I say it that way, as you accumulate terminal leave and other benefits, meaning pretty much the last three months of service is spent on courses and/or holiday.
I had done courses, and was thinking of moving to the US, so sent nine weeks in the US: two in New England visiting New Hampshire, Niagara Falls, whale watching and staying with friends. Then flying to Seattle, stay there for three days and then drive down Route 101 to LA over four weeks.
In a Mustang convertible.
On the 21st July, 2005 I had my first full day in Seattle. Drank some coffee, among other things.
"Woke up after ten good hours sleep: flicking through the TV channels: I came across Fox News, to find that there had been another spate of attempted bombings in London.
I tore myself away from the TV, and decided to head out into the city. On the corner of the street where the hotel was, stood a Starbucks: and I was in Seattle, it had to be done, really. I asked the woman behind the counter where to head to first. In fact she talked to me, apart from asking what I wanted, this English accent is great. Anyway, she said Pike Street Market was the place to go: and that’s where I headed.
Pike Street Market is a throwback to the early days of the city: it looks like it was converted from old warehouses, and has imposing views across the Puget Sound. Inside, it has bare wooden floorboards, worn smooth by years of use. The most famous place in the market is the fish stall. It’s an imposing place, every kind of fruit de la mare on display.
And when someone buys something, the assistants form a chain; throw the fish from one to another, whilst singing. It really is quite good. It always has a large crowd gathered around it, waiting for the fish throwing to begin. Such a shame that most tourists don’t venture further in, as it is a veritable warren of small independently owned shops spread over four floors. The floor level has fresh produce, not just fish, but meat, fruit and vegetables: all of it looking better than we get here.
I explored the rest of the market: there were the usual mix of gift stores, head shops, antique shops and right at the bottom, a brilliant record store. A ten inch copy of Black Market Clash caught my eye. I put it at the back of the rack, so no one else would see it.
Cheeky me. Back outside, I saw there was a place to eat above the market. Finding the stairs, I discovered it was owned by a family of Bolivians. A salad with spicy peanut sauce caught my eye, so I sat down, and looked down at the world. Across the roof of the market, way across the Sound, snow-capped mountains glinted in the sunshine.
From one of the fruit stalls, I bought some sweet fresh figs, and set off to discover the rest of the city. Down past the market, there were a set of steep stairs leading down to the waterfront: I headed down. To get to the waterside, I had to cross a main road, and before that, a tram line.
Vintage cream and green coloured trams ran up and down the harbour. All along the waterfront, a myriad of bars and restaurants mixed with piers and docks. Various companies offering trips around the sound, or longer ones to see more whales: this time Orcas. I think it’s politically incorrect to all them Killer Whales any more.
After a few hours, I headed back to my room, to have a shower before heading back into the city to get something to eat.
I was hoping to eat at a BBQ place opposite where I ate the night before, but it was crowded, as were most of the places. A few blocks to the south, I found a small bar that offered what turned out to be cracking Jambalaya. Also, they had the coolest music I heard on the whole trip. The new Ravonettes album was playing, and they all seemed pretty up on the music scene. When I mention I was going to see Brendan Benson the next night, one of them managed to find a compilation with Spit it Out on. As I promised myself, I got a taxi back: much less fraught."
At the time, I was decompressing from leaving the RAF, learning to be able to make my own decisions again, and it would be a glorious moment on the drive out of Seattle three days later that the realisation hit me, I could go and do whatever I wanted.
Pretty much like now to be honest.
It has gone from an extended holiday to be the new normal, and Monday is the new Friday. Or the other way round.
But this was Sunday, and another day of expected heavy rain and storms, though the storms didn't come, we did have rain in the morning.
We had an early lunch; I made breaded aubergine to go with the pasta salad. This is a recipe from my first wife, and turns two simple egg plants into a golden, crispy, and tasty meal.
Foolishly, I opened the big bottle of cask conditioned Chimay, and at 10.%% packed a mighty punch, so that I struggled to watch Le Tour through the afternoon.
And then on the patio to watch the gathering storm clouds over France, turning the blue sky to black, looking darker thanks to the bright, low sun.
And there was no football in the evening, just some internetting for #WildflowerHour, and a sensible hour to go to bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment