Off the Beaten Track
Sandy Barker's Travel BlogArchive for Seattle
So long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu
I have just had another brilliant Christmas. I truly love Christmas. I love the cookies,the music, and being with family and friends. Oh, and I LOVE presents. Having spent the last two Christmases in colder climes, I was thrilled to be able to have a true blue dinky di Aussie Christmas – well, our version of it anyway.
The abridged day is:
Christmas Stockings, big presents, champagne brekkie of prawns, smoked salmon and fruit salad, Christmas ham for a late lunch, and much wine. We also fit in a game of backyard Boules, Trivial Pursuit and some more wine.
Aunty Linda’s first stocking
My stocking stuffers
Dad and Gail opening presents
Brekkie
Yum!
More food
Backyard Boules
That was all a couple of days ago, and we haven’t slowed down – oh no! How much fun, laughter, food and drink can one person handle? It was lovely, and made even moreso by phone calls to loved ones, and the arrival of more loved ones on Boxing Day. It was a brilliant Christmas, and it also was a wonderful send off.
My next grand adventure FINALLY begins in a couple of days. I said a sad goodbye to my family today, and drove the four and a half hours north to Perth, where I sit and write this. Tomorrow I fly to Sydney for a last night with my Sydney family, and then on Monday I fly to the U.S.
These past months have been a rollercoaster ride, with every little triumph and setback seeming monumental. I have cried – with sadness and joy – and laughed often – once so hard I made no sound. I have used up my quota of swear words for 2009 and probably 2010. I have packed, unpacked, and re-packed bags, boxes, and more bags. I have lugged heavy things up and down stairs, and have given away or sold half of my ‘stuff’. I have traversed the continent and the cities. I have been on the go for what seems like forever.
When I was on the south coast of Western Australia for Christmas, I got a glimpse of what ‘at peace’ feels like. I was able to be still for many consecutive days, and to just ‘be’. It felt amazing. I am now looking forward to more of that feeling. I know that it will come when I unpack my bags and boxes, and when I settle into a lovely apartment with the man I love, and embrace my future. I feel nothing but awe and excitement when I think of the possibilities. Now that the visa is approved, the flight is booked, and the boxes are in Seattle…Now that the car is sold, and I have said my good byes, I can look ahead and feel ‘at peace’.
I will miss my family and friends – you all know that. But I will be back. Ben promises, and so do I.
On the home(less) stretch
I have spent more time on hold listening to Muzac in the past days, than in the past months combined. This is because I am having to inform everyone official – from my dentist to the phone company – that I am of ‘no fixed address’. I now have something more in common with the homeless many of Seattle than a love of coffee. Not only do I not have an address, I too am relying on the kindness of others in the following weeks.
Currently I am living with friends, Shaz and Aido (the Aussie forms of their Irish monikers Sharon and Aidan), who recently bought a big house with room enough for a wayward friend. At first it was a little surreal waking up in one of their spare rooms, as it is filled with my furniture, given to them on permanent loan while I am in the U.S. So, my room, but not my room.
The furniture situation, thankfully, suits Shaz and Aido, because they are frequently descended upon by travelling Irish folk – friends and family alike. It suits me, as I love the blanket box my Dad made me when I was 21(although as a side note, he referred to it as my ‘hope chest’ – or rather, my ‘hope I get married chest’ – remember when girls had those?), and I will get to have it back when / if Ben and I move back to Sydney. I haven’t really thought beyond that, but I suppose if plans develop and we stay stateside or move to Europe, I could send for it, packed tightly with my priceless memorabilia and photos.
Which brings me to my ‘Where the heck is my stuff?’ list. This is a list of the locations of items kind friends are storing for me. Some things are on permanent loan (that whole returning to live in Sydney thing), and I am happy for friends to use them. Some things are tucked away in attics, sheds, and garages, labelled ‘Sandy’s stuff’.
Stuff deemed ‘takeable’ is sitting on a dock in Sydney waiting to be loaded on a ship that leaves for Seattle via California in about a week. Packing these boxes was like constructing a three dimensional jigsaw puzzle. I spent two weeks creating a giant pile of stuff in the middle of my living room, and there it sat tormenting me, until a friend came over and said, “C’mon, let’s pack this stuff.” So we did.
I constructed my jigsaw puzzles, while Patrice wrote down what went into each box. She didn’t even raise an eyebrow when I called out, “Box three, hiking boots with egg cups.” She has moved internationally, you see, and like me she knows that the inside of a boot is a good place to put something small and breakable.
