Alexander Barrett - This Is San Francisco: The Ups, Downs, Ins, and Outs of the City by the Bay

By the time I landed, it was the past.

The flight was eleven hours long, but thanks to the international date line, we arrived four hours before we departed. These were hours I had lived before in the hot, humanity-filled streets of Shanghai, where it seemed that everyones elbow was trying to connect with my stomach and everyones spit was doing its best to land on my shoes. I told myself I wouldnt miss this place as I got into a cab and raced to the airport.

At the same moment, I stepped out of a cab in San Francisco and was greeted with quiet. The cloud cover was low and lazy. The streets were the opposite of bustling. And as I watched a group of dogs calmly congregating in a nearby park, a hummingbird took a break from its incessant flapping, landed on the fence next to me, and hung out for a while.

In its jet-lagged stupor, my body was deeply confused. It cried out to be elbowed and spit on. I needed more bustle. I had come back to my home country to relax after a few years of extreme work and travel, but this was insanity. I collapsed into bed knowing that I should have never messed with the space-time continuum.

I woke up before dawn. The sky over the East Bay went from a deep purple to a pinkish orange. The sun hit Potrero Hill, then bounced over to Dolores Park, illuminating the dewed glass backboards of the basketball court. The last remaining fog acknowledged defeat and went wherever fog goes when its not time to be foggy. I could see Pacific Heights, Bernal Heights, and all the Heights in between. The houses were a breathtaking mishmash of pastels. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn sounded quickly and quietly as if to say, I really hate to bother you, but if youd set your phone down for just a moment, youll see that the light is green and we can both be on our way to yoga class.

At that moment, I didnt need the spit and elbows. The desire for bustle faded away and was replaced by whatever it is that San Francisco does. And whatever it is that San Francisco is.

Its now three years later. Since that moment, Ive gotten to know this city. Ive explored its ups and downs, easts and wests, its humble beauty and its ridiculous idiosyncrasies.

This is a guidebook, but it wont tell you what to see or where to eat. Actually, maybe a little of each, Im not sure yet. Anyway, thats not really the point. This book is a guide to all the specific little things that make San Francisco, San Francisco. Its a compendium of the sights, sounds, and moments that give this city its unmistakable feeling.

Ready?

This is San Francisco.

Before we get into the nitty-gritty of these giants of public transportation, lets pause to consider their names.

Every morning and evening the sky becomes a sea of pink and orange, captivating everyone within view and stopping commuters dead in their tracks.

All year round, the floral blooms bring bold reds and purples to the citys stoops and windowsills.

And then there are the buildings. Sure there are plain white houses and crazy neon houses, regular brick houses and houses covered with portraits of every animal in the jungle, but for the most part, the city is covered with gentle hues. Soothing yellows, approachable pinks, unexpected reds, blues both sky and midnight, surprisingly okay browns, and greens that seem to disappear into the surrounding succulents.

The best part is that homes of the same color are rarely positioned next to each other. When you look at the city from one of its many peaks, the vista, perhaps diffused by a layer of fog, blends into a stunning tapestry suitable for any babys blanket or modern art fans wall.

As you read, youll find a few of my other favorite San Francisco colors. If you flip the pages really fast, you might even begin to see what its like to stand at the top of Corona Heights Park on a sunny day and gaze out over the city.

Kinda.

Say youre in Manhattan and you are straight-up freaking out.

You need to escape. You need to get away from the concrete and the noise. You need to be somewhere soothing and pastoral. You need to be somewhere green.

Well, Central Park is just about the only place you can completely fill your field of vision with natural beauty. Youd better jump into a cab and start your deep breathing exercises.

Now say youre in San Francisco and youre having the same issue.

Dont worry, youre good.

You can go to Mount Davidson, Fort Funston, Twin Peaks, Stern Grove, Glen Canyon, Forest Knolls, Buena Vista Park, Bernal Heights, Lands End and probably a few dozen others.

Oh, and you should probably go to Golden Gate Park, which is of a similar shape to Central Park, only bigger. And if none of those interest you, walk on up to the Presidio, which is even bigger.

For a place with such a limited amount of housing, youd think somebody would have paved over all this beautiful green space and put up high-rises. But this city knows better.

Im not going to pretend that San Francisco cant be a stressful place. It has the same struggles as any other city. It has traffic, noise, high-powered business deals, crime, and subways that dont want to move when you really, really need them to move.

In Manhattan, that energy bounces around the streets and echoes off every building, creating a cacophony of stress that gives the city a certain feeling. Its fast-walkin, horn-honkin, and big-talkin.

But here, that energy rolls down the hills, shimmies around a cable car or two, then eventually finds its way into a nice eucalyptus grove and gets lost. Things slow down and worries fade. Inner-city pressure can get you down, but all you have to do is walk a few blocks and suddenly youre not in a city anymore. You are simply one small part of this beautiful, natural world. Then you can hug a nice tree, convene with a friendly squirrel, and youre back to normal.