Category: Travel Diaries

Along Seattle Waterfront

I was on the train from Portland to Seattle. While swishing past SeaTac, the sky outside my window looked gloomy and dark. According to forecasts, the rains would make a stop in Seattle as well. Shuddering within myself, I looked up the current temperature, and gulped several times as I realised I might not be able to handle 11 degrees. It would be the first time I visited an unfamiliar city and would have to find my own way to my host’s place. And I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of having to do all that and shivering in the cold at the same time.

By the time the train halted at the Kings Cross station in Seattle, the temperature had risen to 13 degrees, which was still cold for me. Wondering what to do, I left the train, and making sure to get some photographs of the wonderful Amtrak Cascades, walked into the warmth of the station. Despite being indoors, the cold stung at my skin, and as I pulled my sweater closer to myself, my insides squirmed in cold and hunger. Swallowing hard, and wishing I didn’t have to do it, I plunged myself outside the great doors, onto the street. The chilly breeze slapped my face, and the mild sun was far from comforting.

Downtown Seattle 1

It was around 12:30 in the afternoon, and my host wouldn’t expect me until 5:00 pm. Besides, I reasoned, my host lived so far away from Downtown Seattle that I didn’t want to come back into town the next day. So I decided to set my discomfort aside and experience what I’d arrived in Seattle for. The last thing I wanted was to stay in the same place feeling miserable and cold. I may as well have a look around while at it, I concluded. With my map for visual guidance and my host’s directions for assurance, I  followed the route to Alascan Way, the road along the sea line.

As soon as I entered the bustling streets, I understood what made Seattle so romantic to visitors. Not only was the city full of towering buildings, it also teemed with excited life. During the three weeks I’d stayed in Pleasanton, although I saw a lot of high-rise buildings, I almost saw no excitement on the streets. People went about their daily business, smiling and welcoming but it was nothing more than respectful behaviour. San Francisco, on the other hand, had been overwhelming with so full of people and so much energy.

Downtown Seattle 2

Seattle, however, was a delicate balance between the two. It was a pleasant experience walking along the footpath, turning my head this way and that, eager to catch everything within my visual range and cautious of missing nothing. Within ten minutes on the street, I grew accustomed to the weather. The cold no longer bothered me, and the breeze felt easy on my face. Surprised myself, I pulled my hands from within my pockets and I didn’t even feel like ice shards were stabbing me. I smiled. Perhaps this wouldn’t be such a bad day, after all. And sure enough, I soon realised that almost everyone on the streets of Seattle wore light jackets and sweaters—I fitted right in with the locals.

Seattle waterfront 3

Getting on the Alaskan way, I found my way to the waterfront. The moment I stepped onto the path, I saw the ocean in front of me and a host of excitement a little further. A range of restaurants, delis, shops, and people hung around the area. It was as I if I’d entered a massive, yet horizontal, carnival space. Large wooden buildings hoarded rental boats, offering ferry rides, sightseeing tours, and assuring personal guides. I stepped onto a ledge-like structure that extended into sea. Standing on the ledge, I looked around and saw boats setting out into the sea, pelicans taking off, birds soaring in the distance, and the sea, a calm and glittering sheen under a mere sun.

Continuing down the path, the gigantic Ferris wheel of Seattle came into my view. Although a national monument by itself, the Great Wheel is far less recognised than the iconic Space Needle. I hadn’t realised how magnificent it was until I saw the wheel right in front of me. I’d always imagined the Needle as the only extraordinary piece of architecture in Seattle. Oh, how glad I am to be wrong about that. I didn’t get too close to the wheel, but from where I stood, it held my attention long enough for me to preach myself never again to judge anything or anyone too soon.

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The entire path—the Waterfront Park—was a tourist magnet. So many people stood around, taking photos, gawking at the sea, and dropping jaws at the sights. Regardless of the tourists, I never felt, even for a moment, uncomfortable or distressed. There was so much space for all of us that we could be our own stupid touristy self without disturbing the next tourist. Coming from an over-populated country and city, I enjoyed being a part of the waterfront atmosphere, going with the flow, and being just another person on the street.

Seattle waterfront 1

When I’d seen all that I had to see at the Waterfront Park, the path turned right. And when I looked to my right, I saw a flight of stairs leading to the a place I’d been looking forward to: The Pike Place Market.

