Just One Way Ticket Please

I awoke to the rays of early morning sunlight beaming through the white cotton curtains, setting alight the suspended dust motes. Through the slight part in the curtains, I could see the beginnings of a bright blue, cloudless summer sky. The beside alarm clock read 6:15 am. I turned to the windows again. The tourists are lucky today, I thought. On nice days like this, San Francisco is rife with gorgeous areas in which to enjoy the city’s very brief spells of sun. If only I was a tourist…

Wait. A thought suddenly lighted my face like sunbeams. I am like a tourist, am I not? I have not been back to San Francisco for over a year. Why is it that people are excited for discovering new places, but when it comes to home, we’re often looking elsewhere? Perhaps it becomes too familiar and less worthy of exploring? I was amused. Why not, I thought, I will be a tourist in my own city today and explore San Francisco.

I stepped out into the glare of the morning sun. My watch read 6:30 am. Alright, I thought, let’s do this. And I began to run. The best way to explore a city is by running through it.

I love how San Francisco sounds early in the morning. The occasional hum of the MUNI bus in the distance, and the soft cooing of pigeons on power lines. Then all of the sudden, the neighborhood corner stores and coffeehouses open their doors with a familiar squeak. A woman passes me by, rushing to catch the 7:25 bus to work. Her heels on the sidewalk have a heartbeat-like rhythm.

Second, there are the scents of San Francisco. I slowed down to the aroma of freshly baked pork buns and steamed dim sum wafting down Stockton Street in Chinatown. But further down the street, is the smell of fresh fish and slaughtered pigs being unloaded off delivery trucks. Passing by Market Street I held my breath to the stench of cheap vodka and the pungent mix of human urine and marijuana that permeates the Downtown. At last, I caught a slight whiff of saltwater. Ahead of me, the Ferry Building gleamed like a beacon.

The sun shone brightly, glinting off the shimmering water of the Bay. Transfixed by the scene before me, I took out my phone and snapped a picture. It was at that moment that I realized why I love being a tourist. Being a tourist is all about those feelings of novelty and awe. Running through the city and taking that picture replicated those feelings. I was a tourist in my own city, and ignited in me was a newfound appreciation for my hometown. My watch read 8 am.