On Wednesday night, we flew across the country to San Francisco in search of some sunshine.  We stayed with wonderful hosts, ran around non-stop, and made sure to soak up the city as best we could.  I was telling Carrie today how sore I am from my SF workout: my legs from walking up the hills, my arms from carrying cases of beer, and my stomach from laughing so hard.  In San Francisco, who needs a gym when you can have that much fun?

I kept trying to compare the architecture, the restaurants, the food, and the transit system to New York, but just gave up after a while.  There was something about the city that made it such a magnet, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.  I thought, is it the transit system?  The freakishly gorgeous weather?  Maybe the amazing restaurants? Could it be the Golden Gate bridge? Perhaps it’s the innovative companies that make the city their home.  Twitter?  Yelp? (Patrick, you may disagree with me on that one). Hmm… No, no. That isn’t it.  Ah, wait.  I know what it is.

It’s the people.

I’ve never been to a city where everyone made me feel like I was home.  The sincerity when the cashier asked “how are you doing today?” or the reassuring smiles of the people I passed while trekking up a hill that was set at a 90 degree angle were a little disarming. I kept waiting for someone to try and sell something to me, to act on a selfish impulse.  Nope, they genuinely wanted to know how my day was going… weird.  It’s the city equivalent of a warm hug.

I want to tell you about every restaurant, every bite of food, and every street corner, but my eyelids feel like they have sandpaper behind them.  Jet lag is no joke.  Getting into bed at 3:00 AM was poor planning, but I have to say, it was definitely worth it.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, to our incredible hosts Lauren, Amanda, and Amy.  You girls are amazing, and know how to throw down a mean dance party.

I think I’ll go back.