Sunday morning in San Francisco. One minute I’m wandering through the downtown financial district, and then by just crossing the street, I enter a whole new world….
The Paifang before me has a ominous nature about it. I carefully tiptoe across the threshold, and instantly feel the modern city melt away behind me. It’s early in the morning, not even eight a.m. yet, and only a handful of early risers are on the streets with me, sweeping their storefronts to get ready for market day.
The beautiful language of the Chinese people creates a magical aura in my mind. I turn around to see if I can capture a glimpse of the San Francisco I know, but it’s gone. I find it freeing, and carry on with hapless abandon in this new place.
As the morning progresses, the streets become alive with chatter and activity. I am the lone white person in this Chinese paradise.
Nothing could make me happier as I learn to wake up with a flood of new experiences in Chinatown.
I watch the elderly do Tai Chi in the park as I sip my coffee and let the easy Sunday morning fill my soul with a bright and warming light.
