Seattle, Part One

Surprise! It's overcast when we wake in the morning. I pass on my favorite travel ritual of going out for coffee as the city begins the workday, as we have a complimentary pot of coffee and it's the weekend - the fact that I'm not working rings hollow on Saturday morning. I am, however, happy to see the sign for the Hotel Vintage Park a block over - we stayed there on our honeymoon, and it's a very cool (and pricey) luxury hotel based on a winery theme. No vacancy there this weekend - I did do my research. We decide to begin the day (following those comped breakfasts) in the direction of Capitol Hill, which rises above downtown across I-5 to the East. Along the way Melanie spots a frog.

The area around Broadway on Capitol Hill can be a bit gritty - it looks like there may be some methadone action along the main streets leading uphill - but there are plenty of nice residences in the neighborhoods overlooking downtown and Broadway itself has a lot of neat restaurants, shops, and (no surprise) espresso bars. Under the overcast sky it seems like it still has one foot in the 50s - streetcar lines, drive-in burger stands and an old Safeway sign outside a renovated supermarket.

I-5 is an effective barrier to downtown re-entry. I lead us down one futile street after another trying to get us back toward the Space Needle, eventually resorting to a deserted bike path that angles toward an overpass. Along the way I seek advice from a rusting wizard.

Dad Watson's These boots were made for danglin' We're headed to the Fremont neighborhood; we can see it just across Lake Union to the right of Queen Anne Hill, but our feet are starting to holler so we break down and grab a cab. We pile out at Dad Watson's, a brewpub in the middle of town. The decor is better than the New Ale, and we decide to do a little more walking before we get something to eat. Fremont has determined that it is the Center of the Universe, and they have the rocket to prove it. They've got a few other decorations as well.

Aurora Avenue crosses a tall bridge that lets it bypass the low drawbridge over the Lake Washington Ship Canal. There's a giant troll under the Fremont end of the Aurora bridge, and it can be seen crushing an old VW Beetle in its huge left hand. The horror of the bridge troll leaves us a little hungry, so we head back down to the drawbridge and settle into a couple of barstools at the Red Door. Great beer selection, great chowder.

I want to blame this decision on Melanie, but I think the stout had something to do with it - we decide to go up and over Queen Anne Hill, the most direct route back to downtown. Queen Anne Hill is pretty steep. It's a well-kept neighborhood, no doubt a pricey place to buy a house, and there are more than a few remarkable gardens. Those with plots on the downtown-facing side have chosen to pour some of that dot-com money into renovations and, in a few cases, total demolition of the old houses.

No first day in any American League city is complete without a visit to the ballpark. The roof over Safeco Field rolls on wheels - it can open like a matchbox when there's no Seattle rain. The box is open this evening. It's time to scalp some tickets.

Choo. It's about a twenty-minute walk down to the stadium from the hotel. By the dusty site of the flattened Kingdome we snag some five-dollar bleacher seats for ten bucks apiece and head in. Safeco is a metal stadium, all girder as opposed to Camden Yard's warm brick, but it's got its own charming features. Now I know there are train tracks by the stadium - I can hear train whistles during Orioles away games. But I always imagined that there was a railroad yard nearby with those little tugboat-type engines pushing boxcars around making that racket. No. This is a main-line Amtrak and freight line, and the retractable roof extends out over the track behind the outfield. The trains coming through wait until they're under the roof before letting rip with the horn, startling us gentle bleacher folk. But there's more. This Saturday evening is Barry White Night.

I am not making this up. The Baritone Luv Machine himself throws out the first pitch and announces the first few innings, mangling the players' names (Alex Rodreeejisss). The obligatory Top-5 list: baseball terms that sound sexy when spoken by Barry White (#1: A-Rod).

It's tough sitting below the scoreboard. But it's pretty funny watching everyone in the rows ahead trying to read the screen, necks twisted, mouths agape.

The Mariners trounce the White Sox. We may still be on East Coast time, but Barry White Night anywhere is a draining experience, and we head back to the Renaissance and a well-earned rest.