Sleepy (and Grumpy) in Seattle

Token Seattle skyline
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We had been excited about crossing the date-line and getting a whole day back, but a five hour wait in LA for our connecting flight meant we'd lost most of it by the time we arrived in Seattle. In addition to the strange sensation of reverse jet-lag, we were also recovering from the unexpected friendliness of US Immigration who had obviously been sent on a charm course and had not questioned us about why we wanted to come into the US, when we were leaving, what colour pants we were wearing and how much our house was worth.

Hot chilli Phill
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Over the next few days we explored Seattle which, true to reputation, was quite damp. This mostly meant seeing the city on the way to or from one nice eatery to another huddled under a small umbrella. Although we had been in good training in Fiji, we were still not prepared for the huge helpings of everything typical of the US. We checked out the big Alaskan crab legs at the charming Pike Place market, ate the largest steak at the Cosmopolitan Grill and, of course slurped creamy clam chowder for lunch. When not stuffing our faces, we proudly avoided the 2000 Starbucks, checked out the shops and wandered around the weird but very pleasant sculpture park on the water's edge.

Monts does a good fish-face at the fish market
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In Seattle we would also start our fruitless effort to catch some live baseball. Instead we watched a good deal of it on TV, although Monts didn't understand much of what was going on and kept calling the pitcher a bowler and the short-stop a wicket-keeper. Our efforts to find somewhere with live jazz were similarly unsuccessful, and after traipsing round several renowned venues and finding them closed, we chanced across the "Whisky Bar" which did exactly what it said on the tin, and was hosting a slightly dodgy band which improved significantly after a few large measures of Woodford Reserve and others from their extensive menu which we can't now remember.

Half a cow with chips please... big steaks at the Cosmopolitan Grill
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Next day, after a breakfast of huevos rancheros in a Mexican cafe across from our hotel, we headed over to catch our coach to Vancouver. Our helpful concierge asked us if we needed a taxi, which we did because it was raining again and a bit of a treck. We weren't expecting a black van with blacked-out windows which its proprietor had converted into a rather dodgy limousine complete with mirror disco ball. We perched nervously on shiny leather seats among clinking pink champagne glasses, unwashed from the night before, while the driver told us the story of his life. "I am from Africa, where we are all farmers and we know how to read the weather" he said looking at us over his shoulder. "That's nice, but watch out for that car in front of you!" "Oh yes (still looking at us), driving round here, people are so selfish.... in Africa, where I come from...". "Lovely, but there's a red traffic light there" ...."yes, yes, of course. Anyway, in Africa the weather comes in from the East, but here it comes from the..." Mind the kerb!"... "Thank you, I am good driver but sometimes people must point things out if I get distracted". Unsure wherther he had actually had anyone else in the limo the previous evening or had drunk all the champagne himself that morning we gratefully extracted ourselves and our bags, paid his extortionate fee of $10 for a five minute trip and decided to find our own taxi in future.