50 days and 6,000 miles (ish) later, I’m back in San Francisco and wearing a sweatshirt. I’m not going to try to do one of those here’s-all-the-crap-I-learned-while-I-was-traveling blog posts so don’t get your hopes up. That’ll come later this week.
While I was on the plane from Denver, stuck in a special non-reclining torture chair, I kept on thinking about what it would be like to touch down in this city and reenter life as I left it, but with some profound differences. In all my imaginings, I saw a beautiful sunset, delicious frozen yogurt and a clear night sky.
I get into town and of course (duh duh duh duh duh) it’s foggy as all hell, I get Indian food instead of froyo because I’m craving hot food after a day of exclusively eating Cliff Bars, and I remember I don’t have a towel so I’ll have to air dry tomorrow morning before I can go to Target to get one. Yippee.
On the bright side (and there is a very bright side), I don’t have to go into a job I don’t care about, I have Indian leftovers for lunch, and I get to wear an outfit that I haven’t already worn 30 times this summer. Yes, there is much to be thankful for, even in the fog.
So goodbye, brick houses and warm summer nights. Goodbye styrofoam and mosquitoes. Goodbye short sleeve shirts and sandals. Hello San Francisco.