Seattle was just beginning to thrill me.

With death comes calm

Rediscovering the greatest moments of my visit to the US, I came upon this week’s photo challenge: serene. Not only was my entire trip a soul-satisfying experience, but it was also full of positive energy that revitalised me from within. Every day that I set out to explore the city on my own, I found calm all around me. Although it was an official trip, my weekend getaways were worthy of a holiday.

This photo was at the National AIDS Memorial Grove inside the Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. This grove sat hidden in plain sight, a tribute to all lives lost aid-less, because of AIDS. As soon as I entered, an aura of serene beauty and supreme sadness engulfed me. I couldn’t identify the reason or the source, but seeing the memorial, the flowers, and the words of love left me overwhelmed.

National AIDS Memorial Grove, Golden Gate Park

Going away

How long does it take to fall in love? For me it took less than a day to fall in love with Portland, and about 30 minutes to miss being in Portland.

After a wonderful last day in the city, I woke up early to catch a train that would take me away from Portland until I return—if I return. Excited though I was to disembark in Seattle later that day, as I walked from my bus stop to the Union Station, I felt myself reflecting the gloom in the air. Just as I headed towards the looming building, raindrops began to fall, and Portland flaunted its typical self to me—one last time.

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Mild warmth hit me inside the station. It was a chilly morning, and as I hugged my sweater a little closer to myself, my instinct swung around for coffee. What I saw, instead, was a newsstand full of brochures and “Welcome to Portland” kits. Looking at all the tourist information I’d missed during my visit, I moved closer looking at each brochure. Although I hate standard tourism and typical sightseeing, some of the guide maps interested me. At that moment I realised I hadn’t spent enough time in Portland. Part of me was happy to leave wanting more because, that way, I’d cherish what I did experience. But the other part of me—the part that my heart rules—yearned for me to stay back.

Union Station, news stand

I couldn’t, for Seattle, with its rich reputation and sea line, awaited my presence.

Turning away from the newsstand, I saw what I’d been looking for in the first place. A small shop inside the station run by an Asian couple. Grabbing a cup of their strongest coffee, I sat on a bench. I’d arrived an hour early. About ten other people were in the station at that time, and as the clock overhead ticked on, more drifted in, most of whom walked straight towards coffee. Almost all had eyes for none but their phones, but some of them clustered, discussing their Seattle itineraries. A general hum filled the air around me as stories mingled with fresh brews and the swishing of someone turning over a newspaper. Everyone minded their own business, focussing on their own lives and their own Facebook feeds. When they caught the eye of another person, however, they spread a warm smile. It was the last scene of the city I saw, and it only proved what I’d already learnt about Portland: no matter who you are, where you’re from, or how you present yourself, you’re welcome with assurance of respect and safety.

Union Station 3

As the station master checked our boarding passes, and let us board the train, new thrill spread through my veins. I had booked on Amtrak Cascades, the national railway service of Washington and Oregon. I rekindled my love for a train travel as I approached the gigantic stretch of coaches facing me. Perhaps it’s because I was a foreigner, but everything about the train to me seemed quaint and well-thought of. The little stools at every door of every coach was a simple empathetic gesture towards people who’d need additional effort to climb.

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When I found my seat, I was ecstatic. Not only did I have a place by the window, but I also had the one next to me, as well as the ones in front of me for myself. For someone accustomed to travelling in full-booked trains back at home, those vacant seats felt like a throne. It was as if I deserved all the space around me.

Union Station 2

Relaxing in my seat, I took one last look at the city that had given me the true taste of freedom. As the train pulled out of the station, and the mountains and the valleys flew past me, I knew I’d chosen a great place for my first solo trip.

 

Hello vegan

I stayed four days in Portland, seeing stunning scenery and meeting wonderful people. By the end of it all, I’d fallen in love with the city, wishing I could stay longer. Although part of my interest is due to the vibe of the city, another, much important aspect of the city was the food. I’d heard Portland is famous for its breweries, but I had to choose between getting high on beer and getting high on nature—and I picked nature every single time.

