Frisco sunrise

Jet lag was making me restless as the dawn chorus kicked in so I headed to the water to watch the sun come up.

San Francisco Bay has a homecoming feel even for a foreigner, and at sunrise it is beyond magical. As you walk down the steep streets through the city on the way, jets of steam are caught by the morning sun, a golden mist rises from every manhole cover, and the ladders clinging to the tall brick buildings glow red in the early light.

Then, as you approach the bay, the sweet smell of saltwater and jasmine hits you like the perfume of a lost loved one, and the sight before you is enough to make tired eyes cry. Birds fly low over the gently lilting water, and the Bay Bridge stretches tall and wide, bathed in a bright mist, rising from the blue. Seagulls hover and caw, the water laps the wharf, and as I sit down I realise it's little wonder this place has inspired so many to so much. I am sitting on the dock of the bay as the Sunday sun shines down, and, with a blissful disregard for cliche, I fire up Otis Redding and close my eyes.