed a short but pleasant dinner planning a book blog I'm going to start writing! Before a final couple of games of pool (which Roz would like to point out that she won), and off to bed with our alarm set to 5am.

Sadly I awoke at 4am, and while Roz slumbered sweetly, I embarked on a depressing effort to get us to Bogota Airport in time for our flight. Yesterday's driver proved elusive; upon eventually contacting him, it transpired he had lost his nerve and would not drive us, and so I had to be my most sweet and charming to the hotel's night watchman to get him to call every driver he could think of until, hooray, one finally said yes!

By this time it was 6.15am so I woke up Roz, we threw on our clothes, and dashed to the car before our new driver could change his mind. As we drove along, the remnants of the protests were obvious, though it was early enough that the protestors themselves were still in bed. In many places the road was blocked by purposefully fallen trees. Undeterred, our driver went off-road and got round them all. After an hour, we swapped to a different driver, who was lovely, spoke English, and considered getting us to our plane on time a delightful personal challenge. (Everyone in Colombia seems mortified that this has happened - apparently highly unusual). We drove on, past embers and cleared blockades. We stopped to ask locals about the situation and took detours to avoid any blocked roads, fire, or jaggy things that punctured tires. We were making good progress til a flaming tire in the road and some protestors (who were very pleasant other than not wanting us to carry on down the road) forced us up onto little mountain paths, past little homesteads and farms that likely rarely see a town car. We popped back onto the road, passed quite a number of police in riot gear awaiting a protest that had not yet got out of bed, and delightfully, the rest of the road had been cleared. We made it to Bogota Airport with time to spare, and much delight. And I write this while waiting for our plane to board. Goodbye besieged mountain town, hello UNESCO Caribbean city!

In which Roz and Layla cycle like Bogota locals, climb a hill, and fly a kite

By Roz

Having checked out of the hotel at an unreasonably early hour, we went in search of breakfast (having decided to shun the hotel's odd yoghurt item of the day before). Having walked past a fair number of closed establishments (this being a holiday Monday) we were both immensely relieved to find a lovely cafe attached to the city's main (only?) English language bookshop, Authors. We both had an arepa, and then settled down for a brief read and a vague discussion of our plans. Conscious that a lot of the day would be taken up with a long bus journey, we were eager to ensure we made the most of our morning. Having seen so many cheery people passing on bikes on the closed roads, we decided to head back to our hotel, take advantage of it being a holiday and thus the roads closed again, and hire bikes for a couple of hours. This we did successfully and we then hopped on to join the rest of Bogota on a bike ride, down into Candelaria and back.

It turns out that Colombians combine an enthusiasm for biking with a really remarkable lack of expertise. Let us be clear: I am not and have never been a good or fast biker. But that morning I felt a master, passing Bogota natives and dodging their dubious moves. What was also really lovely was that we seemed to be the only non-Colombians out. We passed some things familiar from the day before (including the police leading slow aerobics in the park) but really enjoyed getting to see more of the area. Heading into the center of town, we made a vague attempt to find a cafe made out of an old train carriage which I had read about. We did find it (and were smug) but it was closed. So we headed straight on to Place Bolivar, the main square in a Bogota which bizarrely we hadn't seen the day before and admired while drinking orange juice from a random stall.

We headed back, still feeling we were doing something very local, and deposited our bikes back at the hotel. Not wishing to miss lunch (as we so nearly had the day before) we headed back to the bookshop and cafe for an early lunch, preceded by a browse around the bookshop. It was a lovely bookshop, and there were loads of things I wanted to buy. But I am ashamed to admit that I couldn't bring myself to pay $25 for paperbacks I knew I could get for half the price in DC. Recognizing that this made me a bad person (independent bookshops are a good thing) I consoled myself with a giant cheese and tomato sandwich whilst we discussed what we should do when gay marriage comes into force in the UK (which continent for ceremony and celebration).  Having come to no conclusion at all (we never do on this subject) we headed back to the hotel and got a cab to the bus station. 

