It was a short and beautiful trip, giving me a taste of a land I had never before visited. My mom and I flew in, over the mountains, the houses suddenly appearing on the face of the mountain sides, the city of San Francisco carved out of the landscape. Carved into the landscape. It felt so liberating to hug the coastline, to smell the water, to sense the possibilities latent in the land.
We arrived at our hotel, a cute old building that exuded old world charm. Our room was on the smaller side, as city hotel rooms often are, and we had to take a little old fashioned elevator up to reach it. We looked out over Union Square, lit up with palm trees bedecked in festive twinkle lights. As we settled in with snacks and diet coke, relaxing after a long day’s journey, the sound of jazz music and cable cars poured in the window, infusing our own little room, our own little world, with the sounds of San Francisco.
After I completed my teaching certification test, and experienced an edifying journey back to my hotel on an inner-city bus, we headed to Fisherman’s Wharf. I was glad my mom had overridden my request to stay at the Wharf; it was cheesey and noisy and touristy. But oh, the water. And seagulls. The taste of fried calamari, shrimp, fish. The sounds of barking seals at Pier 39. The Golden Gate Bridge beckoning from the horizon. Alcatraz Island looming a few miles out. And then sunset arrived on the scene, transforming the already beautiful water into a reflection of the warm and cool colors of twilight.
We headed back via cable car to Chinatown. I hanged off the side of the cable car, my feet perched on the edge, hands firmly gripping the metal bar. It was wonderfully cheesey. Chinatown was, as I had expected, disappointing. It’s dirty and crowded and if you wander into one shop, you’ve wandered into all of them.
My mom and I ventured into the largest Macy’s I have ever seen to find me a pair of boots and then got take-out from the Cheesecake Factory and picnicked in our room like queens. After only a day and a half, the hotel room had become home. It’s funny how that works.
The following day, my cousins who live in San Jose came and picked us up. We drove across the Golden Gate Bridge and ate lunch in Sausolito. Then we drove around the coast, venturing over to Ocean Beach. It was sunny, sunny, sunny. So clear and crisp and beautiful. The sun reflected on the damp sand, revealing tiny jellyfish across the beach. We dipped our feet in the freezing cold water, instantly numbed. It was surreal and dazzling and made me hunger for a San Franciscan summer (even though they’re still supposed to be cold).
Next we headed to Ghiradelli Sqaure, where I had milk chocolate truffles and hot chocolate that brought me straight back to Paris (where I had the best hot chocolate of my life). We drove down Lombard Street, slowly and carefully navigating the zig zags. And then we bid farewell to our cousins and headed back to the hotel to pack for our departure the following morning.
It’s funny how as soon as you get used to a place, it feels like it is time to leave. It’s a cruel twist of life really. I still can’t picture myself there, on the West Coast, in California, in San Francisco. Maybe, though, it will become another of my homes. A place of my own. Maybe it, too, will belong to me.
I suppose I’ll just have to give it a year or so and then we’ll know.
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