We went to San Francisco.
We had never been to northern California, and its reputation for being damp, foggy, and a little “weird” did not disappoint. I agree with Mark Twain, who was supposed to have said, “The coldest winter I ever had was the summer I spent in San Francisco.” Well, it’s true! It was so cold! Unbelievably cold for mid-August.
Another saying also proved to be true. I’m not sure who said it, but it goes something like this: “When you live in Florida for a while, your blood thins, and you become less tolerant of the cold.” Within five minutes of strolling Fisherman’s Wharf, along Pier 39, we were comparing the prices of hoodie sweatshirts. There was a sweatshirt shop on every corner, with brightly colored signs of encouragement. “Don’t be cold, and yes, it’s August! And yes, you’re cold.” Obviously, cold tourists were nothing new to these shopkeepers.
Walking along San Francisco Bay felt a little like a multicultural immersion project. There were so many people! Each group we passed was speaking a different language, and yet our smiles and expressions of wonder united us all. The famous fog that had rolled in the night before seemed to clear all at once and created a misty frame encircling the iconic red steel beams of the Golden Gate Bridge that hung suspended as if by magic across an impossibly blue sea. Its sheer size dwarfed the mountains on either side, emanating such strength that somehow we felt stronger, too. We all stood shoulder to shoulder, motionless, breathless, united by an unforgettable vision.
We then “snapped to” at the sound of approaching footsteps. Everyone in California seemed to be exercising, and so many of them were young people! And how is it they were out jogging in the middle of the day on a Tuesday?! Remember the game Punch Buggy that we played as kids? The first person to see a Volkswagen Bug would punch the other on the arm. My husband was so fascinated by the number of young people jogging on a “workday” that he hit me on the arm every time one ran past. And to add insult to injury, they were wearing shorts!
Young people jogging may have been unexpected, but it was the aliens—yes, aliens!—seated in the amphitheater at the edge of the bay that cemented the day and San Francisco’s reputation in our memories forever.
This trip was a mix of the kinds of traveling I’ve vowed to do more of. Part real vacation with staying in fancy hotels, and part visiting friends and family. We justified the expense of the trip because we were going to see our son and granddaughter.
There are also two kinds of travelers … one plans ahead, makes reservations, packs a suitcase, and pays the bills well in advance … and the other one doesn’t. I fall somewhere in the middle. I got our airline tickets and hotel rooms but didn’t get any dinner reservations or excursion tickets.
My husband is definitely in the “doesn’t” camp. I don’t think he would leave the house for anything but work and golf if I didn’t drag him. However, weeks later, we are still dreamily thumbing through brochures and photographs from the trip.
The way we did it. Playing tourist.
This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week: Possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.
Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers
Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, plus things I’m still working on.