The sun burns on my skin as our Lyft driver speeds through the hills up towards our Airbnb in The Castro. It’s like I’m being reborn after having hid in layers and fur and duvets for months and outside the old Toyota the green trees are busy in the breeze, decorating the hills. Next to pastel colored houses that you’d have to be a 29 year old CEO of a tech startup to afford.
San Francisco is a quiet metropol. People are mellowly eccentric, food is delicious, drinks expensive, birds are flying high in the sky telling us the sun will come tomorrow just like it did today. I could never live here.
Nicole and I walk a lot. Till our feet hurt so much we take a cab home so that we won’t die. When we get home we lay on our bed with the patio doors open and Coronitas in our hands. The moment makes me think of family vacations when me and my brother would sit on whatever balcony in whatever Spanish beach town, eat chips and drink Coke at sunset as our parents got ready and rinsed off the salt from a day at the sea.
It’s not very warm at night, but we want to be outside because we’re New Yorkers coming from snow and anything above 10 degrees counts as summer. Skaters get stoned in Dolores Park and the Mission smells of tacos and old beer. The 8 buck burrito we have for dinner is heavy as fuck and I know I’ll regret finish it, but I’m not a loser so I do. We finish the night at a dark bar with white table cloths and strong Dark & Stormy’s.
After two nights in a the heartbreakingly beautiful and calm (dare I say kind of boring?) city we rent a convertible and drive south along the cliffy coast.