So, the stuff has pretty much dispersed: given away, sold, farmed out, and packed. At the moment, I have two suitcases full of clothes, a stack of paperwork yet to deal with, and a few personal items. Oh, and a car. A big, red shiny car, that needs to be sold in the next four weeks. I am keeping positive on that front, as it is in good nick and looks brilliant post detail and polish.
Next week I move again. After the nuptials of Yasmin on Scott this coming weekend, they take off for 6 weeks in south-east Asia on their Honeymoon, and I begin my stint of house/cat sitting. Storm is a Russian Blue and only likes three people – Yasmin and Scott of course, and me. It will be nice to have a cat around, as I do still miss Jessie.
After four weeks with Storm, I jet off to WA (Western Australia) for Christmas with my family, and then on the 29th jet off to the other WA (Washington State) for New Year’s Eve with Ben. As I tick things off my many ‘to do’ lists, it is all sinking in, and I am getting very excited.
Ben told me that the other night he went up on the roof – there is a deck and outdoor furniture up there – and looked at Puget Sound under the stars. In about six weeks, I will be able to that with him. Yes, not homeless for much longer.
Block head
My brain is starting to work in a whole new way; I think I am actually accessing brain cells that have been hibernating for the past 39 years. I am now calculating distances by blocks.
Formerly, I used minutes, as in “It’s about 10 to 12 minutes away,” or kilometres, “Oh, about 5 k’s from here.” But in Seattle it is all about the blocks, because Seattle is on a grid pattern. Ben’s apartment, soon to be my home too, is on West Republican (even though I am not one).
From here, it is 3 blocks to the supermarket, 4 blocks to the post office and a cinema, 4 blocks to the gym (other direction), and 6 blocks to our favourite Asian restaurant and the expensive supermarket with the great wine selection.
Blocks do convert to time and distance though, because 12 blocks is approximately one mile, but of course I work in kilometres, so as I walk these blocks I start doing the conversions in my head. “6 blocks is half a mile and a mile is 1.6 k’s, so 6 blocks is .8 k’s and subsequently, 8 to 10 minutes away – at a steady walking pace.” Ben’s work is about 14 blocks away, so 2 k’s and a good 20 minute walk. Got that?
Last night after work, Ben walked further into the city to buy something, and because he is not well, I offered to pick him up (granted, in his car). This is where the whole block thing gets really useful. Driving in Seattle is easy. Downtown is rampant with one-way streets, but unlike Sydney and Perth and even Vancouver, every other street goes the opposite way. In Sydney, if you need to get to somewhere, you may need to drive 8 or 10 blocks out of your way and then cut back. I call that ‘being stuck in one-way hell’. Here, the most you have to overshoot is one block. Max. Now, that’s thinking.
I use blocks for running too. 6 blocks from here, on Queen Anne Avenue, is the steepest hill I have seen since San Francisco. And it is 14 blocks from the flat to the top. 2 kilometres! Oh, yes, that is a punishing hill. I walked it the other day – then ran it – in chunks – a few blocks at a time. Doubtful if I will ever run the whole thing all at once. I am not THAT much of a blockhead.
Third Date
I have been very candid about my month-long love affair with Seattle dating back to January of this year. We had a rocky start, though. It was a Seattle rain storm that took from me a favourite hat and an umbrella, but we soon made up and I embarked on a whirlwind romance with the city. I loved its restaurants and vistas, its culture and its people. I was smitten.
We had a brief fling in April – 6 days of five-star luxury while Ben attended a conference. We flirted, Seattle and I. I dressed pretty, I let the sunny days kiss my nose, and we drank each other in. Brief, yet passionate.
Now I am back, and this visit is a little like a third date. Now I know I am moving here, Seattle is starting to let its guard down, and I am seeing sides of it I haven’t seen before. Some are delicious, like the nooks and crannies of the Pike Place markets, where Ben and I bought aromatic oils and spices the other day, and some a little too revealing this early into our relationship.
I went for a run yesterday, and waited patiently for the pedestrian signal to change from red to green. The roads are wide thoroughfares – 6 lanes – so this took a while. I didn’t mind. It was a sunny day and I was in Seattle, working out new running routes for when I move here. I eventually crossed and started running at a warm-up pace. I got about two blocks before signs indicated that the ‘sidewalk’ (I read American) was closed and I would have to cross to the other side. SIGH. I hit the signal button, then waited, and waited, and waited. The light did inevitably turn green, and a couple dozen cars waited impatiently – or patiently – I couldn’t really tell as I jogged across the street. Of course, now I was back on the wrong side. And I was in ‘Butt-crack America’.
