San Francisco is a city unlike any other. Somehow, within roughly 49 square miles, it manages to squeeze in an extraordinary mixture of people, cultures, neighborhoods, traditions, food and personalities—along with enough hills to make walking three blocks qualify as a cardiovascular event.

When I moved to San Francisco in 1987, the city drew me in almost immediately. It was not only the Golden Gate Bridge, the Victorian homes or the views across the bay. It was the energy of the place, the diversity of its people and the feeling that something interesting—or occasionally completely strange—was always waiting around the next corner.

San Francisco is a city you experience with all your senses. Summer mornings arrive wrapped in cool fog while the rest of California is baking in the heat. The aroma of freshly roasted coffee drifts through the neighborhoods. Cable car bells ring through the streets, and somewhere beyond the skyline comes the deep, unforgettable sound of a foghorn. You may not always see the bay through the fog, but the foghorn reminds you that it is still out there.

The city’s diversity can be found everywhere—in the languages spoken on the sidewalks, the festivals, the architecture and the distinct personalities of Chinatown, North Beach, the Mission, Japantown, the Castro and Haight-Ashbury. That same cultural mix has made San Francisco one of the great food cities, where dim sum, sourdough bread, handmade pasta, fresh seafood and Mission-style burritos can all reasonably be considered necessary supplies.

My photographs include the traditional landmarks and familiar views, but San Francisco is more than a collection of postcard images. I also remember the moments that tested the city and revealed the character of the people who lived there.

During the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake, the ground shook, buildings were damaged and familiar parts of the Bay Area changed within seconds. Yet what I remember most is how quickly people came together. Neighbors helped neighbors, strangers checked on one another and communities responded with courage and generosity. For a city known for its differences, everyone suddenly seemed to understand that we were all standing—or trying to stand—on the same moving ground.

Then came the devastating Oakland Hills Fire in 1991. Once again, the Bay Area witnessed enormous destruction, but also remarkable compassion. People opened their homes, donated supplies and stepped forward to help those who had lost nearly everything.

The years that followed also brought rebuilding and, in some cases, the welcome removal of a few major eyesores. The earthquake-damaged Embarcadero Freeway eventually came down, reconnecting the city with its waterfront and replacing a wall of concrete with open views, public spaces and a renewed Ferry Building. Sometimes rebuilding means putting something back. Other times it means finally admitting that perhaps it should never have been there in the first place.

San Francisco has always been a city of contrasts: elegant and gritty, peaceful and chaotic, historic and constantly reinventing itself. Victorian homes stand beside modern skyscrapers, quiet gardens hide near crowded streets, and brilliant sunlight can break through the fog just when you have given up hope of seeing it again.

These photographs are my attempt to capture not only the famous landmarks, but also the smaller details, changing neighborhoods and personal memories that made the city special to me. San Francisco drew me in when I arrived in 1987, and despite the earthquakes, fires, fog, hills and near-impossible parking, it has never completely let me go.