A Stranger in My Own City

The last time I really lived in San Francisco was in 1988, when I was 18. Quite a bit has happened since then, to both me and the city. It's strangely familiar, but more strange than familiar. I remember the general areas of the city, but not the street names or how to get there. Some shops and restaurants I knew years ago are still here, but in some cases, entire blocks have literally vanished, buried under new condos or malls.

As with anything new--or renewed--everything makes an impression, sometimes false, sometimes true. I'm hyperaware of things that long-term residents probably don't even think about: the numerous chains of grocery stores; the amazing proliferation of yoga studios--almost one per block, or so it seems; the staggering number of homeless on the streets; the multicultural stew of a population; the great food at even modest restaurants; and the dogs! dogs everywhere, and welcomed. We went to open a bank account today and even the bank had a dog bowl and doggie treats.

While I hate the disorientation and awkwardness that comes with not knowing where the drugstore is, say, there is something exciting about the exploration of a place I sort of know, but don't. I'm looking forward to relearning my city.

Originally posted at Friday, July 15, 2005 | Comments (0) | Trackback (0)