Since moving to Los Angeles, I’ve clocked in countless hours on the 5 making the drive to San Francisco. But despite the frequency of these visits, it wasn’t until recently that I actually started to enjoy the city. Growing up in San Rafael, San Francisco was a 30-minute drive away. Once or twice a year, my dad would drive the family to Ghirardelli Square or Fisherman’s Wharf. As I got older, the charm wore off, especially when I was the one driving. Los Angeles has its share of terrible traffic and nonexistent parking, but at least you don’t have to endure such steep hills and winding streets!
After I moved to LA, I made my way back home twice a year to visit my dad, sister, and high school friends. A couple years later–during a two-week visit–I decided to go on a handful of dates. At the time, I had very low confidence in my gender fluidity and often kept it a secret. To my surprise, however, these people were so accepting, I immediately felt safe enough to share my pronouns and identity. While one or two of the dates didn’t lead to anything, the majority resulted in long term friendships! I started to discover a version of San Francisco that I hadn’t been exposed to before: a queer version.
The amount of my friends in the city grew and grew, as did the frequency of my trips. I would spend weeks in advance planning who I was going to see and whose couch I was going to stay on, and on June 21, 2023, I headed north once again to celebrate SF Pride.
While the Pride Parade wasn’t until Sunday, the celebration started that Friday night. I stayed in the East Bay with a friend who drove us out to SoMA, starting out at the Hole in the Wall Saloon, a bar many of the earlier mentioned dates were at. You would be hard-pressed to find an empty space on the walls and ceilings here. Every inch is covered by stickers, chains, wheels, lights, records… the list goes on. The bartender that night was friendly, excited that I was from LA. He was from Orange County and “left for a reason.” –I didn’t ask. The bar’s tight quarters couldn’t help but make it intimate. A lot of the bars in this strip feel like that and draw out the same crowds. I always run into someone I know.
On Saturday, I went to a party at a high school friend’s apartment in the Richmond District, spending time with old and new friends alike before venturing into the Castro for the first time. It was freezing outside but thankfully a lot of heat generated from the bodies crowding tightly together in line for the clubs. My friend and I waited outside of 440 Castro, apparently well-known for selling beer for just three dollars. We weren’t dressed very colorfully, so I applied glitter to my face, then to his… and then to the couple standing in front of us.
Once we finally entered, it was nearly impossible to walk. Packed to the brim, we somehow made our way to the back of the bar where they indeed sold beer for just three dollars! We said goodbye to our new acquaintances and bolted for the exit to breathe, finishing our drinks on the outside patio before walking around the other bars and shops.
Sunday morning arrived at last and we woke up early to drive to the city. Much to our relief, we spotted parking right away and headed for the Embarcadero where the parade would start. There we met and joined a group of familiar faces from Thursday night. The day was extremely sunny and relentlessly hot, though only for short intervals. The wind would pick up consistently enough that I began regretting the short shorts I was wearing.
Huddling close together for warmth, we watched the parade go by: a city taken over by the queer community: drag queens, performers, and activists marching with the most colorful and unique signs, banners and flags. Flags for Gay pride, Lesbian Pride, Pansexual pride, Transgender pride, Two-Spirit pride, and POC pride. Allyship pride, Bear pride, Leather Pride, Furry pride… Any sub-community you could imagine was here and proud. And the crowd clapped and cheered for all of them.
We followed the parade to the Civic Center where we were rejected from entering because security said our backpacks were too big. So we headed for the bars again. The wind finally seemed to relent, the heat showering down at last. As I sipped on a rum and coke, laughing with friends in the bar’s courtyard, I had a serene moment of reflection and bliss, taking in the warmth of those around me and how special it felt to be surrounded by such love and openness. So much freedom of expression and diversity. I had been a tourist before. And despite no longer living there, I had never felt more at home with familiar faces in every corner. This was the San Francisco I loved.
queerestmagazine.com 
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