This is my affectionate term for those parts of the states – here in Seattle, or anywhere – that do not exactly show the country off at its best. That stretch of road, just three blocks from home, with its cracked pavements and warehouses, its homeless wanderers and youthful loiterers, is almost certainly the butt-crack of Seattle. I kept looking ahead to see where the pedestrian bridge Ben had promised was.
Like a beacon in the distance it stood proud and beautifully constructed, unaware that it was in the midst of decay and mess. I hit my third little round button of the day, and waited, and waited, and waited. “Oh, come the F@*k on!” I was losing patience. So far my run had consisted of two sprints and a lot of waiting. FINALLY the light turned. I headed up and over the bridge which traverses the railroad tracks, and started my ‘run proper’.
It is hard to marry the waterfront parkland with the street parallel, because they couldn’t be more different. On the other side of the bridge are tracks for pedestrians and cyclists, lush green grass, and park benches. On clear days you can see across Puget Sound to the Olympic mountain range in the west. The frightfully large seagulls of the northwest, duck and weave along the shoreline, and fishermen lazily dangle their lines in the water.
Once I actually started running along the waterfront, my tetchiness eased and I hit my rhythm. The air was salty and clean, and the sun hot on my shoulders. I glanced at the scattered few who were lying on the grass and soaking up the late-season sun. They had the distinctive look of ‘locals’ – comfortable enough in their environs to casually lounge around in public. I wondered when I will start to feel like that, but this being only my third date with Seattle, that is a little way off yet.
I hit a natural ‘turn-around’ point, and started running back towards the footbridge. I had already decided to overshoot it and find another way home. I knew that if I kept running and passed the apartment, I would get to another crossover closer to downtown.
Running back towards the city lends a spectacular view. The skyline has its distinctive icons, but there is so much I have yet to explore I wandered with my eyes, taking in as much as possible. I am starting to place myself within this city. I am learning street names, shortcuts and landmarks.
Just before the crossover to the other side of the tracks, there is an outdoor sculpture gallery. It is a favourite spot in Seattle, because it is a junction of sorts. The waterfront, downtown and our neighbourhood converge there. It is 5 minutes from the apartment, 5 minutes from Ben’s work, and right on the waterfront, where cafes and storefronts jut out over the water. Oh, and the sculptures are kind of cool too.
Not long afterwards, I made it back to the apartment with the sense of satisfaction I have after a long run, but also with something else. I am getting to know this city, much in the same way I got to know Sydney when I first moved there and discovered its many delights and frustrations.
At the moment I straddle two cities. I curse the Sydney traffic as I crawl along each afternoon, and think about living in a city where traffic is much lighter, and ostensibly we will likely live without a car. However, I know I will miss the coastal walk between Coogee and Bondi beaches, because there are few views in the world more beautiful. I will enjoy living in a city where there are literally 100 restaurants serving the cuisines of the world, but am mindful that the minor frustrations will reveal themselves soon enough.
No place is perfect to live in, but there is always more to learn about, more to appreciate and more to love. I think I am ready to ‘go all the way’ with Seattle.
P.S. Check out Ben’s FLICKR page for some more recent shots, including views from our roof.
Do what you love
I have a few mantras that I bandy about, depending on my mood, the situation, or how I am being affected by the constellations. One mantra, which forewarns everyone to ‘get out of my way’, is ‘People Suck’. I do not indulge in this mantra too often, because it is a little negative, and tends to alienate even my most loyal friends.
Another mantra, one I have mentioned here, is ‘Traveler, traveler, traveler’ which reminds me to have a positive mindset and to see people, places and situations with untainted eyes. It is, I suppose, the anti-thesis of ‘People Suck’ because it elicits empathy and patience.
But the one mantra that guides my current path with a firm hand, is ‘Do what you love’. I mentioned this here a little while back, when I was talking to a group of students about their choices for the future, and I had another taste of it the other night.
My senior students were showcasing the work they did for their external exams in Drama. We collated their monologues and short plays into a showcase for family and friends, and they performed under lights and on the stage, the way theatre is meant to be. At the end of the night, they offered some thank yous to staff and students who had helped them this year, and then my seniors acknowledged me. I walked up to accept their gift of flowers, and I started to say a few words, but some of those words caught in my throat. “These are your girls, and I know you must be proud of them, but they’re my girls too, and I love them and will miss them…” and it about here that my voice broke and I finished my thoughts through tears.
