Up and down San Francisco
In the minds of many, California is often seen as the ultimate destination, with its iconic palm trees, golden sunsets, and endless beaches. Add to that the vast deserts, towering mountains, and, of course, the ever-present sunshine. Long before I ever set foot in sunny San Francisco, California already felt strangely familiar to me, as if the images I had watched on TV for years had painted a vivid picture. I arrived eager to discover if the scenes I had watched on television over two decades would actually match reality.
I arrived at my hotel near Union Square around 3 in the afternoon and immediately did what everyone tells you not to do after a 12-hour westbound flight: I took a nap. Of course, it left me wide awake by 11 p.m., and it took me a few days to break the cycle. While it wasn’t the most ideal way to start, the gorgeous weather and the simple satisfaction of finally being able to say, "I'm finally in California," kept my spirits high. Despite the jet lag, just being there made it all worth it.
The north
Wandering a city on my own is where I feel most at home, and thanks to my poor jet lag management, I was able to make the most of the early mornings—people watching. Leaving the hotel at 6am for an explorative stroll is one of my favourite ways to start a trip. It’s the perfect way to blend in, pretending I’m just another local navigating the midweek hustle. Commuters rushing to the gym, baristas beginning their day with sleepy yawns, and the homeless, slouched on the sidewalks, sadly unnoticed by passersby. As I wandered, the people of San Francisco slowly came to life before my eyes.
A few minutes into my early morning stroll down the seemingly endless Market Street, I felt an eerie vibe hanging in the air. Yes, people were heading to the office, and there was a fair amount of foot traffic, but knowing that so many of the massive buildings around me remained empty in this post-Covid era felt quite unsettling. Looking up at the skyscrapers, I couldn’t help but imagine floors that might not have seen a single person that day, or even that week. My thoughts on the pros and cons of remote work were suddenly interrupted by an Amber Alert blaring at 7:18 a.m. Why, America, why so early??
After grabbing an overpriced coffee, I continued down to the Ferry Building, one of the city’s iconic landmarks. Not a cloud in the sky, the San Francisco-Oakland Bridge stretched out endlessly in the distance, as I kept walking on one of the many narrow, slightly shaky piers. I couldn’t help but think of the Beat Generation—were scenes like this their muse? Would I feel as inspired as Joan Didion once I reached Haight-Ashbury? Then, on a less poetic note, I wondered how much I’d inevitably spend at City Lights Bookstore later on.. I kept looking up at the blue sky, and down, at the blue water. I couldn't believe it was still winter, everything around me felt like late spring, and it became much clearer when I approached the Coit Tower and started climbing it.
Telegraph Hill, one of San Francisco's original "Seven Hills," serves up one of the city's finest panoramic views, but it makes you work for it. To reach the Coit Tower perched on this hill, another proper icon in San Francisco's skyline, you'll need to tackle a steep set of stairs, pass by some seriously fancy (and expensive) homes, and keep an eye out for coyotes – it's not exactly a leisurely stroll. I forgot I was in a city of hills! Nevermind the climb, once you’re on top the view is so worth it. I was treated to a stunning 360-degree view of the city. The Golden Gate Bridge sparkling in the distance, cars playfully zigzagging up and down the steep hills, and the fog gracefully veiling entire neighbourhoods.
Descending from Telegraph Hill was a breeze compared to the uphill climb—at least for most people. Unfortunately, I managed to sprain my ankle, not even two days into the trip! I wish I could say I was shocked by my luck, especially with all of San Francisco’s infamous hills still ahead of me, but that wouldn’t be true. Knowing my track record, it almost felt inevitable! Aaaaanyway, what do you do when you’re in America and you need painkillers? You go to CVS and you get your hands on the good stuff.
