San Francisco is a city of color. The streets are lined with buildings and houses painted all sorts of pigments; pastel pinks, yellows, blues, greens. It isn’t tacky, it’s enchanting. There are flowers growing on every other building, purples and hot pinks scaling the pastel walls. The people here aren’t one color either (a symptom of small cities like Springfield) they are black, caramel, ivory, tan, all sorts. There is a grey fog that engulfs the coast often, but when it floats away it reveals a red bridge, lush trees and aqua waters.
We spent the majority of our time in the Mission District, known for its Latino roots. We ate delicious Mexican and Cuban food; meandered through unique shops that hosted things like organic foods, vintage jewelry, small batch chocolate, flower bouquets, botany books, dried butterflies, odds and ends; and soaked in the energy of so many people in one place.
We did typical tourist things as well: drove down Lombard Street and walked Pier 39. These things we did because it seemed a requirement of visiting the city for the first time, but really, I’d rather wander and explore the places the locals inhabit.
We explored the sandy parts of San Francisco as well: China Beach and the Sutro Baths. We climbed on cliffs and massive rocks that sat on the edge of the waves, begging to be perched upon. We watched pups play in the cold, salty ocean; digging holes and catching tennis balls.
The energy of the city was tangible, and the way the ocean mingled with the greasiness of the city was addicting. I had never been in a massive city that hosted hilly roads and such an earthy environment alongside the bustle of millions of people. San Francisco is unlike any other city I have been. I left hoping that we would someday be back, and hopefully for longer.