The journey to Villa de Leyva was fairly long (4 hours) and not especially beautiful until the last 30 minutes or so, at which point it was lovely). I nevertheless had a reasonably jolly time listening to things ( my book Americanah and, somewhat oddly, two economics lectures to break things up a bit). We arrived into the town just ask dusk was falling. To my surprise it turned out to be just as pretty as the guidebooks had said - apparently it in one of the prettiest towns in Colombia (if not the prettiest). It's all cobblestones (not great for dragging a suitcase along, admittedly) and old (well 19th century) buildings that lean. There's a huge square in the middle of the city (the largest in Colombia which seems odd - why make it so big?) which is also attractive (in a slightly desolate sort of way). 

We checked into our hotel, which is one of the oldest buildings in the city, with sloping walls and so forth. And our own balcony overlooking a smaller square. Having dumped our stuff we headed out for dinner. We found this cute courtyard with 6 or so different restaurants, and happily ensconced ourselves in an Italian place where Layla looked smug and virtuous whilst she ate a salad (and I looked neither whilst I ate pasta). We then headed off to a similar courtyard which had live music and drank wine and felt jolly before returning to the glamour of our private balcony and a night time beer. 

Alas we were both awake early again (this is starting to be dull in its repetition) but we lay in bed reading till it was a respectable time for breakfast, which we had downstairs in the hotel. From there, after some pfaffing, we headed off to a hotel / hostel that's a bit out of town to try and book a couple of tours and to go for a hike. Booking the tours took longer then one would have expected, though mainly because we were so indecisive about whether booking rappelling would be a good thing (particularly since the torn tendon in my arm still hasn't entirely healed). We came to no firm conclusion, but we did book horse riding for tomorrow and something for the day after before we went off on what we anticipated would be a super easy and straight-forward hike.  Alas it didn't quite turn out like this,with us deciding that we had gone the wrong way at least ten times during the course of our walk (mainly when going uphill, which both of us hoped was a error we could halt). It was a nice route, though, by the side of a canyon to a waterfall (which sadly had no water!) and to a couple of lookout spots. I fell en route which was surprisingly sore but had the benefit of meaning that I was able to lumber Layla with carrying the rucksack for the rest of the hike. Having read our Kindles for a while at the top of the hill / canyon, we identified it might rain any second, and headed back with some speed. Or was it the fact that we wanted lunch that had us moving with such comparative speed?! 

Back in town, we had a late lunch in a cafe on the town square, whilst Layla looked longingly at the small children who were flying kites. I was persuaded, and we then spent a very happy hour flying a swiftly purchased kite alongside the Colombian children. They were definitely better than us, and it was fun getting tips from them on how we could improve.  By the end, I'd managed two short but respectable kite flights and felt very pleased with myself. Kites are a huge thing in this town! 

We popped back to the hotel to change out of our hiking gear and then settled ourselves down for a coffee and cake in a cafe. This was delightful until we noticed it was getting on the chilly side. We eventually ended up in a nice place called Antique, where I had a gin and tonic, Layla had wine and we had some "molten cheese" which is what it sounds like but was much bigger than anticipated. We stayed there for a good while, reading, before heading off for dinner (no, molten cheese does not constitute dinner!). We ended up eating a Spanish tortilla and patatas braves (having sworn no cheese would pass our lips again) in the same courtyard as the night before, as a guy played a guitar and sang. Our night was mainly spent arguing over what name we would call a daughter (for no reason at all) and whether 'to gull' was a verb version of gullible (it is!). As the names and verb usage got sillier, we fell apart laughing much to the bemusement of the nearby waiters and diners and had a very jolly time. And now, to bed...

In which Layla and Roz find themselves surprised by Bogota.

