Indonesia Day 1: Seattle

A cheap ticket to Indonesia means loooonnnnngggg layovers which is why I had about 8 hours to kill in Seattle.  I took the train to Chinatown in search of ramen.  I found a place, but the moment I stepped inside and the door with the little bells on it shut behind me, every ounce of my intuition told me I was taking up too much space.  (I was wearing a backpack strapped to another backpack with a raincover over it, so I was somewhat conspicuously bigger than my regular size.) There was an insistent sign declaring patrons should wait to be seated.  I stood in the doorway eyeing the only empty table, hoping the host would soon notice me and end my occupation of the most inconvenient space imaginable. Water dripped off the rain-cover of my backpack which I shifted around to avoid sprinkling on other diners in the crowded hole-in-the-wall place.  However, the shifting resulted in even more water spraying off my pack and jacket.  I endured the death stares from the nearby customers as long as I could, and when the host joined in on the staring and seemed to have no intention of letting me sit at the open table I decided to cut my losses and back meekly out the door.  Oops!

I settled for Taiwanese soup in a restaurant with all the ambiance of a big city corner grocery store, which actually made it approachable as I was fresh from the aforementioned humiliating experience.  What could I mess up here?  It was just linoleum, florescent lighting and some sparse tables.  I like to think lack of ambiance is actually a sign of authenticity because it means they are all about the food, right?  A very busy fellow in his late teens, was dashing around the small restaurant, tripping over chairs, trying to service the lunch rush by his lonesome.   As the placed filled up the frantic young man asked if I would share my table, which I happily agreed to, anticipating an interesting experience.  I sipped my soup and found out what wantons are while sitting next to a middle-aged African-American woman teaching an older white woman how to order Chinese soup while discussing social policy, the current administration, and how devastating the cuts to Medicaid would be.  I did try to join in a time or two but my social intuition quickly gave me the feedback that was the wrong thing to do.  Instead I badly pretended to not eavesdrop on the very interesting conversation taking place just 6 inches away from me.  

In case anyone else out there is 30 and still doesn’t know what wantons are, they are little balls of meat wrapped in a noodle.  In hot soup with beef and mystery vegetables they are delicious!

Flash forward....

To when I saw this giant dog pat this smaller terrified dog on the head...lovingly...

I saw some friends from home who have seen better days...

And I found a secret way to get into Tibet!

I parked myself and my once again dripping ‘Green Monster’ hiking backpack, in front of the fish stand at Pike’s Market.  In true Pacific Northwest fashion rain was spouting off the awning outside, and I needed a momentary break from the deluge I had been walking around in for the past hour.  To my right was the world famous ice crusted stand of fish complete with men to throw them.  They even had fresh Alaskan King Salmon, which I wondered how they got seeing as how it’s currently March.  Strapping lads in green rain slickers (St. Patrick’s Day) tossed silver shiny salmon to the tune of wild screams and screeches from the fish-throwing fans.  Every time a fish was tossed a cheer went up from the crowd like the Seahawks and just scored a touchdown.

Between me and the rain was a handsome young man strumming his guitar for all he was worth and belting out “Rocket Man” over the cheering fish crowd with their backs to him.  I have to say, I was transfixed and had to quickly (but probably not quickly enough) look away several times when he looked my direction. I watched for three songs, enjoying how earnestly he was trying to be heard, and how energetic that made his music. It's hard to share a stage with famous flying fish. I did check later, and judging from the dollars in his case he had not gone ignored.

I noticed someone approaching from behind me, adding a harmonized bass line to the guitar player.  A stout, gruff man with a long grizzled beard, and a hat that served as a knitted bag for a whole lot of hair, brushed passed me and strutted up to the musician, hitching up his baggy corduroy pants as he swaggered.  The musician nodded kindly to the man’s duet attempt, but it was clear this was meant to be a one-man show.  The swaggery man turned around to survey the crowd looking for his next move.  His image certainly conjured up some stereotypes in my mind, but, this was Seattle.  He could be a start-up millionaire, who knows?  He strolled confidently over to a group standing next to me and started speaking to them in Spanish.  I saw them exchange a bag drawn from the inside of a pocket for cash. Some things are mysterious, some things, not so much.

To end the Seattle adventure I walked through the entire Pike’s Market looking for something small to buy.  The options were overwhelming, enticing, and a little pricey.  I finally settled on something unexpected.  I knew it the moment I saw it in the window of the Chinese bakery.  I walked around the whole market thinking about it, and how weird it was that it was the ONE THING I HAD TO HAVE in that entire market of unique deliciousness.  It was a...red bean sesame ball.  It looked like a ball of bread with sesame seeds on it.  I couldn’t shake my fascination so I circled back and bought it.  It was AMAZING.  How did I somehow know it was going to be so amazing?  I truly have no idea.  Slightly crunchy and ever so thin crusted outside, chewy, stretchy, but not quite gooey sweet bread filled with a sweet red bean paste.  See?  I even tried to make it sound appetizing and it still sounds weird to me but OH MY GOSH GIVE ME 5 MORE!  

And with that, I ended my outing in Seattle.  Onward to Indonesia!