As many times as I say, “I have to get out of teaching,” I am really only ever referring to the mountainous piles of paperwork, politics and pandering that comes along with it. The stuff that happens in the actual room, the interaction with these young minds and spirits, I love that. It is just a shame that the profession comes with so much negative accoutrement, because the JOB, well that is something special. I do love to teach, and maybe I will be a teacher when I move to Seattle. Maybe I will find some other way of ‘teaching’, and working with young people. They are, after all, extraordinary. It has been my great pleasure and privilege to teach many of the students who graced my classroom in the past 14 years.
As I pack for my next trip to the city I will soon call ‘home’, I am more mindful than ever of this mantra. I will need to find work there in January, and I am starting the ground work for that next week. I know that it is a big move, and I am not sure what sort of work will be available, but the move is about ‘doing what I love’. And right now, that is being in the same city as Ben. A great job will follow…
Spring has sprung
Today is the first day of spring. And in Sydney, spring is my favourite time of the year.
Dark mornings of drizzle give way to pink and orange sunrises, and the midday sky turns a vibrant blue. The air smells fresh, like grandma’s house when she throws open the windows and gives it a good airing. And in spring, I forget about all those winter afternoons I arrived home after dark to a cold house.
I fell in love with Sydney in spring. I had come here for the Olympics. I was a volunteer, so spent several weeks dressed in daggy chinos and a hideous, over-sized polo shirt with bright yellow sleeves. Nevertheless, it was easy to forget how ridiculous I looked in my white straw hat and bright blue bum bag, because the city of Sydney put on a bloody good show.
Each day was perfect. 28 (82) degrees, a light breeze and the aforementioned blue skies. Every day! It was as though the organisers had placed their order for optimum weather, and nature had delivered.
I was utterly seduced by Sydney in the spring of 2000.
I flew back to Perth post-Olympics and announced to anyone who cared (and some who didn’t) that I was moving to Sydney. Three months later, I lived here. I arrived on the 30th of December, because I liked the symbolism of seeing in the new year in my new city.
But here in my new city, in the middle of summer, reality bit – hard! Gone were the blue skies, and the gentle breezes. Gone were days of 28 perfect degrees, and in their place were the brooding, heavy skies of the Sydney summer. I had been duped.
You see in my hometown, Perth, summers are my favourite time of the year. The days are hot, yes, but the skies are clear, and the heat is dry. I love summer in Perth, but when I tasted spring in Sydney, and expected more of the same only hotter, I was being naive.
No, the summers in Sydney are grey-skied and humid. Sticky, hot days are threatened by low-hanging thunder clouds. And just when the air gets so dense you can feel it pushing down on you, it pours: fat, hot drops of angry rain that make the streets steam and the air smell like grease.
And indulge me for a moment while I mention my hair. A Sydney summer is the natural enemy of naturally curly hair. Mine grows so big in a Sydney summer, it needs its own postcode. Honestly, if I had wanted to live in the tropics, I would have moved to Queensland.
So, how do I cope with this abomination of summer?
I leave.
Ever since that first summer, I have actively avoided being in Sydney from late December to the start of February, which is fortuitous, because that is when school breaks for summer holidays. I cannot really see my principal being sympathetic to tales of woe about my afro. “But I simply cannot stay. You see, it is summer, and I cannot deal with that many bad hair days in a row.”
Summer is no fun when you look like Donna Summer.
I have spent many of those summers back in Perth. Ahhh, Perth. Perth is where summer was born, raised, and will never die. The beaches are powdery white, and the surfers deeply tanned. The air is briny, and the sky is so brilliantly blue, it is almost iridescent.
Stunning!
So, why has a girl so in love with summer agreed to live in Seattle? Isn’t Seattle the home of, well, rain? And isn’t rain the opposite of summer? Ah, yes, these are all valid questions. But you see, Seattle hides a secret. I does not actually rain there nine months of the year as often reported. It is more like eight months, but those other four…sigh…are beautiful.
See?
So, when I move there in late December (that whole ‘new year – new city’ thing), I will take my umbrellas (plural, ’cause you never know when one will be sucked into traffic by a gust of wind), and I will look forward to the Seattle summer of ’09. I am promised blue skies, gentle breezes, and about 28 degrees. Sound familiar?