After a couple of painkillers and a generous dose of Voltaren, nothing could stop me. I was back to tackling San Francisco’s hills without a care in the world. Eventually, I reached Lombard Street, forever in my memory thanks to one of my all-time favourite movies (yes, still), Mrs. Doubtfire. However, it wasn’t quite as I remembered. The thing was, I didn’t remember it being packed with massive pick-up trucks making their way down the tight, winding alley and tourists taking pictures in front of actual people’s front doors. I might remember wrong. Still, despite the sprained ankle, the jet lag, and a pounding headache from the nine-hour time difference between California and England, I had conquered yet another city landmark on my first day. I call that a success!
I took a moment to sit on a bench, hoping the crowd of tourists would eventually clear so I could snap a few pictures. As I waited, a friendly lady struck up a conversation, mentioning how light the fog was that day but warning that rain was expected tomorrow. "Great… just what I needed after flying all the way from England," I thought, feeling a bit deflated. I assured her that I was still excited to explore the city and thanked her for the conversation. With tourists still walking up, down and about, I snapped a few photos anyway and started my descent down the very Instagrammable street. As I walked, the familiar pain in my ankle crept back- just my luck!
My first fully California day was coming to an end, I was exhausted and aching, my body confused by the time zone and my brain struggling to accept that a sunny and warm March day was possible after years in England. I wanted to see the iconic yet somewhat cheesy (in more than one sense, I later discovered looking at the over twenty types of cheese I could smother my to-go chips with) Fisherman’s Wharf. I said hello to the sea lions lounging by the shore and found a spot by the water to sit down and look around. I love embracing my inner mainstream tourist soul when I get to visit a new place for the first time, preparing myself mentally to then enjoy the off-the-beaten-path experiences even more.
Downtown
Jet lag was still clinging to me, and the American-strength over-the-counter painkillers (which probably should have been prescription) were starting to make me feel a bit numb. There was only one solution: eat. Leaving the hotel before 7am as per my usual, the only places open around my hotel were big coffee chains or the bakeries in Chinatown. I decided to check out Good Mong Kok Bakery and try some of their famous pastries. A couple of doughnuts later, with a piping-hot coffee in hand, I felt awake enough to keep exploring the city.
I looked up at the tall, oddly-shaped Transamerica building and as usual, gave up trying to take a picture. This time, I had “That’s so Raven” instead of "Mrs. Doubtfire” was playing in my head! The high rise is yet another iconic San Francisco office building surrounded by the familiar American downtown district sights: towering concrete buildings, endless office lobbies, and, of course, Starbucks after Starbucks. My plan was to keep walking towards North Beach along Columbus Avenue, known for the Italian community who over the years opened up restaurants, cafes and other businesses. At the corner of Columbus and Broadway, I spotted the Beat Museum on my right and the City Lights bookstore on my left. My mind shifted from pop culture to the literary world, something I am very passionate about. The city has long been a thriving ground for writers, poets, and dreamers, and I could feel that.
Little Italy in San Francisco had a completely different feel from its East Coast counterpart in New York. The sunny, warm weather was the first major contrast, but it was more than that. In Manhattan, Little Italy feels very much like Little Italy-America, especially on Mulberry Street. Even if you were to venture to Arthur Avenue in the Bronx, where you’ll find an arguably more authentic Italian experience, the vibe is still worlds apart from that of San Francisco’s North Beach. It took me a while to figure out why. In San Francisco, the shops and cafés felt authentic, not just tourist-driven, as if the neighbourhood was an organic part of the city’s fabric. The only thing that really stood out was the eye-watering prices. Almost six dollars for an espresso? I’ll never forget the shock of seeing that on a menu!
I caved and grabbed a coffee from Graffeo’s before continuing my trek toward Japantown. By now, I should have known that San Francisco’s charming hills would be the bane of my aching ankle, but I hadn’t flown halfway across the world to let something a quick trip to CVS couldn’t fix slow me down. What I really should have known by then, though, was that U.S. streets aren’t quite like the ones back in Europe, especially in terms of distance. Even within the city, everything felt more spread out. Eventually, I gave in and ordered an Uber. It’s such a strange feeling to get a ride just to stay on the same road the whole time. I had that same sensation in LA, driving from one end of Sunset Boulevard to the other: more than ten minutes in a straight direction. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.
