The city of San Francisco, didn’t have a great first impression on me. But it did do better the more I looked around. Within hours I had gone from feeling alienated to feeling elated. One of the many things that surprised me was that the city was built on a hill. It seems trivial in hindsight, but when I discovered it ascending a steep slope, it was as if the city was challenging me—a challenge I was eager to take on.
My first day in Southwest Seattle, I woke up shivering. It was cold and the last thing my tired feet wanted to do was venture out on its own. But I’d never felt more excited to do that exact thing.
Rain, though forecast, wasn’t in the picture. That boost my morale just enough for me to get dressed and follow the map to the nearest coffee shop. Since I’d already gulped down a mugful of my host’s fresh brewed coffee, I picked up a ginger molasses cookie from the cafe to nibble on during my ride to Alki beach.
When I got off the bus at Alki, it was about 10 am. The sun streamed through silver-lined clouds and I—feeling warm and idiotic—removed the heavy woollen jacket my host had lent me. Walking towards the beach, I paused face-to-face with the Statue of Liberty. Although my general knowledge told me the sight belonged a five-hour flight away, my eyes had me doubting my mind. When I approached the statue, however, things came into better focus.
The miniature Statue of Liberty in Alki beach is one of 200 across the nation. Back in 1950, according to the inscription on the statue, the Boy Scouts of America celebrated its 40th anniversary with a campaign called Strengthen the Arm of Liberty. They made replicas of the statue in New York, erecting them in 200 cities across the US including in California and Oregon—two states I’d visited before Washington and yet had no idea about this piece of history.
Although the inscription didn’t admit it, it was obvious that these stamped copper statues aren’t perfect replicas. Regardless of its minor flaws, however, the statue stood tall and proud, welcoming proud natives, sceptic perfectionists, and awestruck tourists alike. I lingered by the statue, musing on the magnitude of its significance. A local significance that’s diminished because of the iconic Space Needle. Folks touring downtown Seattle would seldom consider travelling over 45 minutes to stop by Alki. I wouldn’t have, I realised, if I’d found accommodation in the heart of the city. As I walked down to the beach, breathing in the fresh scent of the ocean, I felt thankful that my host lived in the South West where people’s hearts were as wide as the streets.
The vast ocean opened up in front of me, a calm blue spreading its serenity within me. Not a being was in sight, except for tiny ducks frolicking along the shore. Below my feet pebbles personifying perfection and imperfection scattered about raising a crescendo in the wake of my footsteps. Inhaling the freedom that a vacant beach offered, I walked along the shore, looking far and beyond, admiring the pointy Needle, and smiling at the only other person on the beach who crouched looking for pebbles. Feeling nostalgic myself, I stooped and grabbed a few pebbles. As I gathered them in my hand, I felt an immense sense of importance. It was as if I tried to capture a part of my trip to take home to my parents. As though I tried to solidify an intangible experience, in a feeble attempt at preserving it forever. How often we do that, I wonder now. Unsatisfied with the moment we’re in, we all try to monumentalise something that we should, instead, internalise.
Not thinking about all of that, however, I choose four unique looking pebbles to travel back with me to India. Stowing them away in my backpack, I continued along, my head to the right, towards the sea. Its surface remained pure and undeterred as a ship or two sailed on, casting a mild grey smoke and a great wild impression. At the end of the beach, I knew, was the Alki Point lighthouse. Marking it as my destination, I walked on savouring my every step on the pebble-laden shore. After about 20-30 minutes my view on the left changed from the open street to mansions and palaces. Huge beach houses towered with no sign of habitation. It surprised me that people would build houses in such close proximity to the ocean, and I started wondering how the salty soil supported such structures. Buried in my own thoughts, I continued straight ahead stepping over seaweed and sea shells.
As I approached the end of the beach, the top of the lighthouse came into view. Seeing it, I felt let down. I’d imagined the lighthouse as a towering cone, higher than any other building in the vicinity. What I saw, instead, was a tiny peak peeking a little above the rest of the houses around it. Confused, I reached the end, only to realise that the shore ended with a fence on my left and rocks in front. I had no choice but either to turn back or climb over into—it was clear—private property. Curiosity replaced my excitement. From where I stood, there was a large wall fence around the lighthouse, an obvious attempt to keep visitors away. Turning away, I walked back to where the line of houses began. That’s when I noticed them: multiple notice boards marking the area as a private beach. Where the street ended to my left, the public beach also ended. From that point forward, leading up to the lighthouse was private property that I’d trespassed on. Laughing at my absent-mindedness, I recalled I’d seen the backside of houses with paddle boats and ocean gear. I’d thought they were touring businesses or local guides.
Getting onto the road, I entered the residential street. Now on my right were the entrances to the houses I’d seen from the beach. As understanding dawned on me, I sped up hoping to see the entrance of the lighthouse, too. When I approached the tower, though, I saw a large bolted gate with a massive sign on it. Moving closer, I read the notice.
The Alki Point Lighthouse belonged to the US Department of Homeland Security, and the lighthouse quarters is now the residence of the 13th District Commander, also the senior Coast Guard Officer.
To douse my already sinking emotions, another informed that tours had closed for the season. The lighthouse was now someone’s home, and I’d be wrong to disturb the family while they enjoyed breakfast in peace.
Looking at the sign, I felt so upset. Once a national monument, a tourist attraction, is now out-of-bounds. The lighthouse that once served as the beacon for every ship gone astray, as the pride of the local population, as the treasure that made Alki so special, was now an abandoned tower in the middle of a home. It made me wonder how inevitable change is in our lives. Although we try to cling onto fleeting time, it goes by and what remains is often old stones and faded memories.
With that, I turned away. I hadn’t seen the last of Alki.
Vacancies with on-the-job training:
for the self-starters
the go getters
dreamers and doers.