Mexican Jumping Beans
I am not a huge Willie Nelson fan, but I do subscribe to his sentiment, because like Willie I can’t wait to get on the road again. It is time. I have ants in my pants, itchy feet and can’t sit still. Were I six and were my mother here, she would wonder aloud if I had swallowed Mexican jumping beans.
This happens to me when I am close to travelling again. It is eleven more sleeps, which means I am in final preparation mode.
The past couple of months have been about the planning. Ben and I have been online and on the phone, swapping ideas, websites and our latest toy, customised Google maps. We read up and revise, and discuss and decide. It is a fun process, and one that lends itself to building anticipation.
We will both fly into Los Angeles where I have friends, and where we will stay for a couple of nights (a short stay, but we will be back). We then fly to San Francisco, where neither of us has been, and where both of us are excited to go for the first time. I bought us a tiny guidebook, but really, we are governed by the ‘laws of first-timers’. We are staying near Fisherman’s Wharf, where we will eat sourdough bread and seafood; we will ride a tram up an impossibly steep street; we will see the Golden Gate Bridge and visit Alcatraz.
Importantly, Ben and I have promised each other that while we are following these obvious tourist tracks, we will be travellers. We will find wonder and fresh perspectives in our touristy endeavours. It will be our mantra: ‘travellers, travellers, travellers’.
From San Francisco, we hit the road. We pick up a hire car and will continue north to Seattle where Ben is due for work, taking five days to get there. We have some varied stops planned, the first of which is The Napa Valley. Oh, Napa – the scenery, the wine, the Chintz!
In seeking out a Bed and Breakfast close enough to several wineries, but somewhat off the main strip, we viewed more shots of Chintzy bedrooms that I ever care to again. Some rooms are even named after the Chintz: The Pink Rose Blossom Room, The Room with Two Many Pillows (Ben: “Where do we sleep?”), and The “Oh my, Grandma’s Sewing Box Threw Up’ Room. Resigned to the fact that Chintz is a given no matter what, we decided on the place with a spa tub and gourmet waffles.
After being spoiled in The Napa Valley, we will rough it in a Northern Californian coastal town, replete with Redwood Forest. Yes, we go from wine tasting to woodland trekking, a challenge for even the most experienced packer. From there, ever north into Oregon, a state I will get to add to my ‘I’ve been there’ list.
I have friends from Oregon. They all extol Oregon’s beauty as its greatest virtue. To honour that, we will drive the coast for as long as possible, and then head inland up to Portland. At this stage all I know about Portland is that I should shop there, as Oregon has no state sales tax (and Washington State has one of the highest in the U.S.). I will be as true to my wallet as time allows, for we are due in Seattle the next day.
Ben has work there Monday to Thursday and then we will be able to explore further a field for a couple of days. For me, four days alone in a favourite city is a gift, and then of course, we can head out to the wonderful array of Seattle’s restaurants in the evenings.
We fly out of Seattle on a Saturday, giving us that night in LA, where I have been promised we will Par-Tay. My LA friends are in the know, which is important when in a city of that size. LA visitors without a ‘local guide’ can suffer from ‘Disney-itis’. This is a condition whereby they think they have been to LA, because they stayed in Anaheim and went to Disneyland. Disneyland is not LA. LA is a vast and energetic city with much to see and do that does not include a giant mouse and mass merchandising.
So, eleven more sleeps. At this stage I write lists: To do, To buy, To pack, To take on the plane. I am a list-maker in everyday life, but when in travel mode, they are even more crucial. They keep me sane, grounded. And for a girl who swallowed a handful of Mexican jumping beans and can’t sit still, some kind of tether is necessary to keep my feet on the ground – for the next eleven days anyway.
“On the road again, I just can’t wait to get on the road again…”
Seattle Wind-up
So, now that I am back home in Sydney, I have a confession about my time in Seattle: I never went up the Space Needle. And we stayed right near it. Less than a 7-minute walk from it. In fact, it was my beacon when I navigated Seattle. I just headed towards it, because I knew I lived pretty much right underneath. But I never went up. A bit of a visitor’s faux pas, I know, but I do tend to get more from less expected adventures.
To be fair, I was told – by everyone – not to bother if it was raining. And, well, it rained most of the time I was there. The sun did come out my last full day in Seattle, and Ben and I were walking right past the Space Needle at the time, but by then I was kind of over it. Next time. Maybe.