By Layla

We had been having far too many 'normal' holidays lately, so it was with some relief that when we announced we were off to Colombia for 2 weeks, we were met with the traditional alarm and warnings aplenty - mostly around kidnapping and crime and that sort of thing. In fact, Colombia has got much safer in recent years. Particularly in the cities. So we planned a city-based adventure and off we went!

On arrival, through a thick band of clouds and spitting rain into this high altitude mountain metropolis, we were rapidly transported by taxi to our Bogota Hilton Hotel in Zona G - by all accounts Bogota is the most dangerous of our locations so we decided to ease in gently. And sure enough the Hilton was delightfully gentle. We popped downstairs for a post-flight rejuvinating swim in their outdoor heated pool, before showering and heading out to a nearby street of restaurants where we settled in Gigi's Italian restaurant and wine market, looked around, and realized we were quite surprised by Bogota. Very different from most Latin American capital cities, Bogota is cool. It's hip. It's crammed full of fancy restaurants, great midrange restaurants, funky cafes, cool bars, and all sorts of arty stuff. The people look quite hip too. A lot of Bogota stuff could be mistaken for being in New York! Other than the fact that everyone we encounter is nice, jolly, helpful... Somehow, this was all a bit unexpected! 

After our pizza and posh salad and wine, we walked off to a cool gay bar/cafe in the Chapinero district, called Village Cafe. Again, it was cool and quirky and featured hip-looking gay folk, men and women, kissing over their Colombia Club beers. We had "gin cucumber" drinks and enjoyed the ambience, before heading home to sleep. Exhausted!

The next day, after a pleasant read in bed and a weird version of a yoghurt parfait in the hotel restaurant, we were charmed to find the busy road in front of our hotel had been transformed into a giant bike lane! Every Sunday til 2pm Bogota closes its main roads and half the city takes to their bikes. This isn't a few random enthusiasts - everyone seems to be there, of all ages and persuasions. Entire families cycle along together, with the family dog on a leash running beside them. Occasional skateboarders and roller skaters and joggers punctuate the scene. It is all very cheery indeed. 

In fact our own plan for the morning was bike-related: we were off for a Bogota Bike Tour. We took a secure taxi from the hotel downtown to Candelaria, the tourist core (which is apparently quite quiet and dangerous at night but cool during the day), and after checking in with the bike place, went up to a little nearby square in search of a coffee. The square we found, decorated by bunting, featured both a cheery church, with plenty of people inside, and a hip little bar type thing where we got a coffee and a sort of polenta and cheese snack apparently called something like an "arepa". Tasty! And a good idea, as we hadn't quite realized how long the bike tour would be!

All the tourists in the city seemed to gather for the bike tour, and off we went. A great way to see the city! We went through the main streets, past famous squares, various museums, the bull ring (which only operates in January and February and last winter was turned into an ice skating rink instead due to an anti-bull-fighting mayor), and to memorials to many politicians and journalists who had been assassinated. Being a politician in the second half of the 20th century in Colombia was invariably a fatal enterprise, it seemed, and every story our guide told ended in the words "and then he was assassinated". Not very cheery stuff! We went past lots of amazing graffiti - the city pays graffiti artists to decorate the walls, including memorials to, you guessed it, various assassinations. It was impressive to look at. We had fresh juice in the National Park which was full of cyclists, hockey players, capoeira practitioners, and crowds doing aerobics with the national police radio... then stopped in at a local coffee brewer (where we desperately ate cake, by now ravenous), toured the famous graveyard, listened to some young boys rapping about how they want peace in Colombia, cycled past the red light district where prostitutes (legal here) stood in every door awaiting customers, various churches, illegal abortion clinics (Colombia has some of the most progressive rights in Latin America but abortion is still only possible in a few situations), and a fruit market where we went in and tried a variety of tropical fruits amid much amusement over the bitter ones. We finished the tour by visiting a cafe where you can play Colombia's national sport, Tejo. This involves hurling 2kg metal things across the room and into a mud pit. There are various envelopes filled with gunpowder in the mud pit, and you get extra points for making them explode by hitting them. Bizarre but quite fun. Some people stayed to play but we decided to head back as it was now 4 1/2 hours since we set off. Unfortunately the heavens opened in quite a spectacular way. Our final couple of miles were completed in torrential, monsoon-like rain. When we finally reached the office we realized our plan to try out a cool Candelaria coffee shop was not to be. After a complicated process to order a secure taxi, we dripped home, shivering and feeling that had all gone very well until the last 15 minutes!

