Sunny San Francisco

Fortunately for me, my job sometimes takes me out of the office to other edges of the world. In April, I spent 24 hours in the Haida Gwaii and fell hopelessly in love with the region again – the same way I did in 2010. And at the end of April I was afforded another opportunity: San Francisco.

I flew to the flambouyant city on a Wednesday for the TYPO Conference. I had heard great things about San Francisco – sunny, wacky, wonderful, slightly ostentatious, and a wicked-cool art scene.
I was keen to explore myself. That said, a 9-5 conference doesn't allow for too much exploring, but I managed to use each minute to my benefit.

The Market

The first night, I moseyed on down to famous Pier 39, a tourist hub that is much like Whistler is to BC, except instead of mountains there is a magnificent coastline. Instead of chalets, fish houses with outdoor eating. Instead of snowbunnies, sea lions and seaguls. And tourists abound.

I walked a hefty uphill past Nob Hill and down the edge of the continent.

Looking around, it's clear that San Franciscans are fit and fabulous. I attribute their tight buttocks to all the hills. I felt the burn. It was brilliant.

I sipped an iced almond latte at the edge of the pier and watched the waves crash on Alcatraz. Then headed home, back up, then down, around.

On Day Two, I explored the vegan scene – I'm not a minority here! Green juice everywhere!
In fact, the amazing people at Living Greens delivered three days worth of cold pressed veggies and fruit juices to my hotel to keep me alive while I was away from my VitaMix.

Without a bar fridge in the hotel room, I had to get creative and spent three days popping in to the hotel every 5 hours or so to get more ice from the ice machine and fill up the sink with ice and juice. It was a vegan dream.

I hit up Source for a sweet savoury wrap on  Friday and explored the city's fashion and arts district. It was a designer's heaven. Culture abound. I bumped into a Jamaican man selling Ginger Beer who was keen on getting my number. I saw a man pasting graffiti in an alley, and I thought it was beautiful. I peaked into the Adobe offices and had a tinge of jealousy. I snapped pics of architecture and wild gardens and interesting people. I was a cultural paparazzo.

Saturday was adventure day. I woke up at five, pressed play on my iPod, and walked up and down (oh, the burn!) to the Pier to rent a bike.

"I have to be back at the hotel by 10 to check out," I said to the store owner.
"Can I bike across the Golden Gate and back and then walk to the hotel in two hours or less."

"Well," he said. "I suppose it can be done. But your legs are gonna kill."

"Awesome. How much?"

I strapped on my helmut, hopped on the bike, and pedalled hard.
I passed a triathlon training crew doing laps in the ocean. Children making sandcastles. Tourists taking pictures of the Golden Gate from afar. I pedalled more. Up and onto the bridge.

The Golden Gate Bridge.

I admit: I was skeptical at first. I mean, it's just a a bridge right? What's the big deal?
But once on it, the wind at my back, the sun gleaming down, the towering beams, and the 360-degree vista... it was quite something. It was like drinking kook-aid in the mini-pool as a kid.

Pure bliss.

Beautiful day for a bike ride!

I called M and showed him the view.
"You're insane!" he said.
"Gotta pedal!" I replied.

I pressed on. Over the the cliffside and back again.

Biking the Golden Gate Bridge from kmcmullen on Vimeo.

"You did the WHOLE thing?" said the guy at the bike rental place with mouth again and a slight air of disbelief.

"Yep. Gorgeous!" I said and gave him my sweat-drenched helmut.

I decided to run back to the hotel – tunes pumping, lungs pounding, heartbeat racing.

"You're beautiful!" a cab driver yelled.
I gave him the thumbs up.
Everything is awesome in San Francisco.

I will be back.

Hi Haida!

In the fog of deadlines, overdue bills, and business growth, I often forget how fortunate I am. And then, a client asks me to fly to the Haida Gwaii to be a part of a spectacular project that makes my heart beat fast and my insides shiver and I realize: Wow, life is pretty amazing!

I flew to Haida Gwaii at the end of April on the first beautiful day of the year after 6 months of rain and grey clouds. I landed down at the Masset Airport – a cabin with one airstrip. The pilot dropped me off at the door. Literally.

Masset Airport – Door to Door Service

Waiting for my luggage, I realized there was no one else waiting. The airport was vacant. And the plane that dropped me off just gassed up and was airbound again. I looked outside. The "Baggage Claim" was the ground by the fence.

I love this place, I thought.

My phone had no reception. I used a pay phone for the first time in years to call a "cab". Actually, I called "Herb", and he said he knew I was coming and was on his way.

Everyone waved as we drove into the village.
Everyone smiled.

Sometimes, it's nice to be totally disconnected from email, phone, and obligations and reconnect to the simple art form of community.

I met with two incredible Haida Gwaii who told me about the magic of the land, the history of the culture, and the felled Golden Spruce (the reason I was here in the first place.)

Then, my client said the best sentence I have ever heard in my career:
"To do great work Kim, you're going to have to go hike the trails and experience the land."

And so I did. I hiked Tow Hill, a spit of land with a 500 ft hill amidst flatlands and sky-high spruce. A naturally occurring blowhole in the rocks gurgled and splashed. The sun shone intently. The trees rocked in the wind.

Tow Hill Beach

This is a magical place.

View from the top of Tow Hill

In the morning, after a snooze in a sweet cabin with an even sweeter owner (who prepared me a delicious vegan breakfast – Thank you!), I hopped on over to the Golden Spruce Trail for a 7 a.m. hike. It was misty and cool. The temperature dropped about 7 degrees only 10 paces in. The tree trunks were the size of trucks. The air was crisp and crunchy. The silence was healing.

I walked. The ground crunched. The birds chirped. I listened. Branches sang in the wind. Squirrels scurried.

At the trail's main turnaround point, just 20 minutes in, the Yakoun River runs wild and cool. There are five species of salmon running here. Locals feed their families from this river and make medicines from the trees. Over the river is a snag – this is the Golden Spruce. Or what is left of the magical tree that was felled in 1997 by a logging protester.

But although the ancient tree – once regarded as a beacon of life – is grey and wilted, the magic is not lost. I stood there. Silent. Breathing in. Eyes closes. Head upturned. Lips curled in a half grin.

I could solve the world's problems here, I thought.

The sun rose. And the tops of the Sitka Spruce turned gold. Like they were gems alit from within.
It was a fairy tale unfolding.

The sun rises over the Golden Spruce Trail

Four hours later, Herb dropped me off at the airport again, I walked onto the tarmac and into the plane, buckled up and headed home.

Just 24 hours in this magical place, and I was nourished, happy, complete.
It must be the most beautiful place on earth.