Bubble

Just over the bridge from San Francisco is a bubble. This bubble is filled with outer perfection – perfect people, perfect cars, and perfect locale. Despite some of the pretentiousness and gloss, next to San Francisco, the bubble, otherwise known of as Marin, is hands down my favorite place in the world.

Driving from San Francisco through Marin to San Anselmo, the cream of the crop in Marin in my book, takes you over the Golden Gate bridge, past the bikers going up to the animal sanctuary or down to Sausalito, through the rainbow tunnel, and through Mill Valley, Larkspur, Ross, and Kentfield. Each town has its own charm and its own brand of people, just like San Francisco. Lisa and I went hiking with mom today. We stopped at her house, passing all the Lexus SUVs and BMWs (also known of as basic Marin wheels) and pulling up in front of her new picket fence – the fence that supposedly fends off the hundreds of deer that roam the town hungry for someone’s freshly planted garden.

Finally, we made our way to Phoenix Lake – one of Marin’s many hidden treasures – a beautiful lake in the hills of Ross surrounded by nothing but trails and trees. It’s funny walking in Marin – in San Francisco you can be anonymous walking with your iPod blaring and staying in your own private world. Walking around the lake everyone we passed said, “hello,” “hi,” “good morning,” “beautiful day,” and a number of other friendly greetings chanted by Marinites checking out each other and each others fancy dogs.

On the way home we stopped at Whole Foods (aka, whole paycheck) for the freshest, most organic, prettiest produce around. The aisles of Whole Foods are like a pick up zone with people looking in each others’ carts to see who has the bee pollen that would go perfectly with their flax oil. Beautiful yuppies stop to exchange baby stories or promotion gloating in the aisles. I of course just want to run through, grab what I need, and make it back to the city.

After just a day in Marin I feel fresh. But, it was nice driving back over the bridge and into San Francisco. Along the water the usual crowd are running, flying kites, and flexing for each other while on the other side of the street housecleaners and painters are hard at work in the $5m homes getting ready for the next onset of rain. Home is just a few obstacles away – flying by the Rent-a-go-carts (the cars that tourists rent with an audio tour of San Francisco – the same cars to look out for because you know a tourist who’s not used to SF streets, doesn’t drive fast enough, and doesn’t know where they’re going, is behind the wheel), a quick double park pickup stop at the fluff ‘n fold, and lucking out getting a spot right in front of our building, and I’m home.