Valerie Sobel-Twain remembers the exact moment she found her home. In 1994, she’d just returned to the Bay Area after college, stepping into a city that felt both familiar and altered. Her father had recently died, and she was living with her mother, a temporary arrangement she knew couldn’t last. She needed her own space, but back then — largely pre-internet — finding a place meant pounding the pavement, scanning bulletin boards and flipping through binders at rental agencies.
She spent hours sifting through listings in San Francisco before one caught her eye: a rent-controlled three-bedroom apartment in Noe Valley, for $1,250 a month, with annual increases capped at just 1 percent of the cost of living. Her share for a room when she moved was $375 a month.
“It seemed reasonable, so I reached out,” she said. “And as it turned out, my roommates and I already knew each other from Vassar.”
That connection sealed the deal. She moved in, never imagining how deeply intertwined her life would become with that house. Over time, the roommates she’d first moved in with drifted on to new chapters, but to Ms. Sobel-Twain’s surprise, when they left, the landlord put her name on the lease.
“I got locked in — forever,” she said with a laugh.
Now, 30 years, 13 roommates, two husbands (one of whom died at home), and one child later, Ms. Sobel-Twain is still there.
“There’s no reason to leave,” she said. “We can’t afford to rent or buy anything else. But more than that, it’s home.”
Now renting for $2,211 including water and trash, it’s an absolute steal in a neighborhood where a three-bedroom can rent for more than $6,000 and houses can sell for $2 million.
$2,211 | Noe Valley, San Francisco
Valerie Sobel-Twain, 55
Occupation: Nurse practitioner
On the neighborhood’s gentrification: “It’s a bit precious sometimes,” she said, continuing. “It’s impossible to buy here. So it’s a little weird to live in a neighborhood I can’t afford.”
On being a longtime public health employee: “It’s very special to me that I get to live in and be a part of the city I serve at work. So many city employees can’t afford to live in San Francisco and have to commute long distances.”
At 1,200 square feet, the apartment is a long, busy space full of history that she now shares with her 11 year-old child, Miles Twain. Its hallways are lined with art and posters, a mix of relics from her early days and vibrant new additions by Miles. Some corners hold pieces she hasn’t had the heart to take down since 1994; others showcase Miles’s ever-evolving tastes, alongside childhood drawings.
“I’ve lived in every bedroom,” Ms. Sobel-Twain said. “I started with the smallest, then gradually moved up.” But it’s Miles who now lays claim to the biggest — the large front bedroom overlooking the street. It’s filled with bookshelves and art projects, toys and games, a veritable wonderland.
Halfway down the corridor, a bathroom splits in two — the tub and sink on one side of the hall, the toilet in a separate water closet on the other, a quirk of old San Francisco flats. The kitchen, bathed in natural light, is just big enough for a cozy dining nook, but the real heart of the home is the living room. There, a small deck opens to a staggering view of the bay, the morning sun stretching over a huge expanse of the city and across the water.
“My favorite thing is sitting on the deck and doing my homework,” Miles said. “Or just hanging out with my mom in the living room.”
Because the apartment lacks a traditional dining room, meals often happen on the couch, sometimes in front of the TV. Joining them is their pet tortoise, Apollo, who ambles around his habitat.
Still, the apartment has its challenges.
“You can’t make toast and use the microwave at the same time,” Ms. Sobel-Twain said. “Or make coffee and dry your hair. About once a month, we blow out the power.”
The old wiring means limitations, and modern conveniences remain scarce — no dishwasher, no in-unit laundry. Instead, Ms. Sobel-Twain has devised a workaround: a portable washer, a spin dryer, and a smaller dryer tucked into the pantry, a patchwork system that gets the job done. The long hallway, lacking built-in lighting, glows instead with colorful string lights stretching from one end to the other, casting a warm, playful ambience.
But location makes up for any quirks. Restaurants and shops line the sidewalks in Noe Valley and the sloping streets are dotted with greenery and a smattering of parks, including Mission Dolores, one of the city’s most popular, flaunting stunning downtown views.
“It’s a lot of walking uphill, then downhill, then uphill again,” Miles said. (One of San Francisco’s steepest blocks, 22nd Street to Church, is a nearby challenge.)
“Everything we need is walkable,” Ms. Sobel-Twain said. “We’re close to the Mission, to the gay mecca of the Castro.” When Miles was younger, they attended Harvey Milk Civil Rights Academy, just down the hill. Now, they go to a private school, but the neighborhood remains their playground.
After three decades, Ms. Sobel-Twain knows every creak in the floor, every draft in the windows, every stubborn circuit that refuses to handle too many appliances at once. It’s not just a place to live — it’s a place that has lived with her, through every chapter, every loss, every love.
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