Despite not drinking or eating out much, I did sample Portland’s vegan food spots. Although it piqued my curiosity, veganism was always out of my reach. Not only was veganism still new to me when I visited Portland, but being vegan where I come from is expensive bordering on ridiculousness. Dairy alternatives are rare in my hometown so every time you buy a bottle of almond milk, you get eye rolls as if you’re pretentious and narcissistic.

Coming from such a judgemental background, Portland’s food scene seemed drastic and open to me. On my first day, I tried vegan nachos at a place called Blossoming Lotus. Not much of a fan of fried foods, I’d never had regular nachos before. Having thrown all uneasiness out of the window, I returned to my host’s house clutching a takeout container of nacho dip and a bag full of vegan crackers. Brown and sesame coated, the crackers had a mild sweet crunch between my teeth. The moment I took the first bite, I knew there was no putting it down. It wasn’t anything over the top fancy—it was, instead, a simple mix of all things that satiated my palate. Unsure of what to expect, I opened the dip container and found within, the ingredients layer upon layer, for me to devour. On the top sliced avocados nested beneath a layer of cilantro, beside a slice of lemon. Smiling to myself, I tossed a slice of avocado into my mouth and squeezed the lemon onto the dip. It was the perfect combination of cracker and dip. It started to rain outside, and I sat on the bed snuggled under a blanket, enjoying my first taste of vegan while shivering a little from the unfamiliar cold.

Blossoming Lotus 2
Not my order, but it was so beautiful I had to take a picture.

I’d tried vegan biscuits once before in Pondicherry, but those nachos were my first real vegan meal. For once, I hadn’t shelled out a fortune for such a wholesome meal—as I would’ve at home—and that made me visit the same restaurant twice again.

blossoming-lotus.jpg
The giant snickredoodle.

The second time, however, I chose desert over main course. I bought a snickerdoodle cookie, not sure what snickerdoodle even meant. I was more interested to find out how cookies without butter or milk would taste. My first shock was cultural. I hadn’t expected the cookie to be bigger than my palm, or thicker. As I unwrapped the plastic that clung to the cookie’s cinnamon sugar coating, I gulped at its appearance. Warming it up in the microwave, I wondered if I’d finish it at all. I did. The third time, they’d run out of oatmeal raisin cookies, and offered me a chocolate chip cookie instead. Oh, well, I thought back at home as I prodded the centre of the cookie to see if it had warmed up well enough, who could say no to chocolate?

Again, I thought I’d eat little by little, saving it up and savouring it. But as I took a tiny bite, I knew there was no wrapping up and leaving it for later.

Papa G's
Hot and tangy: sriracha and tempeh

On the last day, my friend recommended Papa G’s. There I had my first taste of tempeh. I’d never heard of it before, and had no idea how it would taste or how my digestive system would react to it. Without thinking, I ordered a tempeh sandwich—just because that’s my friend’s favourite. When I asked the restauranteur about tempeh preparation, “it’s a vegetarian protein, pressed like a patty,” he told me before I handed him my card. That day, for the first time in my life, I made a bold choice based on someone else’s word, and it turned out the best meal I’d ever had. The sandwich was so large, and so filling that I spent a good forty-five minutes munching on it. With every bite took, the favour of fermented soy seeped through my teeth and I enjoyed pairing it with sriracha sauce. As I sat outside the restaurant, a chilly breeze grazing my face and the bright rays of sunshine spreading warmth on my arms, the heat from the sauce and the tanginess from the sandwich coupled to fulfil my afternoon. I heaved a great sigh walking out of the restaurant, happy and quenched yet craving more.

Ah, impressive Portland.

Transformation is art

This week’s Photo Challenge is about transformation. Like most people, when I first heard that word, I thought of withering leaves and how nature changes. But then I remembered change happens even in unnatural instances.

While at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, I saw creatives from artists all over the world. Each piece on display is a testament to its artist. One particular exhibit, however, was a testament to another person.

Barack Obama became one the world’s favourite politicians during his presidency. And sure enough, the most most of us would’ve seen of Obama is from our living rooms as we lounged on our couches. Or from reading the newspapers. This artist combined the two in a marvellous piece of art, transforming a simple couch into a timeline trophy of the once-president. This couch is covered with newspaper articles about Barack Obama during his eight years as president of the United States of America. Now that’s art worthy of a jaw drop.

Transformation is art - SFMOMA