So, I live in Russian Hill right now. It's a series of steeps hills, houses built directly into cliffs, overlooks the water, breathtakingly gorgeous, totally safe, quiet, expensive, feels a little remote. Russian Hill used to be a Bohemian nesting zone, along with North Beach, back in the day of Kerouac, Ginsberg 'nem.
That was a long time ago. Few Bohemians climb these hills and lounge in coffee bars now.
Russian Hill is not as young, monied, yuppie--not in the same way as The Marina District. The Marina is a nearby neighborhood directly on the water, a flat non-hilly zone, definitively yachty, preppy, upscale boutiques, mostly post-grads who work in the Financial District, etc.
So Russian Hill is not yachty or Bergdorffsy, like The Marina. Still, there's a lack of informal inexpensive gathering spots, watering holes, gathering in public places like parks.
On the other hand, my apartment is idyllic in many ways. It's tucked away on a shady pedestrian.only street high above the street---as in Portland all I see out my windows are the Bay, rooftops, and trees.
So, where to live? I'm exploring that. I love going to sleep hearing the burbling fountain down the "lane," foghorns and bouy bells--all completely familiar and beloved. Windchime in the distance. However, to "be" anywhere social in Russian Hill, I have to walk or cab, quite a way. No wandering out of the house and falling into a scene or gathering.
Which is what The Mission would be like...
So, last week I met these two friendly people, Cindy and Angelino, who work in law firms in the Financial District (where I work). We got to chatting about this and that as we ate our lunches, and hit it off. They invited me to a party Saturday in the Mission.
I said since before I moved here that I'd probably end up living in the Mission. Saturday was the first actual visit.
I met Cindy at the 16th Street BART station. That's some random guy, not Cindy.
A cool joint, for sure. Tres cas, tres friendly, fun---best burrito I've ever had, slightly divey but not seriously. A bit hipster but not obnoxiously so.
So we finished up and joined the throngs passing through the streets. They were on their way to pre-Pride festivities. Gay Pride is huge in San Francisco. As in any city -- great big party weekend, fun time to cavort and dance around, and people watch. We were kind of at the tail end of the procession because I was freezing (it's sooo cold here sometimes) and had to stop and buy a cute jacket :)I didn't mind not being in the throng. Coming from Maine, sometimes the stimulus of the big city is almost too much for me to take in. I don't have my "city feet" yet. And The Mission is so different from anyplace I've been it was doubly fascinating and transfixing with like 10x the visual and aural stimulus of Russian Hill and the "staid" or "civilized" Embarcadero area where I work.
So...we got to Pride, in the famous Castro District, and it was lively and nutty and radically diverse....thousands and thousands of people. Gay straight old young every possible racial combination unconventional preppy colorful quiet boisterous and all totally fun and beautifully-natured and beneficent.
I do feel like I've been to so many Prides over the years since college--and the whole notion of gay rights has come very far and gay peeps and culture are quite blended into big cities anyway--that Pride is now basically an all-day street fair/drink fest (with better outfits). 
Since I don't drink or smoke weed, happenings like this get old after a while. And sidebar: whoooEEE was there a lotta weed--which the scofflaw in me appreciates--and god knows I'd rather be in a crowd of weed smokers vs beer guzzlers any day. This was a lot of both, as well as other stuff.
So...the crowd starts jostling. Pushing. I'm thirsty and need some non-alcohol but you have to stand in line to get into a convenience store because they're only letting in a few people at a time.
Around any store it was that crowd-crusher situation, where your feet are barely touching the ground, and you hold your breath, hoping no one in front of you goes down...because if they do, you're all down like dominos. If you're in a safe crowd it can be ok, but add too much testosterone and booze and unleashed-id-run-amok and it can get slightly precarious.
Cindy and I never connected with Angelino or Chris. And Cindy was just getting revved up and wanted to stay.So I bade her farewell and headed for the BART train. Of all nights, the trains broke down! And now hundreds of people were pushing to get onto free shuttle buses.
The vibe was turning frantic. I wanted to be out of there. Walked down Market St and saw the beginnings of people vomiting up their day's consumption. Tried like hell to catch a cab--a Bacchanalic roar was rising. Bedlam was beginning to hatch. Ambulances. I learned Sunday that 3 people had been shot within yards of where I'd been. The party was on and I was out.
Finally a cab stopped. Lovely man. Took me back to silent (except the sound of foghorns and sea lions barking) Russian Hill. We had a great conversation and he didn't charge me! A beautiful end to an exciting day.
So....many more neighborhoods still to explore. The Mission is still under consideration. But anyone who knows me knows I have a low tolerance for poo and things poo-related. And in parts of the Mission I was in it smelled distinctly like fresh people poo. Apparently because there's a high population of homeless people...who poo on the streets!
It would be sad maybe if I didn't live in the coolest neighborhood in San Francisco because there's too much poo. But that may be the case...we shall see.
