San Francisco: A Love Story

I’m five when I fall in love with San Francisco. Several times each year my grandparents and I visit my great grandma where she lives in a beautiful, large Victorian home on Geary and Blake Street. My excitement always grows as we approach the Golden Gate Bridge; it’s easy to be wooed by the view of the sparkling bay, the red blocks brought together to form a gorgeously epic bridge and the tips of sky scrapers peaking out from behind the fog. Once in the city I find the rhythm exhilarating: the sounds of the seagulls, foghorns and the cable cars making their way up and down the steep hills. I grow ravenous from the smells of Fisherman’s wharf (a truly original mix of sourdough bread, fresh seafood, ocean air and waffle cones), the bustling streets of Chinatown thrill me so much I even forget about how chilly it is. The city appeals to all of my senses and I know I want to live here some day.

I’m twenty-one when I move to San Francisco- it feels like the natural thing to do- it was where my great grandparents met and where my grandma was born. I think that my sentiment for Fisherman’s wharf is ingrained in me because my great grandfather and his brother worked there. Unlike many longtime residents I never grow tired of visiting the wharf and I often walk down from Nob Hill to enjoy fresh shrimp and the beauty of the bay. Visiting the wharf always makes me feel as if I’m on vacation; it’s exciting to be around so many people who are seeing San Francisco for the first time, I find it amusing to see tourists wearing shorts and complaining about the cold, I also enjoy trying to walk by the bush man without screaming- sometimes I’m successful. Back at home from my rooftop I can see the Transamerica Pyramid, Coit Tower and the Bay Bridge to the right and to the left the Golden Gate- it’s like living in a post card. Later in the evening, the sounds of the foghorns provide the background noise in my studio.

Of course, after almost ten years of living in San Francisco some of the things lose their charm: when you work close to Chinatown it’s no longer exciting to get caught in the foot traffic and when you just want to get home after a long day at work walking up one of the steepest hills in the city isn’t so magical. Then, there is the weather. Although there are many beautiful days full of blue skies, the late afternoon almost always brings in the cold, frigid air. Living in San Francisco you are forced to slowly, grudgingly learn to live without a summer. It seems everyone and their mothers take to quoting Mark Twain: “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco,” I even find myself quoting him because it’s so fitting. Despite the imperfections the city never stops enchanting me and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.

Well, life had a different plan for me and now I live in Washington, DC. It’s strange to be some place so far away from the city by the bay, but it’s exciting too. I am looking forward to seeing new places, meeting new people and maybe learning a little or, a lot about myself. I always said I would leave my heart in San Francisco should I ever depart, but I ended up leaving the city for love and so it was actually my heart that pulled me away. Who knows, DC may become my second love; it’s definitely warmer here in the summer!