San Francisco had a great vibe.
Heather and I squealed driving up and down the hills, horrified at the prospect of the car’s breaks going out and falling to our doom. Rubber burned only once, fortunately. The city’s colors were gorgeous, especially against the grey of the sky and bay. It was much chillier than I expected – when people said it was cold, I assumed as a Midwesterner that I would be immune. I was very, very wrong – the sourdough breadbowl of chowder warmed us up, enough at least to run back to the car.
Another day, we came into the city in the early afternoon to explore and wander before seeing Beyoncé (and Jay Z was there too, I guess) in concert. Anticipating harsh cold, we brought blankets to the stadium – but the body heat of thousands of other Beyoncé fans and the thrill of dancing in unison with Bey kept the cold away. We sat next to a sister who had dragged her brother to the concert and a group of girls showing a lot of sideboob and dancing like maniacs in the aisle. When one girl fell into the row in front of us, they had to leave – which meant more room to dance and sing for me. No complaints here. The show was incredible and completely justified a nine-hour drive from LA.
No real crazy stories from this city, unless you count watching forty sea lions lounge in the sun.