City Walk and Ferry Ride
On a lazy Monday afternoon holiday, a close friend and I decided to hop on the ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge Island. Having the day completely off, we brainstormed ways to pass the day. Rather, he did the brainstorming and I did the agreeing. The fog lifted to reveal a gorgeous sunny day without even a wisp of cloud nearby. The balmy 50 degree temperature in January gave way to a perfect mini vacation from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. In a city typically blanketed with gray, the buildings seemed so naked and exposed without any cloud cover overhead.
Initially, we planned to take a short bus ride from his apartment to the ferry terminal but after a Starbucks cup leakage fiasco that meant missing the first bus, we decided to walk the 2 miles rather than wait 30 minutes for the next one.
As I stood in Starbucks at the creamer station trying to rectify my leaking cup situation with a second cup and a napkin, an African-american gentleman with a piping hot cup of black coffee turned to me with a smile that could melt even the most calloused hearts. His gold tooth glimmered in the late morning sunlight, his aged hand stirring in two sugars.
"How about that win last night," he said to me with genuine joy and enthusiasm in reference to the Seahawks brilliant win in the playoffs the night before. The Emerald City was alive and bathing in the afterglow of victory at their team's recent success and impending challenge for Superbowl triumph. The man wore his Seahawk's jersey with a clear sense of pride as he stretched tall in his wheelchair.
"It was amazing wasn't it?" I mused to him with a smile back. Although I had missed the game, I had kept a close watch of the score when I was at work. At halftime, we were down 10-3. The final two quarters brought redemption as they overtook the San Francisco Forty-niners and secured their place in the 2014 Superbowl championship with a final score of 23-17. While I normally shy away from making small talk with strangers, I couldn't help but appreciate his effort when I could see the sparkle in his eye that proved no matter what life brings, there are good things in the world.Being from Alaska, where the state sport is officially "dog mushing" and the only real sport that draws a crowd is hockey, the idea of pledging my loyalty to any football team always seemed a foreign ideal. Our football season was so short, if you blinked you missed it. Everyone was so scattered on who they rooted for and the games were so far away, it was a mess of loyalties when it came to football parties up there. Now that I reside in a city with a professional team, and a good one at that, I can understand the appeal. During a game, the city unites for one day and business people and homeless alike have something in common to root for. With 12th man flags hanging from seemingly every business window and people eager to bleed blue and green, there definitely is a certain charisma the city takes on when the team brings success.
Our walk turned out to be an excellent choice. Walking is always preferential to me, why idly sit when you can reap the benefits of a little time and physical activity?
We walked past the Franz bakery, the aroma of fresh dough filling the air. A quick walk through China town meant the scent of a blend of Asian cuisine, raw fish and spices.
Sometimes when you drive through the city, it's easy to disconnect yourself from society around you. When you walk, you're forced to slow down and really see and absorb the details of who and what you're surrounded by - a homeless camp under the bridge, an old woman in a torn jacket smoking a cigarette and walking her miniature dog, a young couple buying fish from the Asian market. The slow pace allows you to see graffiti on an electrical box, the sometimes hysterical names of businesses so obviously translated from an unknown language or a hidden yet brilliantly white Buddhist statue nestled in a gated temple garden.
Winter walks always produce a very raw and unforgiving picture of the cityscape you pass. There are no blooming flowers to disguise a weathered porch. No leaves on a burly twisted tree to shade a broken pavement driveway. No birds chirping to juxtapose the sound of passing cars. Just the blistering sun exposing the urban decay of a tired neighborhood community testing time. A once proud Craftsman home with lovely bones still stands tall but with an overgrown mossy roof that droops to one side threatening demise and a paint job that is more shabby than chic. The bright light overhead highlights every shadow in the cracked sidewalk.
We had an excellent conversation as we strolled through. We talked about work, about friends and about people. Being MLK day, it was only fitting our conversation should drift to racism and what a bleak stain on society it still is. How bizarre and astounding are the deeply held irrational beliefs of some. To think that someone can be so blindly trained to hate an entire group of people based only on the color of their skin or the religion they practice. We talked about the middle east, and how some of those wars have been going for hundreds of years without an end in sight. Hate perpetuates hate. How vastly different our reality is here than in many parts of the world. How oblivious most of us remain with our daily routines and narrow scope of the world.
