San Francisco: Week 1
Hello city,
It took nearly seven years of living in Canada for me to finally feel like I was home, and now I’ve uprooted myself and am starting the process anew. San Francisco, you are a weird city. I’m not accustomed to the kindness of your strangers, and the impatience of your traffic. After one week, I’ve barely begun to learn the layout of this place, and I’m trying to find landmarks to help me determine east from west, and north from south.
My first day here, I crossed the Bay Bridge from Emeryville into a very foggy and cold place. It didn’t seem like the San Francisco that I had anticipated, though I guess that’s a common tourist mistake. Then I found out that this has been the coldest summer on record in the past 40 years. Just my luck. After unpacking my hoodie, calling my landlord, and hailing a cab to my new apartment, I witnessed the cabbie nearly get into a fistfight with some angry guy off the street.
Welcome home?
A few days in, and the city is becoming slightly more familiar. Long walks don’t seem nearly as epic, and the street names are beginning to creep into my long-term memory. I’m still not sure where downtown ends and the other neighbourhoods begin. I’ve accidentally strolled through the tenderloin past 10 PM (it wasn’t as bad as I was told), and purposefully ventured through a leather daddy festival that was going on right outside my doorstep. Both were really interesting experiences, in vastly different ways.
I’m starting to like this city, and I feel just as comfortable after a week here as I did a week into living in Vancouver. The last traces of homesickness for Canada have pretty much left my system, but I’m definitely pining for money that comes in different colours. If that’s my only real irritation, though, I think I’m doing well so far.