I decided to spend my afternoon reading in cafes in the sunshine and exploring Japantown, a few square blocks filled with incredible food and quirky shops, starting from Japantown Peace Plaza. Before researching for this trip, I really had no idea of some of the darkest sides of San Francisco history, for example the forced evacuation and incarceration of Japantown’s residents during World War II. In the middle of the Peace Plaza, the Peace Pagoda stands proudly as a symbol of the conflict’s end and the consequent peace and friendship between American and Japanese communities. It felt like an important moment of reflection, especially because a lot of this history has now been relegated to side notes in textbooks, if that.
Finally, San Francisco in pop culture
Determined not to take any public transport (aside from that one totally necessary Uber the day before), I woke up at my usual predawn hour, checked the news, read a bit, and decided it was time to tackle the five-mile walk to the famous Golden Gate Bridge. Too bad I hadn’t fully grasped that it was *actually* a five-mile walk. Sure, I knew it wasn’t exactly close, but in my usual optimistic way, I brushed it off with, “Oh, I love walking!”
Despite my passion for exploring every place on foot, I always end up regretting it when it comes to American cities. After two hours and two coffees, I found myself in the Marina District, heading west along Marina Boulevard, admiring the stylish homes overlooking the water. With Zillow in hand, I braced myself for the inevitable sticker shock—just like when I saw those espresso prices in Little Italy. And just as I knew the house prices would be sky-high, I also should have known to call a taxi by mile four, when my ankle was screaming in pain, and I was lost in Presidio Park, all because I thought seeing Baby Yoda would be worth it. Spoiler: it wasn’t.
By now, after visiting so many American cities, you’d think I would’ve learned that walking isn’t always the best option. It’s a car-centric world, and here I was, just a simple human with two legs, trying to make my way from the Palace of Fine Arts to the Golden Gate Bridge before sunset. American cities have highways running through them, and even when something like the Golden Gate seems walkable, it probably isn’t—and Google Maps is definitely lying.
After spending a good ten minutes admiring the classical-style architecture of the Palace of Fine Arts, I was ready to see the crown jewel of Northern California—usually hidden in fog, but not that day. The sun was shining, the weather was perfect, and I was hopelessly lost in the sprawling Presidio, trying to find my way out on foot. My brilliant plan? Cut through the “cute” park to avoid the busy roads. So, after checking out the Yoda fountain (because, why not?), I ventured into this massive green space, convinced I’d navigate it easily. Little did I know just how enormous and walker-unfriendly (is that a word?, probably not) it would be.
After an hour I finally found my way out of that hellish maze and I reached Crissy Field and collapsed onto a bench, exhausted. After trudging for over half an hour, I finally reached Crissy Field, and I collapsed onto a bench, exhausted. I hadn't anticipated the warmth, given that it was February, and I'm usually bundled up in four layers with a steaming hot coffee to keep me warm at home.
But there it was, in all its glory: the magnificent Golden Gate Bridge. I was so moved that I cried, as I do. This iconic bridge is a sight I've seen in countless movies and TV series, and now, here I was, face to face with it. I could now grasp why poets, writers, and even Silicon Valley tech wizards draw inspiration from this colossal red metal marvel. I took a deep breath, enjoying the moment as much as I could, trying to soak in all the emotions welling up within me. I sat on that bench, alternating between admiring the view of the bridge and the sprawling bay, and finally finished “On the Road” by Jack Kerouac. Yes, I like to feel as if I am living in a book or a movie more often than not.