Another confession – just a little one. I nearly hated Seattle. Well, I did hate it, for about 30 minutes on my third day there. I was meeting Ben at his office at the end of day. It was a one mile walk, so about 15-20 minutes. We were going out to dinner from there, so I was dressed nicely, and had bothered with my hair and make-up. As it does in Seattle – at least half of the time – it was drizzling when I left the apartment. No problem. I had my new compact umbrella. After I put up the umbrella, it really started to rain. I pushed on, head down, umbrella shielding me from the incoming weather front.
I was about half way to Ben’s office, when I turned a corner and a huge gust of wind lifted my hat from my head and blew it into traffic. My muffled cry of, “No!!!” was drowned out by the wind and the traffic, just as a car ran over my hat. My new, very cute, ‘I got two compliments on this hat today’ hat. Bugger! Just as I had resigned myself that my hat was gone forever, another gust of wind turned my umbrella inside out, then scooped it up, and blew it into traffic. It was hit by a truck. I did not scream, “No!”, rather various swears for which I deserved to have my mouth washed out. Bugger! At this point I had no protection from the wind and rain, and was quickly saturating.
I ducked into the nearest building, where a very nice woman showed me the appropriate level of sympathy about my hat and umbrella that had been murdered by the wind and the traffic, and about how it was summer in Sydney and NOT freezing cold and miserable, and about how I was wet through and was supposed to go for dinner. I knew I sounded like lunatic, but perhaps she just thought, “Oh, she’s an O-ssie.” Americans do tend to find us endearingly quirky.
I called a cab. If I waited for it, it would arrive in 40 minutes. I called Ben. He got a cab in minutes and rescued me. He too showed me the appropriate sympathy for someone having endured such trauma. His understanding – and the understanding of the nice woman in the warm building – calmed me. I started to dry out in the warmth of the cab, and by the time we got to where we were going, the storm had subsided. As we walked towards the restaurant, I decided that my argument with Seattle should be put behind me, and we should make up. I wanted to give this city another chance for me to love it, and in the end I did.
Cool stuff I did do in Seattle:
- Bill Speidel’s Underground Tour from Pioneer Square. So, the short story is that Seattle was once at sea level – or slightly below – which meant the city was flooded twice a day when the tide came in. The founding father’s put into action a plan to raise the city, a feat they accomplished in only 30 years! Much of the original city still exists – at basement level – under the newer city, and for only $14 guides will take you to the underground world of Seattle. These guides not only possess the keys to the city, they know lots of brilliant stories and historical stuff, so it is an interesting way to spend two hours.
http://www.undergroundtour.com/
- The Seattle Children’s Theatre. By day I am an unassuming Drama teacher, so discovering the Charlotte Martin Theatre at the Seattle Centre (a collection of arts buildings, museums and performance arenas surrounding the Space Needle) was an unexpected treat. This is where the Seattle Children’s Theatre is based. I emailed them, and one kind lady let me come and meet her. She talked me through the work they do, showed me around the facilities – “Wow!” – and invited me to watch their current production, The Never-ending Story. The organisation produces high-quality children’s theatre with professional adult actors, as well as running a diverse learning program for children ages 3 to 18. Perhaps one day they will be in desperate need for an Aussie girl with vast experience and copious enthusiasm.
- Experience Music Project. Also at the Seattle Centre is this an incredibly cool music museum. Frank O. Gehry designed the building, which is a futuristic exploration of form and colour. It reminded me of the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles. And with good reason: Gehry designed that too. Inside is a mini concert hall and on the day we visited an 8-piece Jazz band was playing – part of the 2008 Jazz Festival. The strains of their music filled the giant structure and we could hear them playing intermittently throughout our visit.
The centrepiece of the museum is a 30-foot tall sculpture made entirely of guitars – all types of guitars – forming a giant funnel – like a musical tornado sweeping through the lobby. That is remarkable enough, until you realise that some of the guitars are actually playing. If you put on the headphones at the base of the sculpture, you can hear the music being created by automated guitars suspended above your head. Other exhibits include a rock memorabilia journey through Seattle’s modern music history. I was thrown back to university days, and many a night groaning along with Eddie Vedder and Kurt Cobain, but the roots of Seattle’s music scene are in underground jazz from early in the 20th century, much of it actually taking place in Seattle’s Underground labyrinth. My experience of Seattle’s history came full circle.
http://www.empsfm.org/index.asp
- Uptown Espresso. I finally found a place that made brilliant coffee. On my last day in Seattle, Ben and I went in search of pancakes. Rather, we wanted a big cooked breakfast, with no thoughts given to calories or healthy eating. We did a net search, which wasn’t particularly helpful, and I was starting to get grumpy for lack of food. We decided to just head out into our ‘hood, Queen Anne. After some fruitless meandering, we happened upon an old-style diner, called Mecca Cafe. It smelled like bacon and maple syrup, so we made our way in, our eyes adjusting to the darkened room. We took a booth with red vinyl seats, and pondered the extensive menu. Exactly what we were looking for and we had nearly missed it.
