Rooftops of San Francisco

A few photos from one of our less successful vacations, in which we learned why February is considered the off season in San Francisco, tourist-wise (i.e. it's cold and damp, just like Portland, but far more expensive), and why there are plenty of rooms available in the Financial District on weekends (i.e. everything's closed and there's surprisingly little to do.) When all else fails (which will happen sooner or later), you can always fall back on taking photos from your hotel window, which is where these came from.



I have a complicated relationship with San Francisco. Or it might be more accurate to say the city has a complicated relationship with me. When I'm there, tourists always mistake me for a local and ask me for directions. And what's worse, I can usually give them useful directions, because my sense of direction is weirdly attuned to the place. Apparently I cannot get seriously lost within city limits no matter how hard I try. I should point out that my only experience living there was when I was six years old, and we lived elsewhere in the bay area, for less than a year.

Also, during this most recent visit, we were in the museum store at SFMOMA and I noticed that they were featuring a line of wallets made by a Portland designer, and I happened to have an identical one in my back pocket. A few hours later, I was in a shop buying something, and the cashier was moved to marvel at length at my wondrous wallet. If I believed in fate, which I don't, these things would seem like signs.



In short, the city keeps beckoning to me and trying to lure me in. Which might work, if only the city didn't aggravate the hell out of me when I spend more than a day or two there. It feels like everyone you meet desperately needs to be told how extremely special and unique they are, all day, every day, everywhere you go. It rapidly gets exhausting. Apparently everyone's supposed to take a turn at this, and it mystifies people if you don't try to explain who you are and give them a chance to shower you with approval. Or pretend-approval. I'm not sure anyone can tell the difference anymore.



So I've concluded it's a relationship without a future, unless a.) I get my own personal cloaking device, so I can tolerate the locals; b.) I somehow become a multi-trillionaire, so I can afford to live there; and c.) global warming fixes the rather tragic climate, so the place might be habitable (or at least visible) during months not named "October".

Now watch me not hold my breath.



In any case, enjoy the photos...