Broadway, Above Levy Tunnel

When I first moved to San Francisco, I often roamed up and down the hills of its northeast neighborhoods. I’d meet with friends from college—there were a lot of us who found jobs in the city—and enjoy casual dinners after a day’s work downtown, in restaurants that felt magical without the pretense of the storied, classy, and intimidating Financial District spots. The streets felt familiar enough to meander through in the bright summer mornings and the long summer evenings, and there were plenty of charms still waiting to be discovered in the crevices of its topographies. There was always a new view to chance upon just around the corner, as long as I had the willpower to keep climbing up and down the steep sidewalks, alleys, and staircases.

Eventually, I lived in the city long enough for the streets to lose some of their magic. When the hills became part of my commute, the postcard views began to feel a little bit more ordinary, and I paid less attention to the world around me as work and life filled my mind.

But every once in a while, I have a reason to go back to those hills.

A recent social outing brought me to North Beach, where we enjoyed pastries from a neighborhood café in the early spring sunshine. The weather was balmy with blue skies and green leaves. Windows refracted the clear air like prisms. Pleasant chatter wove with the sounds of passing traffic, punctuated by the clink of porcelain espresso cups and the occasional bark from a dog.

When it was time to say our goodbyes, I wasn’t quite ready to head indoors. I let my feet carry me west.

I had no path in mind and trusted the gridded streets to lead me in the general direction of home. I found myself climbing a paved incline, then a slope rose before me. Eventually, the sidewalk ended at a flight of stairs. I may not have thought too hard about the exertion when I took my first steps, but by the time I made it halfway up the stairs, my lungs and legs began their complaints. I was out of practice.

Yet a tide of excitement was bubbling up within me. I was starting to remember the days of discovery, curiosity, and delight from years past. So I pressed on, convinced that a reward would be waiting at the end.

Above the crest of Broadway, just past Taylor Street, I finally made it onto a walled cul-de-sac. Sure enough, postcard-worthy houses rose on either side, just like the streets in my memories. Leafy canopies rustled beneath a pleasant wind. I stopped a moment to catch my breath and watched the sunlight dance with the wind, dappling colorful walls and compact planters with pleasing patterns. When I turned around, a tumbling cityscape rushed towards the sparkling bay.