Marianne told me once that you always love the first place you travel to. We were in Japan when she said this, sneaking extra glances at a cute monk in a Tokyo temple. It was my first time overseas, and I assumed Japan would be “that place.” And it was, in a way, and I’d go back in a heartbeat, but it wasn’t the real first.
When I was sixteen, a friend and I went to San Francisco to stay with my aunt for a week. It was the first time I had been to the West Coast, the longest time I had been away from my parents, and the trip happened at that pivotal age, that age when I knew absolutely everything and wanted nothing more than to “express myself.” And there was San Francisco—all traffic and noise and brightly colored wigs in the Castro and crazy sunglasses and velveteen purses from the Haight and barking sea lions at Pier 39, and outside the city the biggest trees, the hodge podge that was Berkeley, the spicy-sweet smell of Eucalyptus trees. The way the sunlight glinted off the bay in Sausalito, the cold breeze and fresh seafood at Half Moon Bay.
I idolized Aunt Joannie (known as “Lisa,” her middle name, to everyone in California). I loved her biting humor, the way she ordered escargot like it was fried ravioli. With my aunt I tried for the first time brie (loved it), lamb (was indifferent, but would later love it), and crème brûlée (um, yes please). But for all her sophistication, my aunt flies in the face of any stereotype that might be pinned on her. She owns a taxidermied squirrel and a buffalo skull and has a tendency for rescuing too many cats. She’s an immigration lawyer, and though she lives in one of the most liberal parts of the country she always votes Republican. She holds dinner parties and cookouts for her friends and threatened one Thanksgiving to put a Cornish hen inside the turkey and then tell all the kids the turkey had been pregnant.
Jesse and I went to San Fran to stay with Joannie once, and we walked all over that city, up and down steep hills, from museums to Chinatown to North Beach for garlic ice cream at The Stinking Rose.
We almost moved to San Francisco the year after we were married. I was accepted to the MFA program at the University of San Francisco, a gorgeous Jesuit school near the Haight and Golden Gate Park. But it’s a private school and the tuition would have cost us tens of thousands of dollars for the program, which offered no financial aid. UNCW was offering a TA position with a stipend and a full tuition remission for the first year. So, that tipped the scales, and here we are in North Carolina with no student loans.
The last time I was in the city was in 2003, right before heading to Japan. It’s been nearly six full years since I walked those streets, saw the water, the bridges. Some days, I want to go so badly it’s all I can do to keep from just buying a ticket and packing my bags. I often check airfare prices, and when Lauren posted her San Francisco pictures on Facebook, I nearly cried I wanted to be there so badly. Marianne was right, but it wasn’t Japan I fell hard for. It was the loveliest city in the loveliest state, the freedom and expression, the feeling of taking my first bite of brie, that creamy indulgence, the thrill of being sixteen, of getting to decide who I might become in the place where I could be absolutely anyone.
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I don’t remember saying that! I don’t remember staring at cute monk guy either, but I am very glad that I said something that is quoteable!
San Fran is my first love, too. It’s the first place I traveled to by myself when I was 14 to stay with friends of the family. It was my first taste of independence, and it will always retain a somewhat mythical quality for me. I fell in love with the rocks, the fog, driving through clouds, and the beautiful Golden Gate bridge. San Fran was also the first place Pete and I traveled to together, so it holds a special place in my heart for that reason, too. I hope we both get to visit there again soon!
M: I think I’ve got a picture of him to prove it. Later we were talking about whether you’d end up marrying a Japanese man and moving there. (I don’t think you were too keen on the first half of that equation.) But, yes, you are endlessly quotable! The only problem is that most of your quotes would be about bodily functions…
Yana: Isn’t it a magical place? Having a personal connection to it makes it all the more so, I believe. Yes, let’s hope we both find our way to San Fran before too long!
this was amazing =) i think miami and naples (florida) were like this for me. it was new years and in the low sixties and everyone was all bundled up with scarves and stuff. everyone i met thought i was cuban (which blew my mind at fifteen, not quite aware yet that all hispanics don’t look like mexicans), kept having people make comments to me in spanish. and these kids we met our age in a hot tub would jump from french to german to english like it was nothing, and of course the cool air and the lights of the city(ies) at night. same things i love now, just one of the first times i remember it this way. =) yes yes yes, loved reading this.
Wow, Sara, now I really want you to write a blog about Miami at New Year’s. What an entrancing little picture you’ve given us already!
I had almost forgotten that “memorable” trip. I do remember dropping Erin and Rawnda off at the airport and going home directly to bed. I’ve never been so tired in my life. Imagine a home with two adults (and a few animals) with no children – now imagine that home suddenly with two teen aged girls!It’s a wonder I lived thru it.
Seriously, I’m sure anyone reading this knows this but I have to say it anyway. My niece is by far the most amazing woman I’ve ever had contact with. I’m just stunned she’s a member of my family (and if you knew the family you’d agree). I love her like she was my own kid.
“She holds dinner parties and cookouts for her friends and threatened one Thanksgiving to put a Cornish hen inside the turkey and then tell all the kids the turkey had been pregnant.”
Ha ha ha ha! Priceless!
“garlic ice cream”
Really? I like garlic, and I like ice cream. But together? Who knew?
Garlic ice cream kind of sounds gross, doesn’t it? But the garlic taste is very very mild. It’s a vanilla ice cream with the slightest hint of something spicy and interesting in the background. Definitely worth trying!