Tag: Seattle

The best of all

The best thing about 2017 is that I had a lot of new experiences. I had the opportunity to step out of my comfort zone and find new zones I’m comfortable with. Thanks to an official trip, I managed a week of personal travel. It was the best of all that happened to me this year. It taught me a side of myself I didn’t know I had. It taught me to plan, to organise, and to communicate with other people. It gave me survival skills, nurtured my negotiating skills, and taught me the true value of good companionship. Travelling solo left me craving more.

Travelling solo

 

Coffee love

Coffee is an emotion. It’s what wakes you up and keeps you up all day. From where I am, typical coffee is a milk-laden sugar-infused chicory-blended concoction no one can live without. Although I don’t take my coffee that way, I do know its value in Indian homes. Coffee for Indians is what tea is for British. We’re snobby about our proportions and always willing for more. Having lived through all the drama that revolves around coffee, I felt prepared for what I’d experience in the US. At least I thought so.

On my first day in the US, my colleague showed me around, introducing me to the concept that is the K cup. I’d heard about and read about K cups before, but it was the first time I saw how it looked and learned how it worked. As my colleague picked up a fresh cup, flipped the machine open, inserted the cup and pressed the lid shut, I looked in wonderment at the amount of plastic waste that a one cup of coffee entails. I knew from a long-lost article that K cups aren’t recyclable, and wondered how much wastage that created. I could use up to five cups a day, and I was just one of the many hundreds at work. The math of how it’d magnify stumped me into silence.

Although at that moment I felt I should give up coffee altogether, when I saw the fresh black essence drip from the machine into my coffee cup, I felt little guilt. I felt more elated. Eight ounces of steaming black liquid waited for me to gulp down. Cupping the cup in my hands, I inhaled the scent of well-roasted beans wafting through the tall cup right into my nostrils. From there it travelled to my left and right brain spreading wakefulness all over my being. I sipped. Warmth rushed down my throat plummeting to fill up my empty stomach.

I ran about high in energy and joy. I’d experienced the real kick of coffee. I’d read about it before and I’d raised eyebrows at articles that claimed coffee disrupts sleep. None of the coffee I’d had so far had the such an invigorating effect on me. It wasn’t until I tasted the drip coffee that I understood the real power of it. It didn’t take me long to get addicted.

In Seattle I fell in love with fresh brewed coffee. My host’s medium-roasted coffee felt rich and yet less toasty in my throat. Portland gave me the taste of the bitter and sour Colombian coffee. Both were far different from the dark-roasted K cups I’d had in Pleasanton, and they were both comforting. I’ve no idea how many cups of coffee or kinds of coffee I tried while in the US. The only thing I do know, however, is that every cup delivered its promise. Every time I needed something to lift my spirits, coffee came to my rescue.

A lesson in history

Alki beach had been a feast to sore eyes. Having spent the entire morning taking in the ocean, I wondered what other unique local sights Alki offered. Though I only asked for directions, a wonderful woman—Kate—sympathised with me as I lamented missing the Alki Point Lighthouse tour. To satiate my cravings for luscious history, she suggested I visit the Log House Museum. She gave me directions and landmarks and I, unsure what I’d find, walked a few blocks down the beach to the Log House Museum of Alki.

Alki 9

It was more like a cottage. From afar it was quaint, nestled within a garden of fresh flowers and lots of greenery. A sign hung from the roof, of the two-storey building, almost hiding in plain sight. A flight of wooden steps led to an old fashioned door. As I approached the door, a sign explained how Alki is the birthplace of Seattle. Reading it, I understood that Alki—like most of America—was home to natives for hundreds of years before an unidentified landing party transformed their lives. The Denny Party landed in 1851. For a few years they tried transforming Alki into a profitable and habitable place for them—much like the city of New York on the other side of the country. Soon realising the futility of this venture, they built downtown Seattle, instead. And so began another era, the era of an unassuming port becoming Seattle.

Alki 8

I’d been in the museum for less than five minutes—I hadn’t event gone inside yet—but then and there I knew I’d come to the right place. Thanking Kate for her excellent guidance, I walked in through the door to meet an excited volunteer. He explained to me how one of the early settlers of Alki, the Bernards, had built their home. In 1902 they’d fused the styles of a modern summer cottage with comfort and luxury. The result was the Fir Lodge. Over the course of 90+ years, the log structure had been home to hundreds of people. It is now a restaurant. Made from Douglas fir logs, a portion of the Fir Lodge is the carriage house, which is the current museum. The Southwest Seattle Historical Society renovated it in 1995, and opened it to the public in ’97 on the 146th anniversary of the landing party.

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Taking in all these scraps of history, a sense of self-importance and awe spread within me. All I’d done was listen to a man talk about incidents of yore, and that’d given me goosebumps already. To make the experience even more worthwhile, he welcomed me to look around at the exhibits: original photographs from the various families that had lived in the exact space I stood at. Aside from photos were also snippets from letters that passed between members of the families—letters of love, letters of pain, and even some letters that lamented loss of their homes.

For the second time that day, I felt glad to have found accommodation in Southwest Seattle instead of downtown. I wouldn’t have otherwise visited Alki, and would’ve missed out on all that I shouldn’t have. Standing over the past lives of so many people, observing what was once theirs, leaning on the walls they once leaned on, and tracing their footsteps, I’d walked into a well-preserved monument that initiated the boom that’s Seattle. As exciting as downtown Seattle was, the modest museum at Alki was a treasure cove of the humble beginnings of a city that’s now a world icon. Not only was it fascinating to encounter such a culture-rich monument, but it was also so moving to realise that even though we evolve into something much larger and different from our roots, it’s those roots that bind us to the world.

I left the museum a little overwhelmed, but as I walked around the log house onto the street, I knew I’d made value of my time in Seattle. I didn’t splurge, I didn’t shop around aisle after aisle, I didn’t bring back material things for anyone, but I brought back memories and stories worth a lifetime. That’s priceless.

A day at Alki beach

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.

Alki, Seattle

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.

Looking for pebbles on the beach

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.

Alki beach

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.

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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.

Alki Point lighthouse quarters

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.

A mystery that’s Seattle

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.

Pioneer Building, Seattle

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 Space Needle

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.

Seattle Center, 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.