San Fransisco, Part II.

The other part of San Fransisco, besides the baseball, was surprisingly intoxicating to me. The last time I was in a large city I didn't like it. The smell of the exhaust, the sewer, the hundreds of people who walk by you and completely avoid looking at your face. The litter. But this time I saw new things. It was like color, everywhere. The variety of people, the variety of shops, the busyness, the constant movement. I just loved it. I could feel the rhythm of the city, pulsing, as we walked up and down the long streets. It was a rhythm so different from home, and I needed something different from home. I needed something fresh and foreign and new, something that let me be new.
We stayed at the Clift, a large hotel off Market. The lobby had dark amber walls, large plank wood floors. The whole theme of the hotel was chairs. Big chairs, little chairs, weird chairs, HUGE chairs. Like Alice in Wonderland. There was a large fireplace with a beautiful warm fire burning. The floors where, in contrast, the same periwinkle purple we girls painted my house growing up. Everything was this purple: the walls, ceiling, floorboards, molding, and carpet. And mirrors, lots of mirrors. Our room was beautiful. Luxury bedding in a crisp white and large cream window coverings on each wall. You could open the large window to get some air and even on the tenth floor there was no screen.
I didn't have any "just OK" food. It was all unique and delicious. I had a salmon salad at the Cheesecake factory, a glass of Merlot, and Joey and I shared a huge piece of a chocolaty peanut butter cheesecake. We had seafood at the wharf (clam chowder in a bread bowl) and pizza at a place called Blondies. In typical big city style, the Parmesan and red pepper flakes were chained to the counter.
We rode the trolleys and the bus and at one stop there was a Brazilian family. They spoke in Portuguese with each other and it wasn't just the language that made me feel that longing I feel whenever something really reminds me of Brazil, it was the way they interacted with each other, their mannerisms, that made me miss my families and the country itself so much. I couldn't talk with them in Portuguese. We spoke in broken English, like I could barely speak it myself. It was incredibly sad, like being caught between two languages. It has been ten years and it's silly to think I wouldn't stumble. Speaking another language is like your brain turning over.
I can't wait to go back. Joey was so awesome and worked a lot of overtime so I could have money to shop to my heart's content. He takes care of me so well--not just the money, but the desire to make it a special trip for me. I am thankful for him.