My first introduction to San Francisco was “a city of crime, and drugs, and homeless encampments on the streets”. As an Atlanta resident (Georgia Tech Represent!), I used to hurl slander at the “far left west”, and their policies that “borderline encourage” marijuana. SF was second only to Los Angeles and Las Vegas, the third most sinful city in the US. SF was for hippies and drug addicts. “I’d live in the Bay Area” I used to say “But not in SF”. And so it went on. Until one day, when I saw the city of San Francisco.

My first foray in the Bay Area was Palo Alto. A NIMBY neighborhood built around Stanford, filled with students, affluent folks, and neighborhoods full of Stanford professors. “It’s like Kothrud” I used to say. Maybe I am the person that they are trying to keep out of their backyard, but I appreciated the sentiment. We have this quiet, nice sanctuary, and we want to keep it that way. I loved the presence of students, the downtown, the nice little hill in biking distance, an echo of my beloved ARAI. I used to bike or walk home along the Oregon expressway, sometimes late at night, blasting Rossini on my phone. When some family member raised a concern, I used to say, “Relax, its Palo Alto, its very safe, I could walk along that road at midnight”. No strange elements here, I used to think. Just families minding their own business, parents driving their kids to school, bikers. I liked Palo Alto. It was suburbia, a university town, a “happening” place with a cute downtown and farmers markets, and a place of natural beauty, all at the same time. I’d have loved to live in Palo Alto, except that it was expensive. Palo Alto was my Prabhat Road, my Mahatma Society, my quiet Ideal Colony. During my 4 months in the Bay Area, I visited San Francisco not once. SF, I figured, was for those wannabe “fancy” folks, who go “clubbing”.

When I came back to the bay (victorious!) I stayed in Redwood Shores: another affluent neighborhood, beautiful, my house next to the bay trail, inhabited by rich middle aged people, its roads bare of human activity. I moved down to Sunnyvale, living next to the bustling El Camino Real (a friend remarked “Aee Kamine!”), with its scores of Indian and Chinese restaurants, The Hotel 22 bus plying down throughout the night. Sunnyvale is OK. Its boring. Finally I moved to North San Jose, and that is essentially Karishma, and there’s absolutely nothing other than grandparents walking around and middle-aged couples walking around in strollers. I’m happy with my short commute, but North San Jose is boring.

Over the next year and half, I ventured into San Francisco aronud 8 times.

The first one I messed up. Did not know the right way to enter the city. Spent half my day on the MUNI (but all the wrong lines). Did not look out the window. Went to the wrong places at Land’s End- the Sutro baths are preserved ancient urinals, and are disgusting. I did not know where to eat. And I was unable to move fast.

The second one I messed up too. It was too cold, it got dark early, I went on a weekday, I did not know where to go. I did, however, snag some excellent burritos in the mission, and some tea leaf salad at Yamo, a true hole-in-the-wall Burmese spot staffed by an old woman and her daughter. Its very authentic- they shout at you if you try to make them hurry. I walked the mission at night, the friend that I went with slightly scared, a crazy woman screaming at us while we were eating the salad.

The third time I went to SF, I never looked back. And I’ve been in love with the city ever since. You just need to know where to go, and when. You should be ready to walk a lot. And SF will leave you wanting for more.

New York is grand. Manhattan has got its curious grid-like streets. Exploring New York is like a board game, where someone lets you loose on the board with a certain number of dollers, access to railway lines. You traverse the board seeking sights and food and amusement. Its huge. So on the next day, you spawn at a different location on the board, and go out exploring again. But in Manhattan, everything is on the board. Things are efficient, stateley, famous. I admire the cities of the east, with their culture, their “walkability”. Boston reminds me of Pune. Philadelphia is quaint and homely, its crumbling glory giving it an air of romance. Chicago is pristine. Absolutely beautiful.

The City of San Francisco, the “city on a hill”, shoruded in Carl the Fog, wedged between the Pacific and the Bay, is strange. San Francisco is the rare noun that allows me to use the nonspecific adjective “interesting” without feeling the slightest guilt. SF never ceases to surprise me. San Francisco is many, many things, layers and layers, and there’s more to be found everytime you delve into it. SF is small- 7x7 miles. The Colorado airport is bigger than San Francisco. And its filled with everything.