Showered and warmed, we headed out for a very, very late lunch - a falafel burger (and a cake!) in the fancy, celebrity chef-type restaurant Rausch Bistronomy. Roz then took a notion to go to a hipster type cafe she'd found on Google, down on the other side of Chapinero. Cue a 25 minute walk, in which we prayed the rain would stay off and predicted it would be either closed or terrifying. In fact it was neither - it was very funky and cool, in a bike-on-the-ceiling, music memorabilia, black and white TV playing something old and quirky sort of way. We had mint tea and read our books, and enjoyed some people-watching (lots of kissing in this city!) before heading back up the road and installing ourselves in a Bogota staple, Wok, where we had some pleasant Thai food before heading, exhausted, to sleep far too early. Hence this blog being authored at 6am. There is no excuse for jetlag - we're only one hour behind DC! Oh well... We leave Bogota today, and are already having some regrets about not staying for longer, and having listened to previous Colombia visitors who were unenthusiastic about it. There is a lot to explore here, and it's easy to imagine having a nice life living here too! 

In which Roz and Layla traverse city forests, drink cocktails and see films

Next morning, I slept till the civilized hour of 8, whilst Layla woke early and checked her emails only to find one which she then stewed on for the next two hours whilst I slept. My awakening was not therefore the most relaxing experience, and I used this as an excuse to suggest we head to the Blue Bottle a cafe for the third consecutive morning (which we duly did - this time we both had poached eggs on toast - desperate times lead to desperate acts) before beginning our day properly. 

Our plan for the morning was to explore the Mission and the Castro areas, both of which have a reputation for being gay and hippy-ish. Our first stop in the Mission was a beautiful coffee shop where we sat and bemoaned the fact that DC (or our bit of DC) doesn't have lovely cafes where you can hang out for hours. We then meandered on, popping into the occasional shop and feeling bemused that the temperature had dropped 15 degrees since the day before. We acquired a small amount of cool jewellery in one shop and then spied a beautiful bike in a shop window. We went in to gawp, and we both lusted over the bikes which had an old fashioned and shiny air about them. We eventually walked out with the address of the owner's distributor in DC (close to our house) and having purchased two beautiful pictures (which are to be shipped to us). After this extravaganza of shopping, we headed over to the Castro, which was very gay and popped into to an Italian deli for lunch where I sneakily charged up my phone a bit behind the counter - sadly managing to give everyone else in the deli the impression I was committing a federal crime, so sheepish and guilty were my looks. It's very convenient having full access to iPhones with Yelp and Google Maps etc when on holiday in the US, but there is no back-up like the Lonely Planet guides we tote around in our handbags in more exotic parts.

After lunch we decided to head to the cinema, and saw the new Almodovar film "I'm So Excited". We got their early and meandered round a mall wondering why people enjoy being there so much until we came across the Ghiradelli store (when we stopped wondering and focussed on chocolate). The film proved to mad and quite fun and was an enjoyable way of spending an afternoon and we returned to the hotel to have a quick free cocktail before our very early dinner reservation at Kokkari Estiatorio. It's one of the best restaurants in San Francisco and it was bustling when we arrived at 5.30. We started with prosecco, and I was enjoying various mezze very much when Layla started to think that she was having an allergic reaction to something. Swallowing an extra couple of mouthfuls of the grilled cheese starter we were sharing (just in case this was a ploy by Layla) I dashed to the local supermarket and acquired some antihistamines. By the time I returned, Layla was feeling better and on establishing that I had actually bought her Nytol (one day I will get good at American drugs) decided to do without. I kindly ate the delicious corn dish that she suspected had given her the allergic symptoms because I am willing to sacrifice myself like that. 

