Chick flicks and “fun beach reads” will lead you to believe that couples who go away on vacation together always have a super romantic time. A “romantic getaway” they call it.
I don’t know about you, but when Kyle and I go on vacation – we usually just end up bickering about the traffic, or the crowds, or “what time is check-out?” since SOMEONE always seems to forget that check-out is at 11 – even though “check-out is ALWAYS at 11”, but we probably won’t be ready by then because SOMEONE is still in the bathroom.
Our first trip to San Francisco was…. kind of romantic? I guess? It was romantic when Kyle paid some guy to switch seats on the flight home so that he could sit next to me. In a middle seat. While I used his shoulder as a pillow and spent the entire four hours blowing my nose (because OF COURSE I’d woken up with a sinus infection that morning and proceeded to go through airport security with a box of tissues.) Not only did he opt for a crappy middle seat by his sniffly, disgusting fiancé – he went out of his way to hold my hand and let me rest my head on his shoulder, even though I had snot dripping out of my face. If that isn’t true love, I don’t know what is.
Our time in San Francisco was short. We did MOST of the touristy stuff – like take pictures at The Golden Gate Bridge, and Pier 39, and Lombard Street, and we saw the cable cars and the “Painted Ladies” houses and hung out at “that one park across from the Painted Ladies – you know, the one they showed in Full House?” (Alamo Square).
We rented a car for the day. I had reserved something like a Ford Focus (or whatever the equivalent to “economy” was), but when the guy asked us “what kind of car wanted”, he somehow talked us into upgrading. Which wasn’t very hard once Kyle responded with “something fun” to the “what do we want” question, and the guy said, “How about this Chevy Camaro convertible?” and Kyle said “Sold!”
(I act like I’m blaming this all on my fiancé. In reality, I heard “convertible” and said “Ooh!!” and then Kyle said “Sold!” What can I say, we’re a couple of yuppies.)
Since we had the car, we were able to check out one of the places a friend had recommended to us near Sausalito. Point Bonita Lighthouse. It was a quaint lighthouse toward the edge of the bay that – honestly – had some sort of history to it that I can’t remember. There was a class field trip of middle schoolers while we were there and something was mentioned about the early 90’s television show Murder, She Wrote.
There’s something about the ocean near San Francisco. I don’t know what it is, or why it feels so different from the East coast (maybe because it’s a different ocean). Up until visiting San Francisco, I had decided that I wasn’t really “an ocean person”…. I don’t know what “an ocean person” is, but I had always assumed it was someone who liked to be near the water, on the beach, on a boat, etc.
I’ve never been a big fan of water. (Don’t tell my horoscope sign – I’m a Pisces.)
But something about California is different. The air is different. The ocean is different. The mountains are different. When people say consider themselves “outdoors-y” people, these are the kind of outdoors they’re talking about. If I lived anywhere near the West coast, I’d be an outdoors-y person too.
We also visited the Full House house while we were there. And when I say “we”, I mean “I” and when I say “visited”, I mean “Kyle parked across the street and sat in the car playing on his phone while I got out and took pictures.”
“It’s the Full House house!” I said. “Isn’t that cool?!” I couldn’t believe he wasn’t as jazzed about this fictional television-show house as I was.
“Yea,” he said, whilst scrolling through Instagram. “Pretty cool.”
Well. I thought it was cool.
I love San Francisco. Like, I *love* San Francisco. The city, the ocean, the outdoors-y-ness, the people, the vibe. I’m in love with the vibe. I didn’t know it was possible to love a city’s “vibe” until I fell in love with it.
Granted, it’s no Chicago. But still.