Hello, Seattle!

I’m currently in Seattle for a "work thing." A conference, that is. I'm here with several coworkers who are twice my age and have been calling me "kiddo" all week. Still, it's not half bad.



Seattle's a fantastic city -- quite the jewel of the American Northwest. It has that young and fit West Coast vibe, not unlike much of California, but with a down-to-business edge. I always imagined Seattle as sort of a yuppie city, and I wasn't far off. The downtown is very clean and very green, cycling is wildly popular in spite of the roller-coaster hills, and you are literally in sight of at least one coffee shop on any block of any street. The directions our concierge gave us to the conference center were: "Go out this door. Take a right at Starbucks. Go 'til you see Seattle's Best. Take another right there. Go past the next Starbucks and you'll see the conference center straight in front of you."



Cool Things to Do in Seattle:

Cruise on Puget Sound: Specifically, we went on a Booze Cruise. Booze Cruises always frighten me a bit because I see them as little more than a floating club. That may sound hip and groovy but consider this -- no matter what happens, you have to stay in the club until closing time. If you do decide to brave it, the view of the city from the water is priceless.

People-Watch: Something I do everywhere (because it is free and I am nosy) but especially enjoyed in Seattle. The locals love the fresh air, so the downtown streets are hopping with activity. In my favorite Seattle moment, I spotted a fellow begging into a Starbucks cup. Only in Seattle are the bums scrounging pennies for lattes.

SubSeattle Tour: Seattle's Underground -- that is, the old district of the downtown that was buried when they raised the street level to avoid flooding and its associated unpleasantries. The old sidewalks and buildings have become the city's musty basement, and many are the secrets and scandals that lurk in its shadows. Extra bonus points for uniqueness and kick-ass tour guides.

Pike Place: Yes, yes, you've heard about how awesome this market is. The rumors are all true. Go check it out.

You Just Never Know...

Last week, in a rare moment of repose, I was sitting at home thinking "Yeesh, another Saturday night in Nowhereville," when I got an instant message from a friend inviting me to a wine tasting party. That's a little chic for this hick town, and for a second I expected him to say "No, just kidding. It's actually a barn-raisin'! Yehaw!" But no, he was serious about the wine.

So of course, I went.

Now I have known this guy for ages, but I know him because I used to babysit him. Yeah, he's a little younger than I am. And naturally, so are his friends. In fact, they're all three or four years younger than I am. I can't decide if hanging out with the college crowd makes me feel cutting edge or lame beyond redemption.

I gravitated towards the only other "grown-up" in the house, who happened to be a pretty smokin' hot guy. We got into a conversation about who he is and how he spends his time, and guess what? He races sled dogs.

wtf?!?

Yeah, he's an Alaskan tundra conquering, fur-trimmed coat sporting, frostbitten appendage losing, Call-of-the-Wild answering sled dog racer.


You never really know who you're going to meet next, do you?


Rock on, sled dog guy. Rock on.

The Writing Class & The Pipe Dream

I returned from England Sunday evening and actually fell asleep with my head still a couple inches above the pillow. Luckily, forward-thinker that I am, I had already set the alarm on my phone. Monday morning, it went off at 6 a.m. I rolled out of bed, stumbled blindly to the shower, and managed to drive across town for the first day of my summer writing class.

The class is aimed at teachers, and most of us have been involved with it for about two years now, but for some reason they change the location every six months. This phase was on the south side, and since I always get lost on the south side of town, I got to class about five minutes late. They’d already started going around the circle doing introductions and “This summer I’m...” stories. When my turn came, I apologized for coming in late and said that this summer, I’m doing a bit of traveling. Of course, they asked where, so I gave the brief overview – London, Dublin, work conference in Seattle, family week on Lake Huron, then off to Hawaii.



O Reader, if you could have seen the shock and indignation! You’d have thought I said I was flying to the moon in a diamond-studded space pod. While drinking champagne. And making out with Jude Law.

Then a woman on the other side of the room spoke up and articulated everybody’s sentiment in one huffy little retort: “Well, that’s because you don’t have kids.”

The rest of the week was great – I got lots of writing done, was very happy with the feedback I received, and just generally enjoyed bonding with the other students – but the whole time there was an undercurrent of tension. Half of the women there seemed bent on convincing me that I’d soon tire of gallivanting around the globe, realize how empty and meaningless my life is, and find some sensible boy with whom I could settle down and raise a little brood of ankle-biters. They kept writing pieces about how happy motherhood has made them and giving me significant looks. The other half was just blatantly bitter and jealous of my freedom. You know, like the terrorists.



I, frankly, can’t imagine any more rewarding way to spend a summer than traveling, nor can I figure why, at twenty-five, I should be worried about anything other than enjoying myself. As long as I’m happy and the bills get paid, I don’t think my priorities need reevaluating.

Eventually though, I may get a little lonely, but wouldn’t it be more fun to find a boy who isn’t very sensible? Then, instead of “settling down”, we could just pack our ankle-biters up and take them gallivanting with us.

This is my pipe dream.

And On to Dublin!

Sunday we made our way to Gatwick and waved goodbye to London. Then we waited in the airport for our RyanAir plane, which was almost two hours behind schedule. I normally don’t get fussed when flights run late. A million different things can delay a plane, and it’s all just part of the traveling experience. BUT in Gatwick, we were waiting for our flight next to a rather conspicuous sign that read: “RyanAir: The On-Time Airline.”