After our early dinner, we dashed back to the Castro Theatre (the trip to the supermarket or the greed over the food having taken more time than we had anticipated) to see a film called Josie and the Pussycats. The main reason we were going there was to actually go into the cinema (rather than to see the film) - it is an old art deco cinema, which shows somewhat forgotten films. It is a truly beautiful place - almost like a church when you look at some parts of it. But in fact the film turned out to be very jolly (and I would recommend it over the Almodovar). After the film we headed to a bar in the Castro called Blackbird to sip cocktails. All in all, the day ended up much better than it started. 

Next morning we decided to break with the Blue Bottle Cafe tradition (reluctantly) and went to a cool place in the Castro called Kitchen Story, where we ate eggs (we must ban all eggs from our diet for the next month after this trip!) and drank mimosas before heading out on an iphone-guided five mile walk which we had been suggested by the girl who had taken us on our hike on our first day in the city. It started off at the Castro Theatre where we'd been before, but then took us through alleyways we would never have discovered alone, up hills (including the Twin Peaks), through a Eucalyptus forest, down staircases that went on for blocks and through a park with concrete slides meant for children but which we both went on (Layla acquitted herself much better than me, but neither of us did as well as the small children who were far too blasé for 8 year olds...). Half way along the hike, we heard about the plane which crashed at the San Francisco airport which was disconcerting and depressing. But other than that, it was a lovely walk but we were more than ready for lunch by the time we were finished just before 3. We went to a fairly nice Mexican place where I had a salad, and we don't talk about what Layla had (eggs!). We then headed to a coffee shop called Philz which had been recommended by a friend and which apparently people will drive for hours to get to. It was somewhat embarrassing that I actually preferred some of the other coffees I had had in the city, but we were pleased to have visited a San Francisco institution. Layla doesn't like coffee, so our next step was to go to a chocolate shop which was somewhat off the beaten track, and entirely deserted. But the salted caramels were nice and we went from there to a neighboring cafe to drink sparkling water and have a read of our books. We then retreated to our hotel to get ready for the evening (whilst simultaneously sampling one of the hotel's free cocktails). 

It wasn't long before we were back out in the Misson area. The main plan for the evening was to go to Foreign Cinema, a cool restaurant that screens films silently during dinner and which was showing The Artist that night. But our reservation wasn't till late (for us - 8.30) so we went to the adjoining cocktail bar which was vaguely Russian cosmonaut themed and consumed cocktails and truffled popcorn. Dinner proved to be fun, if a little chilly (though they did have outdoor heaters). When Layla declared she had a headache, I resigned myself to hunting for a chemist / supermarket but was saved by a kindly waiter who gave her Advil and told us not to tell anyone... 

And then it was our last morning. We are often not good at last mornings (we both feel so depressed at imminently not being on holiday any more) but we did rather well on this occasion. First, there was breakfast in an area called The Haight - one of the only areas we hadn't visited yet - in a place called the Squat and Gobble which was good if somewhat deserted. It's the original epicentre of the hippy universe, apparently, and looks it. We then meandered round the Golden Gate Park, seeing pretty bits we hadn't been able to see on our bikes. I then suggested we go on the carousel - Layla adores them - and this proved a very jolly end to our park experience. As a reward for taking Layla on the carousel she suggested we return to the Blue Bottle Cafe for one final coffee for me. Alas, the queue proved to be too long to acquire coffee and catch our plane, but I appreciated the thought. And that was it - the end of our mini-break to San Francisco. A brilliant city, that I can't wait to come back to. 

