38 dollars a night for parking. Welcome to San Francisco, California, a gorgeous, classy, uptown city. And when I say gorgeous, I mean everything from its coffee shops and bakeries to its train buses and market centers. And its men; they too are a sight for themselves.
Here we are, in our second hotel, The Courtyard Marriot with a view of the street from the 6th floor. If you are wondering how I am feeling at the moment, I will tell you. I feel Absolutely Great. I love it. Love the view. Love the men. Love the little supermarket right across the hotel. Love the wide, steep and hill-like streets. Love the class. There are lots of Starbucks coffee shops, a couple on each side. I tell Maman we should move here. Forget Virginia. San Francisco has got it all.
It’s like walking into the streets of Paris and Tehran and New York and China. The open restaurants and expensive shops. You don’t feel alone here. There are businesswomen and men in suits, girls in sports bras and skirts, women with colorful hair, and the homeless whom everyone ignores.
This is San Francisco.
The weather is beautiful. There is sun. And a cool wind. It’s a city in motion but laid back, calm and peaceful. Not the rush of New York. Nor the gravity and tension of Virginia. But a perfect, happy town. Diversity is low here but Californians are friendly, sunny people who smile often with a welcoming gaze. They appreciate your beauty and charm. They even compliment you as you cross a busy street.
R is napping. I have no Internet connection. We are meeting Ali and Rahman shortly at the Cheesecake Factory down by Macy’s. I can already predict the likely conversations. Maman will love to hear about the history of the city and why it is the way it is. R will like to know more about housing and living conditions. There will be a little bit of talk about California in general and its weather. Perhaps a bit of politics, after all, we are Persians. And a few “what are you doing, how is life in Virginia”, blah blah blah…
Before I end this post I’d like to add that I did not drive after all because the family wasn’t sure I should. Maman was hesitant and I didn’t beg, remembering the possibilities of getting lost and ending up in no man’s land. No thanks, I’ll wait ‘till the five hour drive to Los Angeles, or Tehrangeles as some Persians call it.
Did I mention the popularity of coffee here? I did.
Until tomorrow, adios.