The climate changes with the neighbourhood in San Franciso. There is so much variety. And everywhere you witness the struggle to keep native plants alive. The red-flowering gum tree, with its outlandish blossoms and stout trunks, performs a proud chorus line in the narrow streets, while tall palms assert their supremacy along the avenues. The ever-changing weather only adds to the place’s mystique. In the harbour, while you commune with sea lions flopping and bellowing on the docks, Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge are elusive. One moment they are there. The next, a rolling bank of fog obliterates them.
The Bridge itself does not disappoint. It is as majestic as you’ve been led to believe, and the gardens at its base are magically beautiful. Venture down to the piers clustered about the Bay and you will come across a sub-culture of quiet throngs of earnest fishermen.
The size of San Francisco is a secret, because most of it is folded up into the pleats of the hills, but step outside of it to the beaches, and you are met by the infinite flatness of the Pacific Ocean. Much has been said of this charming city, but never enough to adequately describe the dramatic contrasts you eventually realize are its signature. This is the place to see Wicked: the Musical, if ever oh ever a Wiz there was. Or to explore the Musée mécanique, a collection of mechanical musical instruments and antique arcade machines at Pier 45. A stroll through the district of Haight-Ashbury, locus of the 1967 Summer of Love, is the perfect antithesis to lunch in one of the city’s classic retro diners.
The author is an artist, writer, and instructional designer with an overactive imagination and too little time. Ceci en est un exemple...
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