We had a fairly fierce grilling by the border police on our way into the US (“where do you live?” “Erm, right now, in this van” “I said where do you live?” etc etc), but they eventually relented and gave us our visas. We even smuggled in some illegal onions.
Our hostel in Seattle was pretty unique: each of it’s thirty odd rooms was decorated by a different local artist, there was a cinema in the basement and a hot tub in the back garden. Our room featured a giant octopus and skeletal bell-boys, perfect for a restful night’s sleep.
Pike Place public market, right on the waterfront, was definitely worth a visit - for the singing fishermen if nothing else. We spied an impressive busker playing the guitar and harmonica whilst simultaneously balancing another guitar on his chin and hula-ing two hoops round his waist. It actually sounded alright too.
Seattle is full of indie coffee houses and nobody seems to mind if you spend all day in them lost in thought. They’re great places for chilling out, reading, and eavesdropping on juicy conversations (the etiquette of polyamorous relationships, merits of the US versus Thailand for gender reassignment surgery, trials and tribulations of illicit affairs with aging rock stars….) There are also cool record stores on every corner – good job we’re not going home just yet otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to resist the vinyl.
Oh, and here’s a little known fact about Seattle – it’s the last resting place of both Jimi Hendrix and Bruce Lee. We attempted to go pay our respects, but couldn’t find the right church and went for another Americano extra shot instead.
