Independent Seattle

My plane arrived late to Seattle. I had missed my chance to take public transportation to my hotel, but I was too tired to worry about it. I took a cab to the Moore. What it lacked in class it made up in interesting carpet, but I wouldn't find that out until the next day when I used the stairs. My room had a view, if a bay off in the distance and the buildings that once made up the factory district can be considered such. I slipped quickly into a Northwestern slumber. I woke up early, strapped my camera and some snacks into my hip pack and ventured into Seattle. I only had a few places in mind to visit and I knew I'd get to them eventually. For now, I was just walking. I walked along with morning traffic for a while before noticing a park. I walked up hill through the park and then just kept going up. After about an hour of walking without direction, I seemed to hit the crest of the hill in the Queen Anne neighborhood. As I walked by a joint called The 5 Spot, I saw their sign, "It's all down hill from here." It seemed like a fine place for breakfast, so I ate there and enjoyed chorizo in my omelet. The waiter seemed troubled when I didn't order coffee, but he soldiered on.

Breakfast had been a fine destination, but I still had little direction. After wandering through more of the Queen Anne area, I spotted the Space Needle down the hill. I'd already decided that I didn't need to go up in the Space Needle, but I did want to go by it and visit the nearby EMP. The Experience Music Project (and Jimi Hendrix museum) captured my attention when I heard about its opening in 2000. It obviously wasn't the highest of my priorities, but I did intend to make a stop. I pointed my walking shoes toward the needle and descended. I arrived at EMP, next to the Needle, just in time for the doors to open. I bought a ticket and got to experiencing music. The Hendrix exhibit lacked the volume of Graceland, though I suppose Hendrix may have lacked the impact of Presley, but it still provided a lot of interesting guitars, garb, and facts that I'd previously been unaware of. Hendrix was the face, but the music experience was this museum's calling card. I got to bang on drums. I got to play the guitar with lights pointing me to the correct fingering. I even got to play a few riffs of famous rock songs on the keyboard. This was all very cool, but it did make me want someone to turn to to say, "Hey, check this out!" or to watch them (preferably a them with actual musical talent) rock out as well. Still, I experienced it and then I headed off for a lesson in the growth of grunge.

The EMP is connected to the Science Fiction Museum. I'd never heard of the Science Fiction museum, but I decided to check it out. The nerd in me wasn't that impressed. The museum lacked something. Or maybe I was just annoyed that a little girl pushed me out of the way so that she could continue her adoring commentary of an ET doll.

From science and music, I made my way to fish and markets. I stopped in for some tasty schwarma before tackling Pike Place Market. The market was everything that I expected it to be. Maybe I watched The Real World: Seattle too closely. I looked around. I took a few pictures. I tried to figure out if I could catch some fish and then I walked on.

I made my way up to the Pioneer square area where I discovered a really nice bookstore. The Elliott Bay Book Company was welcoming and I spent an hour browsing and picked up two books on sale. I took my books to a nearby park where I read and rested and considered my dinner options. I decided to return to the bookstore and hear Mishna Wolffe read from her book I'm Down. The book is about having a father who acts like he is black. It's a memoir and Mishna was quite white. During the question and answer portion of the reading someone asked about where her father was and what he thought of the book. Mishna pointed to the corner of the room and said, "He's over there and I think he's proud of me." There was an electricity in the air as the whole room shifted their attention. The African American woman in the corner was quick to point out that she was not the woman in the stories that we'd heard.

I found a Mexican restaurant for dinner and enjoyed enchiladas by Seattle sunset. I returned to the Moore about 13.5 hours after I'd left that morning and headed to bed satisfied with my walking tour of Seattle.

The next day my wandering style proved less fruitful. I'd picked out the Fremont area as my goal. I went for a run hoping I might stumble on the area, but lost my way. I checked out of the hotel, referred to my map, and again pointed toward Fremont. With my big blue backpack weighing me down, I ignored the buses and continued my trek toward Fremont. It was to be a land of hippies. I was compelled to visit. I walked through several neighborhoods and up and around a rolling hill. After an hour or more of walking, I finally arrived in Fremont. Nervous about the train I had to catch, I only had time to glimpse a commercialized Fremont, grab a bite from Whole Foods, and catch the bus back into town.

Amtrak was my ride to Portland. It was a 3.5 hour train ride through some good-looking and green Northwestern countryside. More on Portland with Jeff- coming soon.