Caught with a strong urge to runaway from our daily misadventures, Howard and I packed up the car and headed to San Fran to get a little perspective on life. It was our vacation together — and my first vacation with a boyfriend ever! — and after a week of being home, the magic of our sweet trip is softly fading into a blur of Chinese food, good company, speak easy bars and bookstores. But is there any better blur than that?
Howard and I stayed at a sweet English hotel in the city just a few blocks from Union Square and took the first day to explore the magic of the city. We hiked for one end of SF to another with no set place we HAD to be and not a care in the world. With no deadlines or obligations contorting our schedule, we spent the morning people watching in Chinatown, sipping champagne in the streets of Little Italy, hiking the hills up to Coit Tower and meandering through Fisherman’s Wharf per Howard’s request. Each corner of San Fran seemed to pulsate with a never ending energy that could be found in every inch of the city. It seemed the more we wandered, the more I fell in love with the city, and in the end, couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. But just like the ending of history’s greatest — and most tragic — love stories, my time in San Fran too came to a end, but not without me vowing to call the streets of San Fran my home in the future.