Books read whilst on holiday:

Roz - Archipelago (Monique Roffey); No Fond Return of Love (Barbara Pym); Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Demin (David Sedaris) and the very beginning of the epic A Suitable Boy (Vikram Seth).

Layla - Tales of the City (Armistead Maupin); Specimen Days (Michael Cunningham). 

In which Layla and Roz cycle across Golden Gate Bridge and explore some science

The next morning jet lag woke us early again but this time, Roz had a plan. The hotel let us borrow two beautiful Dutch bikes and before breakfast we decided to get into our running gear, leap onto our bicycles, head to Golden Gate Park, and go for a run. This was an excellent 7.30am plan, except that the park was further away than anticipated... And it was up some of San Francisco's famous hills. As I heaved my bike up near-vertical slopes, I dreamed of the breakfast I had not yet had. Eventually we made it to the park, which is beautiful and large. We cycled past museums and flowerbeds to get to Stow Lake where Roz ordered me off my bike.

Off we went for a jog round the perimeter of Stow Lake, then the perimeter of the island within the lake. It was a glorious sunny morning, and extremely scenic with ducks and Chinese pagodas galore, so I was almost not resentful. But I was glad when it was time to get on our bikes and we decided to explore the rest of the park - so off we zoomed up and down hills, past bison paddocks, to the beach at the Pacific Ocean. And then back again. Turns out it's bigger than Central Park and the 5th most visited park in the US. By the time we eventually got home, we'd cycled 14 miles and run 1 or 2 - not to mention scaling giant hills. We had earned our breakfast!

After returning to the hotel to shower, we went to the lovely Blue Bottle Cafe for a repeat order of yesterday's superlative breakfast, and concocted a plan to cycle across Golden Gate Bridge. Now, having done our giant cycling holiday to Burma, we assumed we were just as fit now as then. And misreading the map, I cheerily deemed my little sundress appropriate cycling garb for a few miles...

Soon we were cycling around the Embarcadero (marina), past parks, boats, beach, sculptures, Ghiradelli Square (stopped for ice cream, chocolate, and paddling in the bay), and past yet more park. This was further than expected! And since it was the 4th July, also insanely busy. "The Golden Gate bridge is up in the sky - how would we get on it?", asked Roz. We were soon to learn. The bike path followed the water, on and on, up a horrible giant hill until we eventually made it to the start of the bridge and its lovely cycle lane. 

Shrouded in mist, the cycle across the bridge was very cool: chilly and windy and brilliant, with the stylish red girders making the bridge really beautiful, the water raging far below and the cityscape giving way to pretty hills as we eventually hit the other side. A fab experience. We then followed a path and then a road all the way to the pretty coastal town of Sausalito, facing San Francisco across the water. We had a delicious lunch (and beer) at a very pleasant Italian restaurant, while musing that we had cycled about 25 miles that day and were completely exhausted. When it was time to stand up, we found we almost couldn't! But we wobbled towards the pier and caught a scenic ferry past the island of Alcatraz and homewards. We wobbled the final mile home and returned our bikes gratefully before heading upstairs to collapse on the bed. 

Well, for about 15 minutes! We had an appointment with the Exploratorium - a cool science experiment hands-on type museum on the waterfront, which was delightfully grown-ups-only that night, with drinks and all manner of interactive fun. We spent a happy hour playing with all the experiments and sipping wine, before grabbing a cable car to dinner - a tasty Indian restaurant called Dosa on Fillmore because it was on the lovely, posh-but-hipster Fillmore Street. As we caught a cable car home afterwards, we heard the booms of Independence Day fireworks exploding all around us. But, alas, we couldn't prop our eyes open long enough for a proper look - we are very much out of our Burma shape!

