Why is it so hard to love San Francisco?
You don't need to call anyone in San Francisco. Everyone comes here without special invitations. This city looks like it was rubbed with sandpaper. He is all naturally well-worn, coquettishly unkempt, elegantly dirty. This is a lot of charm. Thousands of amazing signs come from the seventies. Entire quarters are built up with mansions, decrepit even in appearance, but no one disfigures the walls with siding and does not pave the sidewalks with concrete “bone” tiles.
San Francisco is like okroshka - someone has poured out multi-colored houses on a plate, a hill. The city stands on the hills, and some streets are so steep that I was afraid to go down by bike. It seemed to me, if the brakes fail, I will be driving by inertia right up to Alaska. Nevertheless, people park every day on such a steepness, where personally I would walk in a mountaineering harness.
Parking is a local sport. Something in between a lottery and a survival race. In search of a place you can go around the streets until you run out of gas. My record was an hour to fifteen. I came to listen to the concert - unfortunately, the show was in the city center and during the gay pride. With an instant cast, I took the place at which the 5 Latin girls had set their sights on an SUV. At first they tried to put pressure on my conscience and remind me of my manners. But they realized that it did not burn out. They made a 3 circle and each time they stopped to send me to the 5 votes. Why are they so dismantled? Because in front of them they had an hour and a half of mindless driving around Market Street.
I love San Francisco very much and I am very unoriginal in my love. But this is one of the cities that are good to love in the distance or being a tourist. God help you, if you decide to live here as it should.
Moscow can turn as many eyes as it is, indignant about overpopulation. At the same time, Moscow is building one Mytishchi for others, not stopping to groan. In San Francisco this is impossible. The city lies on a small peninsula, like a pizza on a shovel, and it has nowhere to grow. There is no institute for registration here, registration is not required for work and you will not frighten anyone away.
Historically, the impoverished artistic public and hippies lived here, but when Silicon Valley began, ITh-smart people drove here and twisted the entire demographics. The Latino from time immemorial served both the first and second.
Today it seems to me that with such a population’s profit, people will soon fall into the ocean from the edges of San Francisco, as in a disaster film.
Prices and demand for housing have become the subject of bitter jokes. Survey Announcement collects 200 responses within 10 minutes. From impunity, San Francisco homeowners began to behave like feudal lords. I would not be surprised if they introduce a “prima noct” soon. Landlords don't invest a penny in repairs, you won't get through to them, or maybe they just hire someone in Afghanistan to answer calls. The lodger dials the number, listens to the gibberish on Pashto, hangs up the phone and then repairs it himself, patches and paints. You can ask from the apartment for any reason - if you are single or married, gasoline has risen in price, a monsoon has come. Monsoon is gone - and you are on the street.
To live in San Francisco, you must desperately want to live here. Otherwise, not enough patience to persuade themselves. Three years ago, my friends paid $ 1300 per month for a small room - how much does it cost today? I am even afraid to think. Two people lived in their apartment, for four of them there was a 1 kitchen and a bathroom. I'm in Santa Cruz, I cry exactly half.
At the same time, people somewhere in North Carolina look at us all as idiots, because they live for $ 500 in a three-room apartment with a pool, a garage and a footman.
One of the former mayors of San Francisco guessed to build a so-called “social housing” in the very center. Translated into human, this means quarters for the poor. The first time, driving there on a bicycle, I decided that I was in a parallel universe. I passed the smashed City Hall, the opera building in the lantern bows and with the coffin on the roof, and at the very next traffic light a policeman “Ford Crown Victoria” suddenly saw. Beside him, face down, two black men were handcuffed.
It was a surrealistic journey: dirty houses, vacant lots covered with a rabbit, and shops with booze were all around. Muddy characters stood in the corners with cups for handouts. One of the brothers slept right on the ground.
The city is full of homeless people. Local authorities traditionally treat them gently, and the climate is good.
Here, even the monuments begging - look at the monument of Simon Bolivar in the United Nations Square.
San Francisco is a city of a thousand and one eatery. Cafes and restaurants prop up each other like swallow nests. The Chinese restaurant serves spicy tofu with a smell of shit, there are no appliances in Ethiopian, and everyone eats helping the pieces of sour bread, like foam rubber. A festival of street kitchen is held a couple of times a year, under which overlap several blocks. There you can hang around 3 hours and never meet the same dish.
Here brewed coffee, which can treat clinical depression. Barista puts a cup where a phoenix is painted with foam, I drink. And God the Father comes down to me and says: “Is that what you have? - Mocha. - From the "Blue Bottle", or what? Give sip, do not press! ". And I would give, and then his son Jesus and the Holy Spirit will be protected, and let everyone to sip.
There is no need to list local sights, you know them without me. Much more interesting is what happens when thousands of people live on 7 per square kilometer. Many of them are talented and can offer something to the world. When I climb onto the roof, noting Cinco De Mayo with my friends, I see more 30 parties in 5 radius, on each of them 20 people. There, everyone is hitting each other with their elbows, dancing.
People populate every dog kennel, as in the Crimea in Soviet times, but no one complains.
Because these 7 thousands of people per kilometer constantly muddle something: art projects, discos, galleries, bookstores or cafes for fans of sado-maso. Here live communities. By ethnicity, sexual orientation or political opinion.
On one of the famous gay streets of Castro, I once entered a crowded restaurant and, looking around, I did not see a single woman. There were 50 men who were served by another 10 men. Haight Street is full of second-hand shops, where the most fantastic fashionistas go along with tattered neo-hippies. There are areas where only Asians live and there you will not meet a white face.
San Francisco is a magnet city. He draws people into his field of gravity, and then they can not escape. I know some who have left for good several times, only to return - after all, there is no other such city in America. It is devoid of the smell of aggression, which I sensed in megalopolises.
You can drive through San Francisco for a couple of hours on a bicycle through and not meet a single boring place, panel building or lethargic sleeping quarters.
Instead of the suburban hells that have cursed generations of artists, there are forts, barracks, piers, and the island prison Alcatraz. Even old brick warehouses have strange charm and beauty. Magical place. But if you live, then somewhere in Berkeley. There at least you can park.
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