Seattle Part 1

Getting There

I had an opportunity to go to Seattle for a Student Journalist convention that went Thursday through Sunday in early March 2012. It was held in a Marriott hotel we stayed at, about six blocks from the main downtown. It was me, my editor (another student) and our advisor from our school, and many many other students and advisors of college newspapers from across the country. 

I woke up at 3a.m. on Friday morning, having gone to bed three hours earlier. I had to stay up to pack, having been too busy between work and school to prepare sooner. Neither did I have anything to carry my clothes in, which had to be a carry-on, so, hearing some movement upstairs, I crept up the steps in the outer hall and knocked on my upstairs neighbor’s door at 10:30 Thursday night. He answered, apparently having recently been asleep. 

“Do you have a smallish duffle bag I can borrow?” I asked, proudly stating my destination. 

Inviting me in, he shuffled around his closet and brought out a perfectly sized duffle bag which he said he never used and kept around “just in case.”

Providence. 

I packed only what was necessary (and maybe one or two other items). 

Advisor was meeting us both at my place, and while getting out of his car to direct Katy (student editor) into my driveway, I tripped and flailed haplessly into the mud and grass, giving a tomboyish stain to the only pair of pants I had brought (I was wearing them). 

Our flight left at 5:30a.m. Layover. Lots of homework with breaks of people-watching: There was a punk-rock girl with headphones who looked bored with life. I loved her boots - at least $90, and knew her skirt was exactly $50 because I had cut it’s picture out of the magazine and pasted it into my scrapbook some weeks before. 

There was a traditional follower of judaism, with the beard, prayer shawl and distinct black suit. I noticed him praying in the corner of the waiting section. There was a comforting rhythm to his sways as he mentally recited scripture, but I purposefully didn’t stare. He happened to be seated next to me when we boarded. I sat by the window. 

“Do I have your seat?” I asked, explaining I wasn’t very used to flying. 

“Yes, but stay there. Really.”

Feeling bad, I started getting up to switch with him, but he insisted kindly, which allowed me to see Seattle in landing, the city people say is the prettiest in the U.S. to witness by plane. (He also had a bright, neon pink ipod, which I thought was splendidly ironic). 

It took all three of us to figure out how to find the tram. I had never ridden on a tram or any kind of train before, and we weren’t quite sure it would take us to our destination, or if this was the right one. We attempted to approach a Tram Man in a navy-blue buttoned suit, but all he said was “Board the tram! Board the tram!” in a heavy accent and exaggerated waving motions in that direction. This, and the fact that he wouldn’t explain why, or answer any of our questions, made me suspect this was the only sentence he knew in english. 

The first view of ground-level Seattle it allowed was of the outer-city ghetto. Dilapidated buildings with complicated graffiti passed by, and there was green and moss growing out of everything. 

A steely elevator brought us up to a dim, garage looking building, and then all of a sudden we were hit by a very big, bright, and bustling city, and we were dunked into an icy wind. It was several blocks to our hotel. 

At first I tried not to look like a small-town tourist gawking up at the huge buildings that reminded me of the movies I’ve seen set in New York. Then it occurred to me: we’re on foot, ladened with our luggage. I took advantage of this conspicuous circumstance and craned my neck at will. 

Our hotel was very fancy (even if it didn’t have a pool), and had a complimentary shoe shine (it just wouldn’t have looked right with my sneakers), but the thing I appreciated most was that it smelled like fresh laundry just before you walked in off the street. 

While There:

I threw myself onto the bed exhaustedly. I was starving (eating before flying has potentially bad consequences for everybody) and there was a delay in getting into the room me and Katy shared. It was 1p.m. 

The City:

Tourists seemed to run this city in abundance. You could distinguish them from the natives by either of two indicators: 1. they were speaking fluent french or italian. or 2. women weren’t wearing heals. Every native Seattlin female was in expensive high-heels. Was this a Seattle thing, or a big city thing? I don’t have the experience to know, but me and Katy were just as happy looking down at expensive elevated footwear, as up. 

The Farmers Market is located at the bottom of this hill.
The red sign is pictured here in the background.

The most exciting place was ‘The Farmer’s Market.’ Set near the glistening water, foods ranging from fresh produce, to raw fish, to sweet smelling bakeries lined the brick-paved streets. We entered the inner market through a newspaper/magazine section that lined the walls, marketing the same paper media in different languages. 

Downtown, stores such as Anthropolgie and Nordstrom, had more than one floor. I was in so much joy I literally became weak in the knees. But chain stores were at least equalled in foreign imports. I bought a pair of earrings ($9) at a Thai store, and the woman in the Egyptian shop encouraged me to take advantage of the many belly-dancing opportunities in Madison, Wisconsin. 

Hills. Think of the reputation San Francisco has with hills, and then add rain. I personally loved the aesthetic inclines, and the potential it had for daily toning. 

Had a good view of Seattle by night from the 28th floor of our hotel at 8:30p.m., in an empty, unlit gym, listening to go-go-bordello. The treadmills were pushed against the windows and I ran looking down at the lights below. 

I tried on the orange one below.
Not really my color,
or worth the $75 it would have
cost to purchas in the end. 

 My roommate happened to be visiting her boyfriend who lives in Seattle at the same time I was there, and we had dinner the last two nights of our stay. Roommate’s boyfriend works for Microsoft. He’s from Wisconsin, and apparently one of 40,000 employed by Microsoft in Seattle alone. I mention this because he mentioned that about 4% of his coworkers are women. This means the ratio of men to women in Seattle is overwhelming. There are cultural side effects to those statistics. Clean cut, with an unimposing demeanor, he said he can’t even smile casually at any woman in the street, because they will never look at him. With those odds against them, he said, women have trained themselves to avoid over-eager creepers. Even so, if you’re a woman looking for a man, move to Seattle. In fact they should list that in the brochures.