Back in San Francisco

From the moment I hit the slopes of Powell Street, it feels like slipping into an old leather jacket. Perhaps I never left the streets of San Francisco in my mind.

It’s all there. The cable cars still lumber up the hills like arthritic elephants. The smell of Chinatown makes me never order sweet and sour pork again. The odd people lingering in the streets near Haight-Ashbury, wondering why the revolution went without them. Silicon Valley escapees are trying to find some meaning of life outside of wifi signals and artisan burritos. Down by the piers, the wind still carries that smell of salt, diesel and fried fish.

San Francisco is still a beautiful mess. Just the way I like it.

The cable cars are in a constant battle with the steep slopes.

Last time I was here, the news were all about the impending war in Iraq. Now the news are filled with disaster reports from the arrival of hurricane Katrina, which has hit New Orleans hard. It’s quite easy to get caught up in the misery, but I choose to focus on the positive side of things.

Morning sunshine at the Golden Gate bridge.

Sitting on a bench overlooking the Golden Gate bridge, it is almost impossible not to start humming on that song by Scott McKenzie.

“If you’re going to San Francisco
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair
If you’re going to San Francisco
You’re gonna meet some gentle people there”
— Scott McKenzie, San Francisco (1967)

It’s good to be back. But first some sturdy pancakes at Café Mason. All you need is… sugar and fat.