Seattle, WA
Good coffee (duh!), flying salmon, and omnipresent clouds
Driving into Washington state, we noticed two things right away: its state highway signs had an outline of George Washington’s head — weird — and the ramps in highways were incredibly short — dangerous. We gave Washington state’s civil engineers 3 stars. At least they had a “Welcome to Washington” sign and lots and lots of trees everywhere, both live and dead.
Our campground in the outer suburbs was privately run, so RVs were packed like sardines, leaving the right side of our van — the side we opened to create an extension of our living space — uncomfortably close to our neighbor’s sewer line. Still, N. was happy because the bathrooms were clean, and a police patrol car was parked nearby. We were clean and safe.
After a few days in the campground, though, we noticed small clues that indicated not everything here was as it seemed. The place was clean and safe, but instead of vacation vibes, there were signs of long-term residency: ginormous propane tanks, two cars and mini storage units on each site. These “campers” were here for the long haul. One morning, we even had the opportunity to greet the driver of the patrol car, who turned out to work for the sheriff’s office of the nearby Sammamish County. Now, why was an officer of the law living in a campground? We hoped it was by choice and not need.
What’s in a name? Just because a place was called an “RV Resort” did not mean everyone there was on vacation.
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Our experience in Portland had made both of us wary of expecting too much of Seattle. Supposedly it was also suffering from the challenges of the homelessness crisis; Seattle was bigger than Portland. Bigger cities — bigger problems?
We drove downtown and chose a lot to which a parking company sent monitors to sweep the place almost every hour to check whether the cars had paid the required fees. We reasoned that the unintended consequence of such greed would be surveillance of the lot that doubled as a security measure. In the touristy downtown area, most of the streets seemed ordinary; we did not notice the presence of the homeless, which in its own way made us then wonder where they were. We did notice, however, the presence of private security guards at the entrance of many stores.
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I would have loved to have been in the room when someone in a marketing department of the city’s development office revealed a brilliant idea: “You know what this city really needs? It needs an above-ground monorail system that will travel back and forth between the business district downtown and the attractions of the Seattle Center. Just think of it! We’ll herd the tourists in that area and they won’t have any trouble using the system, since it will move back-and-forth between only two stops.” That was the only explanation I could come up for the Seattle Monorail (SM).
If a movie scene were being filmed in the SM, it would be very short indeed: James Bond in Skyfall in the SM would have been shot down in the first minute; Wesley Gibson in Wanted would not have lost his father because a falling car in the SM would just hit the ground 30 feet below; Curtis Everett in Snowpiercer would have found the SM too short to allow for different classes of passengers.
We took the SM to the Seattle Center and got tickets for the Space Needle and the Chihuly Garden and Glass.
Quite uncharacteristic of me, but today I skipped all the historical trivia they put along the walls by the entrance to the elevators, mostly, I gather, for people who might be waiting in a long line and needed to be distracted from their second thoughts (“Did I just pay $65.00 for this elevator ride and garden?!?”). What distracted me was the model of the Needle made of Legos in the gift shop.
We got into an elevator with an elevator… what did one call such a person? Elevator Technician? Elevator Crowd Controller? Elevator Button Pusher? The ride up was only 40 seconds — too short for said Elevator Person to share any fun facts, but also too long and awkward for him/her to say nothing. So our EP just mentioned that the ride would be 40 seconds long.
Upon exit, the following was overheard from two guys:
“So, 40 seconds… Was it good for you?”
“Twice as long as it used to be!”
Everyone nowadays is a stand-up comedian.
Views of the city: buildings, water, other attractions of the Seattle Center (“See, we put the other attractions right there, and when the tourists look down from the Needle, their curiosity will be piqued when they glimpse them from above. Brilliant!”)
Also overheard from people pointing to the steel bars that served as security grates outside the glass enclosures:
“Wow, they changed it… When I was young, it was chicken wire!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I was horrified!”
Two floors down, an old revolving restaurant had lost its use — as seen by an abandoned bar and a few leftover tables and chairs — and now, with the additions of clear, see-through floors, served as a way to challenge people afraid of heights. One could see people falling into two distinct categories: those who nonchalantly stepped into the clear floor, enjoying the sense of being suspended in the air, and those who tip-toed around the edges and squeezed their eyes shut.
***
N. and I enjoyed the Chihuly Garden and Glass tremendously.
I can only imagine the skills for that level of glass manipulation, but the combination of that craftsmanship with the artistry on display — the brilliant colors, the intricate shapes, the purposeful visions — was simply beautiful. It was hard to choose what we enjoyed more — the pieces inside, or the ones outside in the garden that, juxtaposed with natural elements, elevated both nature and human creativity.
Sadly, one maddening, teeth-grinding irritation that detracted from the artwork was the presence of a woman who walked from exhibit to exhibit with her phone playing some sort of guided description of the pieces — absolutely nothing wrong with that — in the speaker mode at max volume — absolutely everything wrong with that. I would never begrudge someone trying to learn more in any museum exhibit, but was she so engrossed in the descriptions that she just did not realize how she might disturb others? Or did she just not care? Grind-grind-grind.
