I realized the other day that it has been nearly thirteen years since I left San Francisco. Thirteen. Years.
And yet, The City still appears in my dreams—always accompanied by feelings of frustration, abandonment, and a profound feeling of sadness at no longer having a home there. (Ironic, because at least consciously I have no desire to return; San Francisco is very much a city of the young and wealthy and I no longer fall into either demographic.)
In my most recent San Francisco dream, I found myself South of Market with my friend Rick (who still lives in the City). There were new highrise glass and concrete buildings everywhere I looked and I was feeling very irritated because everywhere I turned I was being presented with wonderful photographic opportunities and I'd come to San Francisco without my DSLR, only having my iPhone with me.
(In this dream, like many others I've had surrounding the City, my visits have been impossible day trips, driving up and returning home in a single day.)
I tried several times to get one particular shot of the late afternoon sun glinting off one of these new buildings, but people either walked in front of me and wouldn't move, or when I moved the angles of the building in the shot were unacceptable.
I finally gave up and joined Rick for dinner in a restaurant, hoping to salvage at least a couple of the photos I'd taken. The iPhone camera app was very funky with none of the usual controls and it was confusing the hell out of me. Night fell, but the camera seemed to taking very good pictures in the restaurant even though there was no way of actually confirming it.
Rick left restaurant and I followed a few minutes later. It was once again light outside (which should've clued me in that I was dreaming, but sadly didn't). I lingered to finally take that one impressive photograph up the street heading to the financial district that I was trying to capture the before; the sun was again low in the west and the sky was dappled with clouds. Everything lined up in the photo, but again, I had no way of checking if it was actually any good or if the camera had even recorded it.
After that I lost track of Rick. I walked back up to Market Street and found myself in a very confusing Civic Center station. It was a morass of vendor stalls, intersecting stairways and undulating escalators. I took one escalator down but found myself in BART. "That won't get me to Grand View Avenue," I thought, and headed back upstairs. I knew I needed a clipper card to ride MUNI, but didn't have one and didn't know where to get one.
I was carrying two bags, one from the Apple Store and one that was full of clothing. No one could provide any help in getting a clipper card and there was no place in the station to buy one. Finally one guy told me I needed to go to somewhere far north of the station to pick one up. It would've been too long a walk, so I finally decided to just go back up to the surface and catch a cab.
I took my phone out and saw it was completely banged up and scratched; then realized it was only the case. "That can be replaced," I thought as it started pouring rain. I had no umbrella and resolved to getting drenched. I started walking up Market but ended up a bit north on one of the side streets. I called Rick, but had a horrible connection. I told him I was on my way back to his apartment and that I'd be there shortly. I couldn't find a cab anywhere, so I started walking up Market Street toward the Castro.
I woke shortly thereafter.