When the waitress came, with a pot of brewed coffee, and I asked about espresso, she directed me across the street, saying we could bring the coffees in to have with our breakfast. She then poured Ben a cup of diner coffee. He could have stood his spoon up in it. I offered to make the dash across the street to Uptown Espresso. I had walked past it a few times on my way back from the grocery store, each time promising myself to give it a shot when I didn’t have hands full of shopping bags. I had never made it back, until this moment. On entry, the warm and inviting smell of smooth coffee hit me like a physical force. I ordered, my latte no foam, and a soy latte for Ben. I watched the barrista make it with care and skill. I was almost in tears. I ran back across the street with both in hand, waiting to share my first taste with Ben. “I think we’re going to love this,” I said as I sat. We both tasted, we both smiled, and Ben said, “Oh yeah.” We drank in silence. The food arrived – waffles, pancakes, eggs, bacon. It was all great. We ate with gusto. Perfect. We then spent the rest of the day in the city, walking, shopping, exploring and burning off breakfast.
http://www.uptownespresso.net/home.html
I also never went to the flagship Starbucks store, but I did walk past it several times, and I did stop to take a picture. Next time. Maybe.
Seattle Surprises
Seattle Surprises
In Seattle, the seagulls are freakishly huge, the homeless call me ‘Ma’am’, and the sunsets are incredible.
I have taken to buying something extra when I go to Safeway, which is the neighbourhood grocery store. There is always a homeless man standing outside, asking for change – and it is never the same one. I have grown tired of avoiding their eyes, because, quite honestly, I don’t like ignoring a human being who has spoken directly to me, but I do not want to give money to every homeless person I see either. In Seattle, it is an unfortunate thing to say, they are everywhere I go. More so than any other city I have spent time in, and they are unfailingly polite, “Excuse me, Ma’am, could I please have some change for some chowder. I love chowder.” Today I met this man’s gaze and said, “I have bananas I can give you.” He smiled, “I love bananas too. Thank you,” he said as he tucked them into his coat.
I had bought the bananas with this interaction in mind. There was no homeless man standing outside Safeway when I went in, but as I had figured, he was there when I came out. I just didn’t want to be empty handed. I will have to go back to the store tomorrow for bananas, but they don’t mean the difference to me between eating tonight and not. And I am mindful that the cold, although quite a bit colder here than I am used to in Sydney, disappears when I walk through the doors of our centrally heated apartment. I just feel particularly fortunate here, and like I can do a little thing for someone. I had been warned about the number of homeless here by a friend who recalled it as a stand out feature of the city. I just forgot about it, until I arrived and was confronted with it daily. What am I supposed to do? The etiquette escapes me, as I do not encounter the homeless on a daily basis back home.
Fortunately, Seattle has much more to offer than the sad faces of cold and hungry men and women, although, it is not outstanding coffee, but I have already covered that.
The seagulls here freak me out a bit. They are huge, and strangely compelling in their hugeness. I naively asked a local, “What type of birds are these?” She smiled at me rather oddly, and simply said, “Seagulls.” Okay, so when I say that they are huge, I mean it; the wing span of some is over a metre. I think that qualifies as ‘huge’. If one of these gulls was diving for my chips as I sat on the beach, I would recoil in horror, go indoors, abandoning said chips without a second thought.
We were quite mesmerised by these Uber-gulls in flight the other day. Ben (my boyfriend who is currently working in Seattle while I am a lady of leisure) and I hopped a ferry out to Bainbridge Island last Sunday. It was one of those rare winter’s days when the sky is brilliant blue and although the air is crisp with cold, you still want to get out in it. So we did. The ferry ride revealed much about Puget Sound on which Seattle is situated. With great appreciation we got our first glimpses of the Olympic Mountain Range, which lies west of Seattle. It is beautiful. I could use more clever superlatives, but it is a rocky, snow-capped mountain range, and when seen across the water, ‘beautiful’ is the perfect description.
