I stretch.  Angelo and I have just finished changing back into normal clothes after our kayak ride and are waiting for the others.  We’re all going to eat at some place here in Sausalito which is great as I am hungry.

A few people in the office I’m in this week had mentioned that they were going kayaking this weekend and I was surprised to hear myself accept an invitation as I’m not quite the sporty sort.  Still, after a minor scare when we almost were assaulted by smirking sea lions, I have to admit that it was fun.  The clear Californian weather helped a great deal too.

Angelo, a quiet and soft-spoken type, had picked me up earlier in the day.  We drove across the Golden Gate bridge which appeared to us out of the morning mist and, Alcatraz to our right, sped off away from San Francisco.

Now we were just waiting for everyone else to be ready so that we would agree on the exact place to eat.  I heard someone mention a few names of restaurants but, not being a local, I’m happy to tag along and join in wherever we go.

Fast forward a few hours and we arrive at “Sam’s Bar”.  This is a local watering hole that is popular with the boating set. Judging by the yachts berthed by its terrace and the expensive cars lined up in its car park, it is very popular.

We negotiate the crowds and shimmy towards a table, drinks in hand.  Arriving here slightly late in the day means lunch traffic is on its way out. We are lucky enough to nab a table by the water.  We peruse the menu and my colleagues toss a few recommendations around.  I make a mental note of what I would like to eat and turn to the back of the menu where there is a write-up about the place.

I stare at it, not able to believe my eyes.

“Did we come here intentionally? I mean, because of me?” I ask, innocently.

The others look at me, wondering if I’ve had too much sun, “No … why?”

“Well, it’s Sam’s place; and Sam was Maltese, according to this.”

They all turn their menus over and read.  Sam was a jolly sort who emigrated from the small village of Fgura post World War II. He made a living selling tuna sandwiches on this stretch of the Pacific coast.  What started off as a hut is now a chic eatery that is the place to be.

Talk about coincidences.