We woke up Monday morning after a much-needed sleep and started to explore Tacoma. Sleeping has been sparse; you can sleep when you’re dead. But it still makes coffee an absolute necessity. We stopped at a coffee shop in Tacoma (where I nearly left my debit card. Whoops.) browsed a thrift store, and walked by the the Museum of Glass which was incredible and apparently a Tacoma landmark. We then hopped back into the car and began the trek to Seattle. Seattle was a lot of fun: vibrant, young, coastal, sunny, and full of coffee. We visited Pike’s Place Public Market where we were quickly overwhelmed by the odor of fish, roadside musicians, wares to purchase, and more coffee to buy. In fact, Pike’s Place is the home to the original Starbucks where we stood in an excessively long line to get a latte. Worth it; you can hate Starbucks anywhere else in the country— but you can’t hate the original Starbucks in Seattle. We visited with vendors (shout out to Dave!) and went to lunch at a Mediterranean grill called Sabra’s and then enjoyed a beer at an Irish bar called Kell’s.
We decided it wouldn’t be an afternoon in Seattle without a monorail trip to the SPACE NEEDLE. Every time I say SPACE NEEDLE, it’s needs to be dramatic. The SPACE NEEDLE gave a great view of the city and the bay, and the Seattle Folk Festival taking place below. Naturally, we had to go. I’ve never seen so many hippies, hipsters, and dirty mountain people. Face paint, hula hoops, hitchhikers, legalized marijuana campaigners, ear gauges, men in "mantility skirts," guitars, piercings, dogs, pot, dreads, tattoos, sarongs, armpit hair, bra-less-ness, tie dye, punks, free hugs, and in general, people who wished they had lived in the 60s. It was a fun atmosphere in which to observe the huddled masses and contemplate the many, many ways people attempt to make themselves unique.
We were gifted with a hotel in Bellevue and after we had checked in, we checked out the eating scene in downtown. We dined at a restaurant called z’Tejas (apparently, this is a chain but we didn't know it at the time) where our waitstaff was...unique. I don’t know exactly how long we waited but it was inordinate. So naturally, Melissa stole cornbread from someone else’s table, we befriended a cute family, and ate our weight in chips and salsa. The poor waiter was apparently having a rough night; he kept mumbling his apology to us but we didn’t really understand what he was saying. So we wrote encouraging notes on our receipts and decided to go elsewhere for drinks.
We ended up at a place called Munchbar in time for the Break Dance Contest. Needless to say, we did not fit in— we left our see-though blouses and 5-inch stilettos in Yellowstone. The dancing was impressive, I have to admit: I didn't get a picture of the actual dancers performing, but they could do jaw-dropping moves. However, the five of us were a bit out of place in the midst of this particular crowd and so we finished the night at a small Irish pub that was more our speed.
Overheard: "There was a fine white line and a lot of people have just crossed it and there’s just a lot of paperwork involved.”
Gastric Shout-Out: Grilled Chicken on Rice at Sabra's
Listen To: "Drumming Song," Florence and the Machine