We entertained ourselves by inventing new slogans for RyanAir, since clearly their current one didn’t cut the proverbial mustard. Among our suggestions were some less presumptuous options such as: “RyanAir: An Airline”; “RyanAir: The Sometime Airline”; “RyanAir: Yep”; and my personal favorite – “RyanAir: If you want some planes... well, here they are.”



We chose to go to Dublin for two reasons: 1) David and 2) Jen. Though they've been together for about a thousand years, so they might only count as one reason. Okay, how about this: 1) David & Jen and 2) Guinness.

I know that living in Japan changed and challenged me in more ways than I can begin to take stock of, but I maintain that no part of that experience has benefited me as much as the friendships I made.

In Japan, Dave worked at my office and Jenny worked at S's, so both of us got to know them quite well. Since they moved back to Dublin in January of 2006, this reunion was two and half years in the making. You might think that after not seeing someone for that long, it'd be hard to reconnect. Not so! They were just as warm and wonderful as I remembered them, and in a matter of moments, the four of us were thick as thieves once again!

It's really a testament to how deep a mark living abroad leaves on your life. The people you meet become like a second family, and that bond doesn't really fade when you go your separate ways. Just like Ossie and Tato -- we ne'er forgot da tricks a'da travelers.



Unlike in London, where we kept ourselves busy with loads of site-seeing, we spent most of our time in Dublin relaxing with our friends. We did go to the Guinness Storehouse (strongly recommended!), and one day, just for laughs, Jen took us to an Irish petting zoo to play with the sheep. Other than that, we spent most of the rather rainy week nestled in pubs, drinking a bit of Guinness (and quite a bit of Jameson).

A perfect week, actually.

London, Days 6 & 7 -- Happy Birthday to S & The Great Schism

Friday was S’s birthday and our day of catching up on the things we’d missed earlier in the week.

In the morning, we went to the Tower of London. As we were waiting outside, we happened upon a local tour guide and his merry band of followers. His commentary went like this:

“This is the Tower of London, so... if you want to see it... here it is. And, uh, the rest of London is kind of over there... So if you want to see the Tower, uh, let’s go this way...”

Wow.

First day, buddy?

The actual Tower tour guides – the beef-eaters – are eloquent, professional, and hilarious. A most-do if you’re hanging about London.



On the flight over, I had watched the movie “The Other Boleyn Girl.” The whole film is a little off and left me feeling sort of queasy, but I’ve never before been so fascinated by the story of Anne Boleyn. I had hoped that in London I might get answers to some questions the film raised for me and find that fine line between legend and history.

No such luck.

Our beef-eater showed us the spot where Queen Anne was privately executed in the Tower courtyard. She explained that Anne Boleyn was terrified of the axe and requested a French-style execution with a sword. Henry granted her request, going so far as to recruit an executioner from France who could ensure the job was done properly. So skilled was he and so sharp was his blade, that when he held up the queen’s severed head, her lips were still moving in prayer.

Good story, right?

Then we went inside the White Tower, which served as an armory for centuries and is now a military museum, and right there in one of the exhibits, they have a massive beheading axe with the caption “The Axe that Beheaded Anne Boleyn.” Bewildered and befuddled, S and I read the fine print, which said this was the axe that So-and-So wrote had beheaded Anne Boleyn, but now we know she was actually beheaded with a sword. The axe in the display is a meaningless example of twisted history, and the sword that really killed Anne Boleyn is probably lost in somebody’s basement with their grandmother’s musty wedding dress and their Deep Purple LPs.

So essentially, the label on the exhibit said:

HERE IT IS!
Except, oops, this isn’t really it.




That afternoon, we returned to the British Museum. Or the UnBritish Museum, rather.

Nothing in the British Museum is British. Really, it’s just a monument to imperialism. If you are not British, and you’re missing some of your stuff, it’s probably here.

Still, they have some pretty cool stuff. Remember what I said about mummies? The gawkers around these guys were so thick, I nearly caught in elbow in the face whilst taking this shot...



Friday night we met up with Our Rob, who took us out for drinks with his work friends and introduced us as “My Americans.” They asked him how he met us, and he looked at me as if I was going to explain that we met on the Internet and try to make it sound like it isn’t awkward. No, sir. If they were my friends, I would lie bold-faced about that shit. In fact, if he ever comes to the States to visit, I already have a bold-faced lie ready.

Then he took us back to his place and made dinner for us, all the while mocking our attempts at fake British accents. Which I think are pretty good, by the way.

Now S may be the only person in the world I’d be able to handle spending 24/7 with for two weeks, but on Saturday, circumstances forced us to spend a little time apart. She had a friend from home coming to town for the day on her way to Scandinavia, and one of our hostel roommates just happened to have an extra VIP pass to Hard Rock Calling.



So S went out to see “Twelfth Night” with her friend, and Dave and I went to Hyde Park to rock out. If there’s a guitar involved in something, I’m probably happy, so I had an awesome day. I even enjoyed watching John Mayer, and I am, as a matter of principle (and a result of hanging out with indie musicians), not a John Mayer fan. He was actually kind of funny, and you can’t deny he has some skill with a guitar, so I’ve gained a new appreciation for him that I never would have gotten from listening to CDs. Among the other performers were up-and-comer Jason Mraz, the always fabulous Sheryl Crow, and the headliner – Eric Clapton. Clapton's a little old for me and not someone I get very excited about, but again, seeing him live made all the difference.

And hey, no complaints about spending the day with an Aussie. I did miss S and her antics though.