Theoretical certification necessary.
She cruised along the highway, a yellow streak shining through the chilly wintry mist. As I waited at the curb for a cab, she soared, teasing my emotions. A mild breeze swept up in her wake, caressing my cheek as I gaped after her. I watched transfixed as she turned, and past me in one swift motion. I yearned to face her. I pined for her to halt so I could examine her. I craved to stroke her hood, to run my fingers along her curves, to sing her elegance.
Speeding up, the yellow beetle vanished out of sight. Pity.
I had been in the US for almost a month before visiting Seattle. Although I had acclimatised myself with the ways of the first world, the ways of King County still took me my surprise. From the moment I stepped out of the train, and during my long walk along the waterfront, everything I saw still felt new and fascinating. There was something different about Seattle, something I couldn’t discern. As I walked down the streets, the city by itself felt more grand and more elite than Portland or Pleasanton had ever felt.
By the time I exited Pike Place Market, my awe at Seattle had only bounded manifold. Even in hindsight, it’s tough to point out one thing about the city that emitted such a romantic glow. Even the smallest things like an engraved staircase amazed me. What a nice way of teaching aliens about the various aliases for the city, I mused. Messy staircases don’t excite me, but Seattle’s did. And it’s for that exact reason that I explored further.
With my fingers wrapped around a gingersnap cookie — my first taste at a gingersnap (wow!) — I walked towards one of the greatest attractions of Downtown Seattle: The Space Needle. According to my friend although Seattle is the same size as Portland, it appears much larger in life. I realised the reality of that statement at my first glimpse of the Needle, from far away.
With my map leading me through the many walkways of the city, I stopped often to gaze at the architectural marvels that make the city what it is. Ancient buildings stood aside newer glass structures. Cranes craned overhead while men were at work, and pedestrians at walk. People followed traffic lights, and vehicles halted for me to cross. An inaudible hum hung above scattering vibes of calm all around. I heard no honking and no screeching, and yet saw so many vehicles. No one yelled at each other, because no one got in each other’s ways or nerves. It wasn’t the most silent of streets, but it was one of the most peaceful. There seemed no reason to rush, no bus to catch, and nothing to miss at the nick of time. All that was so surprising because Seattle is one of the most happening cities in the Pacific Northwest. Multinational corporates are galore in Seattle. Tensions can get high and consequences may come by, and yet the street I was walking on reflected none of that.
The closer I got to the Needle, the more of it I could see. As any other tourist, the sight of the iconic structure brought a massive smile on my lips and had me reaching for my phone.
All around me people went about their day as any other day. Taking their eyes of their phone long enough to cross the road, fixing appointments over phone calls, grabbing a coffee at the local Starbucks, settling on a bench and flipping the front page of the newspaper, sneaking a glance at their watch while waiting for the signal to change… No one seemed to be as thrilled as I at the sight the sliver of the building. It was, for them, nothing more than another building.
Amazing how something so valuable to me is negligible for those accustomed to seeing it every day. I couldn’t digest that they couldn’t appreciate the Space Needle, so unlike the rest of the world. Perhaps if I’d lived in Seattle for years altogether, I’d become like them, too. Perhaps it’s the same where I am. Although I don’t notice the subtleties that make my hometown worth visiting, someone stopping by for the first time would sing praises. And I’d walk by without a second glance.
By the time my wonderings aligned with my wandering feet at the Seattle Center, I’d arrived right underneath the Space Needle. Looking up, I couldn’t help but appreciate human intelligence. It didn’t last long, though. By the time I came face-to-face with it, it seemed like any other building. To me, every building in the city was magnificent and larger than any else I’d seen. So was the Space Needle. Besides, I realised, much of the tower’s beauty radiates after dark when it’s illuminated.
The Seattle Center, the home of the Space Needle, had much more to see. Aside from the Needle, the Center also hosted the Seattle Stadium, the Chihuly Garden and Glass, Museum of Pop Culture, Pacific Science Center, the Mural Amphitheatre, Seattle’s Children’s Museum, and plenty of gardens and shops. Even though the Space Needle trumps the rest of the cultural and architectural monuments in the Center, the Museum of Pop Culture stood out to me more than anything else. Not only was it too large for my range of vision, but the building’s shape itself challenges every rule in the book. From the outside, it embodied the sense of rebellion that echoes with pop culture. Thinking of Michael Jackson, for instance, brings his non-conforming style of performance to mind. His story is legendary, making way from ordinary to extraordinary by defying customs and set ways. It was the same defiance that the museum stood for.
Humouring myself I walked on. For the most part of my trip, I was discovering things in real time—visiting and seeing things without researching them beforehand. It’s only now, in hindsight, that I look for the stories behind the places I’ve been to. And so without a clue about what I’d find inside, I walked inside a large building that said Armory. I’d assumed I was going to experience a world of high-grade weaponry and machinery. I saw, instead, rows upon rows of food stalls and restaurants. About 25 stalls ranging from names I’d never heard of to the world-renowned Starbucks had business in the Armory.
Disappointed, I left the Armory and arrived on the other side of the Space Needle where the most excitement was afoot. Children, parents, and grandparents alike queued up for tickets to a ride up the Needle. Long before I’d arrived in Seattle, I’d decided not to do that one thing every tourist did. Not that I harboured a fear of heights, but don’t understand the hoopla around spending money on petty things. Moving along, I felt my lack of understanding grow stronger as I looked around the Space Needle gift shop. Businesses make mementoes of all that makes Seattle, Seattle and charge ridiculous prices.
Smiling to myself, I decided to call it a day. My first day in Seattle had been full of little lessons about the first world, and about myself and my ways of life. My first day in Seattle had been more than eventful, it had been educational and one that I’d cherish for the rest of my life.
The Chaos Within 