To the south is Mount Rainier, which on Sunday was not quite clear, but silhouetted against the milky blue of the southerly sky. It stands alone, about 70 miles from Seattle, and is a northwest Mecca for climbers. Once out on the sound, we looked back at Seattle and saw what is not wholly evident from being in Seattle looking out at the sound; it really is a spectacular-looking city.
The skyline reflects the diversity of a multi-cultural city built on the back of rough, 150-year old industries, like logging and mining. The architecture is eclectic, with Art Deco-style buildings sitting beside strikingly modern circular and angled buildings. The restored dockside buildings are another contrast, fringing the city with colour and bustle. With the Cascade Mountain Range in the background, and the still waters of the sound (the deepest natural harbour in the world), Seattle is simply, a stunning city.
Our attention was called skywards as we watched the giant seagulls soaring above the ferry, effortlessly, and keeping pace as though they were tethered to it. They flew in a formation more reminiscent of Top Gun fighter pilots than geese flying south. And once in a while, one would peel away from the formation, gliding past us, as though a surfer catching a great wave. A gentle flap or two of the wings and the same gull would be over our heads again at the front of the ferry. This whole dance was mesmerising, and we realised we were watching the sky for a good portion of the trip. I took some video footage that barely captures how ‘cool’ they looked. And that is the best way to describe them – just super cool.
Bainbridge Island is a pretty spot. It is the closest of many islands that populate the sound. And I got the sense that it is populated by people who know full well that they live somewhere special. Lots of beautiful wooden homes out on the point looking out over Puget Sound back to Seattle. They are a 25 minute commute to downtown Seattle, yet they live in relative tranquillity and amongst the pine trees. If the town seemed lovely, but just a tad ‘smug’, well then I supposed there is good reason.
We wandered up from the ferry, a little adventure really, because we knew nothing about the island beyond how to get there. Within two minutes we came across a wine store. It came to our attention because of the sign that said ‘wine tasting’ and ‘open’, which registered with our great love of wine, and our even greater love of tasting new wines from an unknown region – for free. We were the only ones in there when we entered, immediately we were engaged in an interesting conversation with a guy in his mid-thirties, who admittedly got into the wine business because of ‘alcohol’. He and his father had been consuming it in great quantities when dad mentioned that the wine store down the road was for sale, and they should buy it. And so they did.
He was knowledgeable, if not a little arrogant, but perhaps that was the whole ‘I live on this pretty island’ thing. He talked to us about wines in the immediate regions – Washington and Oregon. I was fairly naïve about how good these wines were before I came here and tried them first-hand, but have been impressed with many, particularly the reds. I have also enjoyed the fact that, like Australians, these north-westerners, really know and love their wines. Even the corner stores here have a decent selection, and there is a large gourmet grocery store a few blocks from here (the apartment) that has a huge and varied collection. We browsed there the other day for a long while and left with three bottles. Now we just have to drink it – and the bottle of red that we bought from the unusual man in the wine store.
The rest of the day on Bainbridge unfolded pleasantly. The wine man sent us to Café Nola for lunch, which was a popular pick. We waited about 10 minutes for a table, but arrived at the right time, because a dozen people followed us in and sat watching us eat, willing us to finish quickly. While we waited for our food, we watched the servings leave the kitchen and make their way to other tables: huge!! I was glad we had ordered fairly light, although the pancakes and bacon looked amazing. I am a little in love with American pancakes, and even more so, their waffles. NO OTHER COUNTRY IN THE WORLD DOES PANCAKES AND WAFFLES LIKE THE AMERICANS. There, how is that for a bold statement? It is true though, although that day we had salmon sandwiches. I have consumed my body weight in salmon here. It is so fresh and affordable, compared to back home.
We strolled back down the main street via those little shops where you look but rarely buy – ‘lots of shiny things’ says Ben. Our last stop was the wine shop where we picked up the bottle Ben had eyed earlier and then we were back on the ferry, a little tired from our big day out. The cab ride to the apartment from the ferry revealed what I had guessed: the sun setting beyond Seattle on a sunny day is absolutely heart-stopping. It falls behind the Olympic Mountains, which stand resolute in a grey silhouette while the tendrils of red and orange mingle with wispy clouds. Nice.
So, how much good food, good wine, breath-taking views and good company can two people take? Not much, because at the end of our mini-adventure we were pretty much shattered, and had a quiet Sunday night in with a simple salad, oh and a bottle of wine.