In which Layla and Roz celebrate Roz's birthday energetically in San Francisco

Roz's birthday is the day before Independence Day in America, so with that day already a holiday, it would be churlish not to turn it into a birthday mini break. And thus on the eve of her birthday did we take to the skies. Destination: San Francisco. Roz had been there overnight for work, and I'd never been. But we'd both read so many books about it that it felt like we knew the city, and we were prepared to fall in love. We were told July is always cold and foggy, so armed with cardigans aplenty, we disembarked.

Our attempt to take public transport to our hotel was foiled by a strike, but a quick taxi later, we were at our hotel, checked in, and off out to a nice wine bar near Union Square for some wine flights... And bruschetta flights... And cheese flights... And chocolate flights. We went home feeling very pleased with our first hour or two in San Francisco.

Up early thanks to jet lag, it was time for Roz's birthday to commence, with the opening of 15 presents I'd brought with me, including a vibrant new handbag and a photo book of our adventures in the last year. Suitably inspired, we headed out for breakfast at the excellent and funky Blue Bottle cafe, where we had delicious poached eggs, and yoghurt, and Roz had fancy coffee - it's like a science lab for coffee! Afterwards, we caught a famous San Francisco streetcar to Levi Plaza (home to the HQ of Levi Strauss) where we met the tour guide we'd booked to take us on an 'urban hike' of the area featured in the book series Tales of the City - Telegraph Hill and Russian Hill, and the Marina. The first thing we learned was that Levi Strauss was the investor rather than the inventor of jeans - but got all the credit. Poor Jacob Davis got nothing (except, presumably, money). We saw an array of jeans dating back to the 1880s - they looked remarkably similar to current jeans. Then we set off in the blazing sunshine, up massive steep sets of stairs with quaint and charming little lanes coming off them, entirely inaccessible to cars. A strange sight in America! There were amazing flowers and plants and hummingbirds too - it was like being in the tropics! We wound round to Coit Tower, and to the crazily steep Lombard Street that has 8 hairpin bends in it so cars can drive round it, and to the Chinatown, and the Italian Quarter, and most excitingly of all, the real Barbary Lane (Macondray Lane), home to the characters in Tales of the City. The whole area was quirky and charming and pretty, and alarmingly hilly - in one place there are steps built into the pavement as it's so steep. And the many neighbourhoods parks are essentially vertical. 

We had a lovely time and afterwards had to dash home on the F cablecar to change out of our jeans in view of the scorching sun... And then had a quick lunch in Town's End restaurant, mainly because it was next to the kayak place. roz and I love kayaking in Washington, but San Francisco is another story - and not just because it was over three times the price (this is NOT a cheap city). It's on the bay so it's seawater and there are waves. We pottered down a little channel that passed by the baseball stadium and many houseboats, and under lots of bridges, and returning to the hotel afterwards by underground, we delighted in what an excellent time we'd had - even if we had an unfortunate level of sunburn! 

That night we headed out to two extremely cool reservations. The first was Wilson and Wilson, which is a speakeasy inside a speakeasy! We gave our password and were shown into the main speakeasy, then brought through a secret door to another. Wilson and Wilson pretends to pose as a private detective agency and the menus are disguised as case reports. All good fun, and some excellent cocktails, mixed very precisely by a pleasant bartender. 

Afterwards, we decided to walk the 40 minutes up a giant hill past cool little bars and lots of houses to Gary Danko. Gary Danko is San Francisco's best restaurant, and it is hard to get reservations. When Roz let it be known that she would like to dine there on her birthday I dedicated myself to trying to get a reservation, and the previous day, hooray! At last I had been successful. We entered with much excitement and had a 4 course tasting menu of deliciousness, culminating in a happy birthday cake for Roz and so much cheese that it actually, unbelievably defeated us. Jet lag kicking in, we sipped our last drops of wine and decided to head for home. Rather than a taxi, we waited for the cable car, which turned out to be much different than the one from earlier - old fashioned and beautiful, we sat on a little outdoor bench as it trundled up and down impossibly steep hills and we giggled and shrieked and deemed it the perfect end to a birthday.