We walked past the steps leading to the underground bus transit station in the international district, over the pass as the passenger train departed to the south toward Portland. We crossed the old cobblestone streets past art galleries upon art galleries and wine bars and coffee shops. Just as we passed 1st and Marion towards the ferry terminal, I looked to my left and saw an amazing street full of clear glass globe hanging lights suspended from wires crisscrossed between the brick walls. Apparently the developer of the Post Ave building wanted the dim street to appear more inviting and attract more pedestrian traffic to the shops and restaurants below. It was both stunning and unexpected. I could only imagine how magical they looked on a warm summer night when they were all lit. Maybe it's the designer in me, but things so beautiful and obviously planned excite me.
We boarded the ferry and immediately walked to an upper outdoor deck to take in the city as we departed. It's been some time since I'd set foot on a ferry and the combination of the warm sunlight, brisk wind breezing through my hair and the salty smell of the water was exhilarating.
Sometimes I'm unsure of how my friend puts up with me. I'm consistently indecisive, more contemplative than talkative and laid back to the point of exasperation. But I'm always up for an adventure, so maybe that's why he keeps me around. He had to explain to me the whole concept of 12th man and a bunch of football jargon I wouldn't have really cared to look up on my own. Oops. Oh well.
I gazed back at the city as we gained speed away from the loading dock. How small the city looks from the vantage point of the water. The sound seemed endless before us as we made our way past West Seattle and towards the island. Although it was a very short transit to Bainbridge island, it was exactly what I needed at that moment. It was liberating and peaceful. The wind was so strong I had to gasp to maintain normal breathing and it made me feel so alive and present in that moment.
We exited the vessel and made our way up the street as all the cars slowly disembarked as well. We walked past the bike rental shop and I made a note of how fun that would be during a summer visit.
Photo credit: Adventure Diva
We walked the few blocks to the Streamliner Diner where my friend swore up and down that they had the best breakfast anywhere nearby. Luckily for me, they serve breakfast all day and our late morning jaunt would not disappoint. I ordered the Morning Saute with spinach, mushrooms, green onions and tomatoes over two poached eggs on hashbrowns. When the steaming plate made its way to the table, it looked more like a piled high salad than breakfast fair but it was skillfully prepared to perfection and absolutely delicious. The hashbrowns made an amazing bed for all the greens and the buttery taste gave just the right amount of indulgent flavor while the texture had the right amount of crisping on the outside and softness in the middle. My friend ordered the fried egg sandwich which looked equally amazing and we split a biscuit that was so light and fluffy and moist it was absurd.
After brunch, we walked up and around the corner to Mora for ice cream. After scanning the menu for a minute, I saw under 'Seasonal' flavors goat cheese and fig and knew immediately that was what I was getting. A sucker for anything goat cheese, I was curious how it would translate to an ice cream flavor. It was so creamy and rich and not too sweet. It's a good thing it isn't readily accessible because I would surely become an addict. I scoured the internet for a recipe. I came across this one which looks promising:
from Erin's Food Files
After ice cream, we perused a couple toy stores to get ideas for the nieces and then window shopped a bit before heading back. Through the glass of one shop, I spied a print entitled 'The Laundromat' by local Seattle artist Michelee Scott.
The black and white photograph struck a chord with me. It was so simple and elegant and really captured a nostalgic feeling with the laundromat still life. At $250 for the framed print, neither of us could justify a purchase of that sort on our budgets. I did find her etsy store at which a 12x18 print goes for $55. I would rather purchase directly from the artist any day. Check her out.
After all of our walking and eating and cruising, we were ready to call it a day. I can somewhat justify vegging out on the couch if I've walked more than 5 miles that day... which is exactly what we did after getting a pizza. Hopefully we have some more adventures soon. Until then, xo.
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