Perfect Northwest Moments

Seattle gave me at least two perfect moments last weekend.

One was at the waterfront, which had been revamped since the last time I was in that city. Big Bertha, the tunnel borer, had long ago finished undergrounding a section of state highway that paralleled the edge of the bay, making the whole area wider and brighter for pedestrians without cars zipping nearby. I walked through a leisurely crowd of people enjoying the sunny day, and admired the shiny and modern developments. In my mental image of Seattle, built over many visits in childhood and adulthood, this area was all worn-down piers and greasy fish stands and Ye Old Curiosity Shoppe full of shrunken heads and other supposed exotica. Those things are still there, of course, providing the mix of kitsch and real industry that marks every city with an active seaport. But now there are also wood-and-concrete playgrounds, lots of clean public seating, and even some glass-fronted, trendy shops next door to Pike Place. One of them sold me an $11 bar of broken artisan chocolate.

True to the vibe, I guess, I carried a cup of nitro cold brew coffee that I sipped to try to stay hydrated in the warm afternoon. I'd forgotten to bring the water bottle from my car, which was parked nearly a mile away so I could get in a nice city walk and not have to deal with parking in a tourist-heavy area. The delicious, creamy coffee came from a street fair that I'd found by chance on my ramble toward the waterfront. Several booths at the fair had parted me from my money within an hour of arrival in Seattle. In my hand was the coffee, in my backpack was a half-eaten gourmet chocolate chip cookie, and on my finger was a new ring made from cloudy green sea glass.

I watched the sea glass light up in the sun as I rested my arms on a wooden railing next to the lapping waters of Elliott Bay. Ahead of me was a glorious naturescape of the bay and Puget Sound, with the choppy Olympic Mountains looming in the distance. Ferries and sailboats went about their business. Fish-and-chip shops beckoned with their smell. Happy tourists and families crowded the boardwalk, so many of them holding ice cream cones that I noticed one of the shops had a sign explicitly forbidding ice cream in the store. The only concern on my mind was when to eventually retrieve my car and bring it around to my hotel.

The second perfect moment was in my hotel the next morning. I'd opted for a room service breakfast, which I never do, and when I saw the bill I remembered why. But the outcome was bliss: my own personal French press coffee, a crab omelet, and fried potatoes, which I consumed while wearing a soft robe and complimentary slippers. (While I'd been out of my room for dinner, the staff had come in and put a pair of slippers next to each side of the bed.) I ate at the small table next to the single window in my hotel room, which had a surprisingly great view encompassing the Stewart Street entrance to Pike Place Market, and a generous slice of the bay and mountain range beyond it. I'd had my food delivered early, so vendors were still setting up in the market as I drank that whole pot of coffee. I could see the stalls gradually filling up with flowers and food as the market's opening hour approached. I loved my secret view of this largely unseen work that has to be done before showtime. It's like watching sets being built for a stage play.

Moments like these, where I am relaxed and aglow with pure appreciation, don't come easily. I like to be busy on my vacations—not having every hour booked, but planning a sequence of activities and locales to "make the most of" my time. Solo trips, where I'm untethered from family and work obligations, are obviously rare and limited, and the ticking the clock is noisy in my mind. I always try to maintain a to-do list that is short but varied, with a balance of uptime and downtime. (My mind was built for optimization!) Even then, I often end up overtired and needing to cut something, which I am loath to do. In Seattle, I'd agonized over changing my original breakfast plan, which was going to Biscuit Bitch down the street from my hotel. I love trying out restaurants, and I particularly love a fluffy biscuit with jam. However, once I saw the room service menu at my hotel bedside, the idea of French press coffee with a private bay view sounded very appealing.

Wait! said my perfectionist brain. Isn't it a waste of time to stay in a hotel room any longer than necessary!? You only have one morning to spend in the city, after all. I let my brain have its say, but my body won the battle, maybe knowing deep down that I was going to wake up feeling sick the next morning with a sore throat and headache. Lingering on the sidewalk waiting for popular biscuits would not have been fun. Breakfast in a robe was a decision I could be satisfied with.

After I finished eating, though, my brain fired up again, mulling over this new variable of unexpected illness. My original schedule had me leaving Seattle by 11:30 to drive to the King Arthur Baking School, a little over an hour away, to take a class on making chocolate babka. That had to be cancelled, since being on my feet in a kitchen all afternoon suddenly seemed like a bad idea. Now that I had an open-ended day, should I be responsible and start heading home early, or stay and explore the city a bit more? If I went out, where could I get a face mask to protect others from my germs?

Frankly, I needed to go back to bed and rest, but I calculated that I could make one last round through Pike Place Market before a nap, while it was still empty enough that I wouldn't share air with too many people. So I did that—parting with yet more money—and then returned to bed, setting an alarm to make sure I wouldn't sleep through checkout time. The alarm was superfluous because my mind was so busy that it kept my body awake. I was trying to figure out what made the most sense after I left the hotel and got my car back from the valet. Naturally, I told myself, it would be foolish to stay in the downtown area when I've already spent a day here. That is not optimal! If I wasn't going to drive home to Oregon right away, I may as well target a different neighborhood to grab lunch and cram a few more different sights into my eyeballs. But then I'd be using up more energy that I needed to fight illness ... But also driving three-and-a-half hours home is going to take energy ... And home is where all my obligations are, so do I really want to return prematurely? ... Also I want to sit at a coffee shop to write my blog, but do I really need more coffee after that French press?

Screw it. I put a coffee shop in Ballard as my destination point in Google Maps. Then I learned that driving in Ballard is a nightmare on a nice weekend day. I left without parking and resigned myself to getting on the freeway, homeward bound. Google took me through some back roads first, including an unexpected passage through Fremont, which I knew to be an interesting neighborhood. I found a place to park on a quiet street there, and very happily found a coffee shop two blocks away. It was peacefully occupied by folks reading or typing on laptops. I got my writing done, had a small bite to eat, and drank a cappuccino because the answer to "Do I need more coffee?" can always be twisted into a yes.

It might have been a third perfect moment.