(First sent: 3rd August 2009)
Good morning my good sirs,
It feels like a very short time ago that I was last writing about the nightmare that was the airport and transfers. All they needed was an elderly farmhand ready with the bolt gun at the other end to really complete my bovine experience but, alas, they didn’t think of that, so I struggle manfully on through another week.
This week I am coming to you from a train that will take me to San Francisco after a very enjoyable few days in Seattle; the land of Hendrix, Pearl Jam and Starbucks. So, at least two decent things from Seattle then.
After the political bear pit that is DC, it was nice to get out to a hostel that was away from the town centre. Usually, a hostel that is a 20 minute bus ride away from downtown would have me wailing expletives and stamping my feet like a two year old with a wasp sting, but this week I have had a big slice of chill cake, for two main reasons:
Firstly, it has been the hottest week in the entire recorded history of Seattle. That’s right, I sit at the vanguard of history, watching as the locals’ skin drips from their skeletons, children melt and are abandoned at the roadside and park benches spontaneously ignite, prompting scenes not seen since the final scene of the Wicker Man. Seriously, they are less used to it than we are. Even the taco place closed down and those guys are frickin’ Mexicans. Ay ay ay.
Secondly, the hot weather prompted me to hoist the Jolly Roger, pack my pieces o’ eight, obtain rum and battle scurvy (sponsored by McDonald’s) and get onto the water. Yes indeed, I singlehandedly commandeered (rented) a stout sea vessel (small canoe) and set sail for Port of Spain (otherwise known as cocking about on Lake Washington).
Like most of my adventures, they start with me thinking something aloud. I casually mentioned at breakfast that I fancied getting out on the water and within fifteen minutes I was on the back of a scooter heading for the lake. Although ‘on the back of a scooter heading for the lake’ sounds like some kind of prison slang, it actually means that a nice person offered to give me a ride to the dockside (once again, that is not a euphemism. Wash your mind out, pervert) and make sure I was ‘all set’.
On arrival, I was a little anxious to be on my own and renting a vessel to take out onto (fairly) open water. I mean, it’s not exactly a common thing for me to be doing, living as I do, bloody miles away from nice waters and at least a continent away from nice weather. It’s absolutely nothing to do with the time I went sailing with dad when I was about six and ending up crying like a little girl because we capsized and I was cold, or the time I fell into the canal on a longboat holiday and was savaged by a murderous trout, or the time I was molested by Captain Bird’s Eye. Those icy cold fingers… That feathered back… Those talons… actually that might have been a dream.
Despite these concerns, I was determined not to appear like a baffled tourist in front of the rental guy, so to compensate I began to chat with him like I was a pretty experienced water type dude and not the complete moron-u-like that I actually am.
“Any kayaks for rental?”
“Not today sir, just a canoe”
“Hmm, I’ve got some Kayak experience, do you think I’d be able to handle a canoe on my own” (4 lessons when I was 16 on the Avon. Not exactly Hawaii five o)
“Sure, you’ll be fine”
“Yeah, I thought I could handle it”
So feeling supercool, off I popped with my life jacket and oar, ready to show them how it’s done. Not sure I looked quite so cool about thirty seconds later as the rental guy watched me attempt to drag the canoe into the water, looking like a spider carrying logs, then nearly following the damn thing in. This was followed by my impression of Bambi on ice as I tried to find the balance necessary to get in the thing. However, I’m positive he was impressed to see me sail away, sitting at the wrong end, paddling in the general direction of a large speedboat that was aiming for about Mach 3. It looked like someone threw a windmill into the water. The best a man can get, that’s for sure.
Once all that was sorted out (trying to move to the right end of the canoe was interesting. Like watching Gulliver trying to skateboard through Lilliput. I really need to check my inner ear because I think I’m borderline ‘special’) it was probably the best day of the trip so far. The beautiful skyline was a bit dampened by the natural wonders of ‘football stadium’ and ‘highway’, but once out onto the lake all that gave way to a massive expanse of green and the mountains surrounding Seattle.
All I had to worry about was the wake from passing motorboats, dickheads on jet skis and subnormal mermen in expensive kayaks who become part man, part machine, all cock, doing barrel rolls and generally getting in my face. At one point a family of ducks started following me, which was cute at first and then unsettling as I realized these were downtown ducks and probably packing a blade, or trying to get me hooked on crack. Or at least trying to grab my wallet and relieve me of my large bills (parp).
In other news, Seattle itself is not so much a city as an area of land cut into by inlets of water that separate the zones. This means that there is no centralized train system to link all the areas together which is different from every city I’ve been to so far. It’s a bit off putting at first because it feels odd getting the buses, but, they were fine and pretty reliable.
Usual quota of crazies, but after the first one notices your accent and then follows it up with “have you got anywhere to stay?” a firm yes and a blank forward stare do the trick. Actually I’ve stopped noticing the crazies, but in Seattle at eight thirty in the morning, the fog is still set in and downtown has a definite ‘night of the living dead’ vibe about it. Like the thriller video with more convincing zombies.
Other than that, because I’ve been out of town and near the beach, it’s been a relaxing time enjoying excellent locally caught seafood, walking vast distances for basic amenities and swimming in the sea.
Here’s this weeks’ chart:
1. Watched the fishmongers in Pike Place Market throw large bass around to impress slack jawed tourists, rather than actually selling any fish. The real business is done when the catch comes in, so the rest of the day they try to put on a show. Good lads.
2. Visited the ‘worlds’ largest shoe’ museum. The thrills never start.
3. Got infuriated with the little blue lines on Word. I thought those green ones were irritating but Bill Gates has really done it this time.
4. Ate a lovely pulled pork sandwich from a bus shaped like a pig.
5. Watched Home Alone and In Bruges, which was an interesting double bill to say the least. One is a dispiriting black comedy tale about the folly of the criminal life set against a slightly farcical background in a foreign and bizarre country. The other is In Bruges. (Parp)
6. Listened to Hendrix, saw his guitars, looked at his favorite jacket, read from his diary and private lyric book and was still secretly more excited to see Bert and Ernie in the Jim Henson exhibit.
7. Smelt like teen spirit. Or poo.
8. Had a beer on the beach and watched the sunset. It was as good as it sounds.
9. Took white salmon for dinner which is apparently only available a couple of weeks a year. It was very good indeed, so well worth the cull.
10. Saw a quite tremendous mullet. I’m well getting me one of those bad boys.
11. Bought a book from a store downtown and had a long conversation with the girl behind the counter who claimed to know a lot about movies, only to find she’d never seen Ghostbusters. That must be some sort of hate crime against herself. I’m going to notify the Hague. Obviously, I punched her square in the face, kicked her in the guts and ran from the store in terror.
12. Ate Vietnamese soup called Pho, which comes with extra ingredient s to add at your leisure or to suit your taste. I however missed the fact that it also came with a free custard pastry for desert (which looked surprisingly like a dumpling) and so I… I think you can guess.
Right now, I’m enjoying the landscape on the train heading to San Francisco, where I’ll be spending the next few days at any kind of disco. In fact, I’m likely to stay on in SF a bit longer, because I’m hoping this will be one of the highlights. Alcatraz. Golden Gate Bridge. Squirrels leaving the gas on. It’s all there.
Take care everyone. Mind the trams.
Byeloveyoubye. xx
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