Twelve years ago, San Francisco was the city that made me fall in love with cities. Besides a few layovers in SFO, I hadn’t been back since.
When my husband and I decided to start our California adventure in San Francisco, I wasn’t sure how much I could trust my memory of the city. I was young the first time I visited, and my memories have since been jumbled up. We rented a lovely apartment in the Mission District and walked all over the city. We climbed the steps up to Bernal Heights Park, ate at diners and in fabulous Mexican restaurants (thanks, Lo, for recommending our favorites!), explored SoMa, the Tenderloin, and Powell Street, and combed through more fabulous vintage clothing stores than I can count.
I wasn’t able to get as many photos as I had hoped, because on our last day in the city the house across from ours caught fire and all access to our personal items in the apartment was cut off. Luckily everyone was okay, and I’m just using it as an excuse to come back sometime soon.
We drove down the coast, stopping along at the diners and parks of Big Sur, which is possibly the most breathtaking view I’ve seen, and spent the night in Santa Barbara. I wish we had taken more time there, because I could have explored for longer, but we packed up for Palm Springs the next morning and spent a few relaxing days at the Ace Hotel & Swim Club for their New Year’s Eve celebration. We climbed lots of rocks in the Joshua Tree National Park and then spent our last night in LA, exploring the streets of Silverlake.