City of Sun and Fog
I used to live in a 10th floor apartment in SOMA, looking out to Sutro Tower, the iconic communications mast that looms over San Francisco. I loved watching in the evening as the fog rolled over the hills, sometimes enveloping Sutro almost entirely. But that fog never reached my apartment, except on the coldest days of summer.
While San Francisco may be famous for its fog, the strange interplay between the ocean and the Bay and the hills and valleys means that some neighborhoods are bathed in sunshine while others are in an almost perpetual state of gloom.
One of my favorite sunny neighborhoods is Potrero Hill. You may know it from season 2 of the Taye Diggs police procedural Murder in the First. It’s not a great show, but they filmed everything on location in San Francisco (I think including at the Hall of Justice or else they had an amazing set because I recognized the weird marble hallways from when I was on jury duty) and a major storyline of the second season centers around the public housing in Potrero, which is some of the oldest in the city and is currently being torn down.
So one sunny day, I took the bus down to 16th Street and Wisconsin Avenue to finish walking the streets of Potrero in my effort to walk every street in San Francisco.
I’ve been inefficient in this project - unsystematic. I wander, taking random turns as I see things that interest me - a cool building, a pretty tree - or because I don’t feel like walking up yet another hill. And the thing about Potrero Hill is that it’s…hilly. Some of the steepest hills in the city - strange hills that seem to fold in on each other. Hills within hills that somehow mean you go uphill both ways. I’d missed a lot of random blocks in Potrero because I was tired of walking uphill. Now, it was time to face them.
Up the first hill I went, past a few auto mechanics and empty lots blooming with poppies and into the residential parts of the neighborhood. This side of the hill has gentrified, mostly during the first dot com boom, and there are beautifully restored old Victorians sandwiched together along the steep hills. Flowering trees and shrubs were everywhere - the scent was heavenly.
As I crested part of one hill, I looked out to my left, up another hill that overlooks the Bay. But there was no view of the harbor at the top of that hill — only the brilliant sky. I could almost see Bullitt’s Mustang launching off the top into the wild blue yonder.
I continued on, trudging past Mississippi, Texas, Missouri, Connecticut, Arkansas, Wisconsin (are you sensing a theme for the street names in this neighborhood?). I cut through a hidden path up a hill. San Francisco is full of these — some are beautifully maintained with gorgeous tiled steps and plants. Others are like this one — shaggy plants and busted/nonexistent steps. Still beautiful (and practical!) but in a shabby way.
Finally I hit the end of the neighborhood, where the 101 freeway bisects it from the rest of the city and headed back down hill to the bus.
The next day was foggy, so I took the bus out to Lands End. After all these years, it still feels miraculous to be able to take a bus from outside my front door to the edge of the continental US. This is a neighborhood built for fog. Seeing the sun out at Lands End is like when you see your teacher at the grocery store when you’re a kid. Like, what are you doing here? I didn’t know you came here! It’s disorienting.
Foggy days in other parts of the city can be depressing, but at Lands End, they are perfect. Windblown cypresses stand guard along the top of the cliff, looking out over the waves crashing over the rocks. The Pacific stretches beyond, seemingly forever.
As you walk further, you can sometimes see the Marin Headlands and the Golden Gate Bridge depending on the intensity of the fog. But even if you can’t see them, you can feel them, looming ahead.
The fog makes everything peaceful, abosorbing the sound, making this an almost holy place. This city - a miracle of sun and fog.
I always miss the bay when you write about it!
Glad to see you’re still walking and writing Ona. Keep going!