San Francisco doesn't fit in with the rest of California. It's cooler, both in climate and sophistication. The city has a transportation system that puts the rest of the Golden State to shame and above all, it is very people-friendly, to both residents and visitors.

I've lost track of my trips to San Francisco. Whether drawn to the big city lights on business, vacation or visits to my sister's house, San Francisco has a magnetic appeal.

The City by the Bay is one of the world's most popular vacation destinations - the third most-visited city in the United States by foreign tourists.

This, despite the fact that San Francisco sits on a major earthquake fault. The city is currently acknowledging the 100-year anniversary of the earthquake that shook it to its core. Flattened, but not defeated, a century of rebuilding has resulted in the beautiful, albeit shaky, skyline we enjoy today.

This summer, I proved my worth as an out-of-towner. Camera in hand, map hanging out back pocket, sore feet, and sporting at least one item of clothing with an artist's rendition of the Golden Gate Bridge, I walked, or rather, climbed, the streets of San Francisco, every bit the turista.

San Franciscans are a cosmopolitan people. They also have muscular calves, brought about by taking on the hills that define the city's landscape, day in and day out.

Though camouflaged by my tourist garb and a couple of Pier 39 shopping bags, lurking inside of me was person longing for more. More insight to how the natives really live. I wanted to see what the inside of their houses or apartments looked like. How they buy their groceries. I had a need to know how their commute to work or school differed from mine in Southern California.

On this trip, I decided to focus my anthropological thinking on Chinatown - one of the most densely populated areas in the world. Just over 70,000 people live in 30 square city blocks.

Straying off the beaten path, I hiked past a window showcasing butchered tortoises, sliced up eels and buckets of fresh prawns. As I quickly looked away (butchered anything makes me nauseous) I caught sight of a colorful sign the next block up.

Haircuts: $6. Like most women, I like a good bargain, but I generally don't go that cheap with the hair on my head. But also like most women, I lead a busy life, and while on vacation, I had the time for a much-needed haircut.

Smack in the middle of Chinatown, I allowed myself to be lured into the pleasant-looking salon by a petite woman named Helen. Her hair was chic and polished, so I took a chance.

As my husband and kids continued hiking the street that led to our hotel, I followed Helen to the back of the shop. In addition to multi-tasking my vacation away by trusting a non-English speaking stranger with scissors, I had my ulterior motive.

I settled into the chair and began my choppy communication with Helen, on how I wanted my hair styled. She impressed me. Having only arrived in Chinatown from Shanghai three months before, she had picked up quite a bit of English. She certainly had her "Just a trim; a little off the sides," haircutting vernacular down. We managed to get through without me getting my head shaved.

Helen had moved to San Francisco on a temporary work visa. She lives with her cousins in a third-story apartment about six blocks from the beauty salon. She told me she had been a hair stylist in China, but knew she could make a lot more money in the United States.

I knew she would make a lot more money if she was allowed to charge more than $6 for a haircut. I loved what she did to my hair. I've paid up to 10 times more than what her salon charged with results that were less than satisfying.

I hung around a little longer and talked with Helen and the shop owner about life in Chinatown.

They rarely ventured out of the 30-block area that defined their community. Helen did have plans to visit relatives in San Diego, but for now she was content to live and work in a neighborhood where she could buy groceries, see a movie and shop for clothes all within a few blocks of each other. Her plan was to stay in San Francisco on her work permit for a year. After a visit home to Shanghai, she thought she might request an extension.

I figured it would be too weird to ask if I could follow her home and take a look at the apartment she shared with her cousins, so I left my cultural Q&A to the beauty shop chat. Besides, they might have taken a liking to me and invited me to stay for a meal of butchered duck and slimy eels.

I have nothing on Margaret Mead, but I was happy with myself and my trip to San Francisco. I had woke up that morning in my Southern California suburb and rounded out the day making friends with a hair stylist from the other side of the planet. And a cute haircut.