Though it's been twenty years since I moved away, I still often visit San Francisco…in my dreams.
The City that exists there is a strange, twisted version of reality, and my visits are usually prompted by having run across a particularly nostalgic photo online that day.
Most of those visits take place in the City at night (the photo above almost completely captures the vibe of these dreams) and usually in the Castro/ Upper Market area—if not exactly on the last street I lived before leaving. Streets are skewed. Getting from one point to another is…off. There are dirt roads in the heart of the City. Hills exist where there are none. I stumble across entire neighborhoods that I never knew existed—and only exist in that realm. Mission Street runs at a strange diagonal to other streets in the area and is bordered by multi-story Victorian buildings for its entire length.
Other times I find myself downtown, South of Market, or walking in absolutely cavernous underground MUNI tunnels between stations. I sometimes find myself on a MUNI train, encountering stations that do not exist in real life. My mind writes these obvious anomalies off by saying, "Oh, this must be that new station/line they opened."
The common thread that seems to run through these dreams is that of photography, or rather my inability to photograph anything I see. I come across the setting sun glinting off a building and think, "That's a fantastic shot!" and without fail my phone malfunctions. By the time I do get it working, the perfect shot has passed. I can't tell you how many absolutely gorgeous photos have been lost because the dream phone starts acting wonky. It's almost like I know I'm in a dream and think that if only I can photograph what I see and bring it back on my phone, it will prove I was really there.