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As first time visitors to the city, it was impossible to avoid Pike Place Market; it was made out to be such an integral part of Seattle. Many other visitors had gotten the same message: that’s how must-see places become self-fulfilling prophecies.
First stop: a hole-in-the-wall famous for chowder. Obviously all of us tourists were looking at the same recommendations because, although the back alleys of the market included many empty and closed restaurants, this place had a line out the door. We had a shockingly overpriced lobster roll and a bowl of chowder. Having filled our veins with a vast amounts of cholesterol from shellfish and cream-based soup, we decided we had to add sugar to the mix and stop by a bakery for coffee and kouign amman.
The mother of all lines snaked around the block, and when I asked one patient soul what he was waiting for, he responded it was the line for the original Starbucks store. There was, of course, another Starbucks just around the corner.
Back at the market, we did catch (haha!) one seafood stall attracting attention by throwing a poor salmon around; supposedly it’s a Pike Place thing. A sign above their stall mentioned that they could package fish for airplane transport to stay fresh for 48 hours. If I were buying salmon to ship home, I would insist on clapping my eyes on the fish until the box was picked up by UPS, to make sure it wasn’t that poor flying salmon.
Beyond the main entrance level, the market extended to several back alleys, into different floors. We found quirky shops selling old vinyl records, positively ancient collectible Life magazines, giant Texas-sized donuts, T-shirts that glowed in the dark.
N. had a snack of raw oysters, and later he fulfilled his goal for Seattle by eating a whole steamed Dungeness crab. At this rate of seafood consumption, we would be able to swim with the fishes, which would be helpful since neither of us knows how.
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We had a typical Seattle day — gray, cloudy and drizzly — so we just stayed in. Translation: we stayed cramped inside the van with all our stuff, including our bikes, and got some work done.
The highlight of the day was provided by a conversation I could not help overhear during dinner at a sushi restaurant, by a voluble couple at the next table:
“You know, I was at a Zoom call today and I swear I saw a guy eat his bugger. I was staring at this guy on my screen; he was really digging around in there. Then I saw him look at his finger and slowly put it in his mouth. I said to myself, ‘Did that really happen?!?’”
Later, this same guy got the bill and yelped, “Holy Moly! Wow, do you want to know how much that was? You sure?” Then he mouthed the number.
I could make out the amount. Holy Moly!
But in fairness to the restaurant, they ate about triple the amount of food that N. and I had.
***
Why was only San Francisco famous for its hills? People in Seattle should make a stink about it and claim some of that infamy to themselves. We were driving through some steep neighborhood hills that required lower gears. It wasn’t until we arrived at Kerry Park that we realized that hills were the price one paid for panoramic views of the Seattle skyline.
There it was — the Space Needle, the high-rises, the super cranes along with the waters of the bay and the green hills on the background. (Unfortunately clouds were covering Mount Rainier.) Most people stopped only long enough to snap a couple of pictures and went on their way. I felt bad for the neighbors in the vicinity who had to endure the never-ending traffic, but that must be the price they have to pay to live with such a view.
We spent the rest of the afternoon on our bikes on the Alki Trail, which looked out on Elliott Bay and, for reasons that now escape me, ended the day with dinner at a Japanese noodle restaurant in the university district that was dive-y enough to appear at a Diners, Dive-in, and Dives episode — without the good food.
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After visiting friends who lived in the area, we took our bikes for a spin around Seward Park.
On the map, the park was just a little thumb of green jutting out into Lake Washington. It was a late sunny — for once! — Sunday afternoon, so lots of people were picnicking, gathering with friends and family, walking their dogs.
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According to informational placards posted, the Hiram M. Chittenden’s Ballard Locks connected fresh water and salt water between Lake Union and Shilshole Bay: depending on the tide, the water level could differ by as much as 16 feet. We arrived in the locks just as a couple of small fishing boats were making their way out. There were seals playing in the water along with a lot of marine birds making lots of noises. Nearby was also the Salmon Education Center, where in late summer one could see salmon swimming upstream (so no salmon to greet us today). Despite claims made in the website for “Seattle Icon and Top 5 Tourist Attraction!” we would say that the world would not end if you just visited the Top 4.
On our last night in Seattle, we went again to Kerry Park where, besides the view, we were treated to a behind-the-scenes look at an Influencer at work. Using the Seattle skyline as a background, a performer — long hair, mustache, and flannel shirt tied to the waist— was enthusiastically playing air guitar and lip-synching; there was no music, so I assumed it would be added later in editing. This elaborate production included a videographer, lighting technician and assistant; it took several takes to get it just right. I thought it curious to see a grown man doing something in public that I associated with kids doing in secret to imitate their musical heroes.
One last Seattle thought: it seems very appropriate that most of the pictures N. took in this city included an inordinate amount of clouds.
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