A couple hours later, the sun slowly setting in the horizon, I admitted there was no way that I could get back to my hotel in one piece if I walked, so I hopped on a bus that whisked me through Richmond, all the way to Golden Gate Park. I love botanical gardens and learning about the local flora, so the San Francisco Botanical Garden was my first stop. There, I learned about the famous giant redwoods, some of Earth's tallest and oldest trees. After navigating the crowds of tourists, I was in desperate need of a natural reset, but mainly of an iced drink. And this I did, as I wrapped up my afternoon in the Japanese garden, sipping on a glorious iced matcha and snacking on mochis. Half-hidden on a tiny stool, surrounded by lush greenery, I indulged in some quality people-watching, feeling the weight of the day finally lift (off me and my poor ankle) as I enjoyed this quiet moment for myself.
Now, to wrap it up
I have a confession to make: I’m a big fan of those mega-touristy red hop-on-hop-off buses. Yes, I’m more than happy to pay the tourist-trap price at the start of a trip just for the chance to sit on the top deck, wind violently whipping my hair into my face, as I take in the city's sights from above. There’s something comforting about getting an overall sense of a place from that vantage point. But my favourite way to use these buses is on the last day of my visit, revisiting spots I’ve fallen in love with and checking out areas that were too far to reach on foot (especially in America, especially with my achy ankle).
The first stop took us to the Painted Ladies, just off Alamo Square – a row of Victorian and Edwardian-style houses dating back to the 1960s, which to some would remind the type of buildings that you'd see in England, only in more vibrant colours. I distinctly remembered one of those houses as the Raven’s house in “That's So Raven”. I couldn't help but wonder if her family could still afford to live there given the exorbitant cost of living in this city. We quickly turned a corner and arrived in the hippie district of Haight-Ashbury, the San Francisco neighbourhood that Joan Didion famously depicted the dark side of in her masterpiece, “Slouching Towards Bethlehem”. A chill ran down my spine as I recalled her vivid descriptions of the darkness she found in those very streets and buildings. I chose not to get off, feeling that revisiting her words was enough, and instead stayed on the bus as we… slouched towards the vibrant Castro district.
Maybe it was the wrong time to turn my back to the bus, but as soon as I stepped out, two fully naked men appeared in front of me, happily crossing the rainbow-coloured zebra crossing. What a sight, okay, I was definitely in Castro. Known for its gay culture and entertainment, this eclectic little area of the city brought me so much joy. As a girl, it’s always much of a relief to be surrounded by non-straight men, sometimes just to catch a breath, if I’m honest. I love the fact that all these people thrive on love, fun and happiness. There was a different kind of vibe in the air, so I entered Fabulosa Books to buy Nevada by Imogen Binnie. It was time to broaden my horizons in terms of queer literature!
Towards the end of any trip, I like to start a new book. There is not a real reason why I do this, but I think it’s because I tend to remember where I started a certain book, if it ends up being a remarkable read. Also, it gives me a good excuse to indulge in my cravings, which that day consisted of a buttery pain au chocolat and an iced chai latte. After having a look around Dolores Park, I started walking towards Tartine for an overpriced and over flakey pastry. Three chapters in, I decided that the book wouldn’t be as remarkable as what I was surrounded by. As I strolled toward the Mission District, I embraced the distinct blend of hipster and Latino vibes, immersing myself in the sounds of music coming from the apartments lining the streets, on my way for yet another forbidden, but who really cares, afternoon nap.
Solo travel in San Francisco is a bit of a double-edged sword. It’s both deeply enriching and, at times, a little lonely, especially if you’re like me: a woman who isn’t too keen on venturing out after dark. When the sun sets, downtown can feel unsettling, with boarded-up storefronts, the struggle of homelessness on full display, and an overall uninviting atmosphere. But in the morning, everything shifts. The city transforms completely with majestic architecture, stunning views from the hills, and the sun doing most of the heavy lifting here. My best advice? Pick a bright day (which is virtually every single day in California, especially compared to England), hop on one of those touristy hop-on-hop-off buses, and let it carry you effortlessly through the city. From the upper deck, you'll soak in the magic of San Francisco. No rush, no pressure, just you and the views. Totally worth it.
