You don’t come to San Francisco. You fall in it. The moment you enter the city, no matter if it is Chinatown, Haight or Castro, a whirlpool of freaked voices, dreaming smiles and waving colors blows your hair and your mind. You follow the wind, the music and the White Rabbit, on the way to Golden Gate Park, enter in a rainbowed dream, the Bay to Breakers race.