I don’t use “diverse” as praise. But (I paused before typing this) diversity does produce a rich culture.

Consider the Mission, my go-to spot to enter San Francisco. The right way to enter SF is by taking the BART (Caltrain to Millbrae followed by the BART, or the BART if you are in the Bay). The wrong way to enter San Francisco is by the Caltrain, which takes you to 4th and Kings, a nice enough location, but completely lacking flavour. The blasphemous way to enter San Francisco is in a car, because (a) there’s always the cheery chance of it getting smashed, and (b) its a tiny city, walk around and use the MUNI for god’s sake! The BART spits you in the middle of the Mission, the semi-gentrified melting pot with oh-so-many great places to eat, approximately the center where all the action is. The escalator going up from 16th and Mission slowly brings you up from the bowels of the earth, out into the sun, and a cool breeze (and the smell of marijuana) hits you as you walk into the square. There’s street vendors selling knockoff medicine, dirty food, a couple of cops or a cop car, unbothered by what’s happening around them. But oh the contrast of the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze on my face. I always imagine it as “manifesting” in the middle of the city.

The right time to enter San Francisco is in the morning, (without food). The right way to explore San Francisco (or any city, really, in my opinion) is to alternate between food and walking, one fueling the other, and the other bringing you back to the former. In the Mission, food is immediately at hand. There’s 3 (canonically 3, many more make such claims) different taquerias claiming to make the world’s best burrito. La Taqueria gives you long lines and an explosion of flavor. El Farolito’s forte is its ~girth~ size, a massive burrito enough to last two meals (but NOT in SF, because you WILL eat more). Taqueria Can-Cun has a creamy, homely feeling (and a semi-rude server who mocked me, calling out “no meat” multiple times). Grab a burrito. Don’t eat inside- the mission also supplies you with the ultimate place for enjoying your food, we’ll get to that. If its past 11, grab some egg rolls (which don’t contain eggs) at Yamo (but do NOT ask the server how long it will take, and bring cash- otherwise they’ll point at the “ONLY CASH” board). Then make your way uptown, as you diversify into refinement. Rhea’s Deli is a rare case of an expensive deli sandwich being worth the money. Right down the street is Dandelion Chocolate, with its heady cocoa smell, fancy single-origin chocolate tastings, with little review sheets to be filled out. Deeply drink in the (molten chocolate) european hot chocolate. Tartine is somewhat overpriced, but has really, really good carrots in vinegar, only served as a side. I’m going to stop now, because blatant food writing without a touch of sardonism is not respectable prose.

Visits to “the city” fall into this pattern. I’ve got a formula for Palo Alto too- pick a hike (or Stanford Dish), pick a restaurant (or Ramen Nagi) and pick dessert (or Salt&Straw). Anyway, back to the city. A visit to SF should be food and walking, interleaved. You always start with food in the Mission. Having procured food, you sit in the sun in Dolores Park, looking at the skyline. Take a deep breath, feel it in your stomach. (This might seem fake, or cringe, but I really do this). A visit to SF must include the mission, the Pacific, a view of the Golden Gate Bridge, up-and-down roads, and views of the city.

About that downtown- There’s few skyscrapers. This is something that I love. SF is not a metropolis. Its modern alright- with offices of startups at the bleeding-edge tech billboards plastered all over. The OpenAI offices (which I have been inside!) are straight out of superhero comics, an OsCORP, delicate, refined beauty on top of a cliff, precariously balanced between heaven and hell. Its modern, but its not generic. There’s no blocks of buildings, no big-name companies and scores of office-workers milling around in suits. If you walk up the spiral stairs of the Coit Tower (or take the elevator) you’ll see everything- the bay in the east, and its piers, nearly uninhabited land in the north, across the bridge, on the other side. The typical peninsula house, houses with terraces, people standing on top, looking around, people having parties in the afternoon. I sometimes think of SF as Rome, a city in the hills, a shining beacon for all technology in the world to look up to. And the hills. Oh the hills. Roads go up and up, starkly steep. Then you reach a crest, and suddenly, you are thrown into a glorious view- a sudden slope that lets you see buildings far into the distance from your perch at the top. And at the end, a glimpse of the waters of the bay.