San Francisco is the last stop of my on-and-off trip to the USA in 2017–19. I stayed there for a week in late winter and visited the landmarks with my lens – images of melancholic foggy days in Pier 39, quaint urban architecture, kitschy red lanterns of Chinatown, the photogenic Palace of Fine Arts, pastel facades of Painted Ladies, and of course Golden Gate Bridge, became the postcards I gifted myself. The photos I took in the 4 USA cities seemed to portray those two years as a period filled with happiness, but it wasn’t – between the trips were the personal struggles, pain, and indecisions towards an unknown called life, and the voyage was just an attempt to make things bearable.
Travel is an interesting thing, it lets people explore the world and fills them with curiosity and openness. You focus on enjoying the new sights and experiences and try to navigate in a place you’ve never been to in a safe and humble way. Yet looking back, what if travel isn’t an exploration, but an escape from the reality people aren’t ready to face yet? You tackle the everyday decision in an unfamiliar place, but you dare not look inwards and navigate the chaos you live in every single day. Every landmark and street welcome you in a courteous manner a tourist deserves, but they also remind one the place is not the one you belong to. Maybe when we’re ready to go home, the real journey resumes.
Pier 39
The streets
Chinatown
Painted Ladies and Palace of Fine Arts
Presidio and Golden Gate Bridge
