In this City of Saint Francis, we have a complicated relationship with the steady stream of visitors to our fair town. You might even call it a love/hate thing. On the one hand we are honored to share our climate and vistas with travelers from around the world. On the other hand, “Get out!”
Yes, we are an international postcard city. Tourism is a major component of our financial portfolio, and many of us depend on imported dollars and shekels and yen and pounds and euros for our livelihoods. But that doesn’t mean we have to like it.
Whenever one of the big tourist buses invades the Inner Sunset, my lovely wife, Debi Ann, likes to pull up close and thank everyone for coming. “Now please spend lots of money and then leave. Go home! Do not stay. We are full.”
I guess you could say she is not Chamber certified.
Summer is almost over, and they don’t know our best weather is in September and October (shhh, don’t tell) so it won’t be long before they stop clogging all the good restaurants while driving those stupid little death-wish go-carts navigating strange streets during rush-hour traffic wearing identical “I Heart SF” sweatshirts bought at Fisherman’s Wharf because they were under the impression that shorts and tank tops in August was a good idea.
They don’t understand the crosswalk thing and are perpetually confused by tipping waitstaff and parking regulations, which, admittedly, so are we. And while looking for parking they don’t know when to give up and move on. ”You’ve circled that block 14 times. Don’t they have limits back where you come from?”
One of our favorite annual adventures is when we pretend to be tourists in our own city and book a hotel downtown, see a show, visit a museum or two, while frequenting unfamiliar food purveyors not to mention drinking in exotic bars. Then again, room service is always nice. Take only photographs, leave only footprints. And be courteous hosts. At least we got Debi to put the megaphone down. Good girl.
