San Francisco

A little view from our hotel room on the 17th floor.

It was a dreary day this day, but nevertheless, the view of the city below us was worthy of a photo.

I have somewhat of a love/hate relationship with San Francisco. It is historically beautiful, yet wears its cracks well. It is a city of a hundred dialects, nationalities, social and economical extremes, all existing in a small footprint. Case in point: on our walk down to the heart of the city from our nice quiet Nob Hill hotel, I witnessed a man urinating in an open doorway, another sleeping on the sidewalk, and a host of women wearing Prada heading off to bar. We witnessed some drunk guys attempting street dancing for money, a disheveled woman wanted to sell us an old newspaper so she could pay her rent, and a pirate-clad mime completely covered in gold spray paint watching it all from atop his wooden crate. Hundreds of others buzzed around, in and out of stores, stood with mouths open, watched the drunk guys, and waited in line for the trolley cars. In the span of twenty feet I heard a handful of languages and yet ironically I was the one that felt like the foreigner. I always do in this city.

At one point I felt like I was an extra in a movie scene while I crossed the street and watched a man and woman carried on a petty argument...

He, hanging out of his 3rd floor apartment window:
"HEY! Where you goin'?! Bring me back a pack!"

She, standing in the middle of the intersection, in her bathrobe and slippers, waving a finger at him: "WHAT?! Don't you yell at me! You get your own pack you lazy SOB!"

No kidding...San Francisco is not lacking in character.

Yet this is the way this city is every time I visit. I now know why I enjoy the outer edges, the ocean side, the Presidio, the Marina...because the noise dissipates and I can smell the ocean, not feel overwhelmed or anxious with the disparity of the extremes. It breaks my heart to see broken people sleeping on the sidewalk, women trying to sell dirty newspapers (or their bodies) to pay for a meal. And yet this city is raw with the presence of them, and the Suits and Pradas that walk by them. I often wonder if I lived here if I would get used to it and settle into the chaotic collision of extremities. But then I conclude that I am perfectly content to visit and enjoy it in small bites, taking my lifetime to discover its historical beauty, cracks and all.