Duck Boats and Street Chickens

I think the only way to describe what we feel right now is euphoric exhaustion. The girls have been bathed and Diane is asleep while Melina quietly roams the apartment talking to herself, but I just don’t have the energy to coax her to sleep quite yet. Maybe she will settle into her bed (a thin mattress on the floor of the hallway) all on her own, and Zach and I can just sit peacefully and relive our day. And maybe the Space Needle will launch to the sky powered by Starbucks espressos and finally rocketing the first hipsters into space.

If I were ever to write a travel book on Seattle, the number one piece of advice I would give is to make sure that your tour guide is Juan E. Juan expertly crafted our day and herded our brood through the city as if he worked for some kind of major travel company or something. But not the one with the garden gnome mascot, the other one.

We started off early with a monorail ride to the Seattle Center (Juan described it perfectly as “50s futuristic”). We explored the area surrounding the Space Needle and hopped onto a Duck Tour that drove us through the hilly streets and eventually splashed into Lake Union where we cruised by houseboats, floating houses, and house barges. Don’t ask me to tell you the difference because I was a little preoccupied keeping Diane from throwing things (and herself) off the boat. Melina stayed cuddled up with Juan for most of the trip and repeated many times that it was her favorite part of the day.

The girls were so thrilled with the tour that we would have called the day a success even if it had ended there, but it was only 11am and we had so much more to look forward to! Juan took us to Pike Place Market where we ate our way through every delicacy that caught our eyes…fresh haddock, clam chowder, local chocolates, shrimp and crab cocktails, gourmet grilled cheese, dry vanilla bean soda, and the best spanikopita that has ever crossed my lips. And that doesn’t even include the free samples! 

At this point the baby was asleep in the stroller so we hopped on a bus to the Ballard Locks. This is when we discovered the thing that no one tells you about Seattle in July: the streets are literally lined with blackberries. Juan must have thought we were back woods hillbillies the way we ogled the fruit on the bushes and frequently stopped to gather handfuls and marvel at why the local homeless population wasn’t camped by the bushes in droves to eat their fill. 

We arrived at the locks (mouths stained purple and hands pricked by thorns) to witness large schools of salmon struggling to swim up the fish ladders to get to their breeding grounds. We were all fascinated to see this when joy upon joys what should swim up to the ladders but a gorgeous harbor seal, frolicking through the waters in anticipation of the delicious salmon feast ahead of him. As you probably know, seals have been my favorite animal since I was a toddler, and I was over the moon to see one in the wild. So while the girls and I squealed in excitement, we watched as someone in the small crowd of people threw a melon-sized red ball into the water near the seal, which to our horror EXPLODED right next to the seal! Melina was near tears and I was desperately trying to figure out exactly which person’s eyes I needed to gouge out in revenge when Zach learned that this was a harmless deterrent used to keep the seals from ripping the roe from the salmon bellies, and that it was some guy’s job to stand there all day and lob bombs at passing seals. Wow. I oscillate between disgust and jealousy at this responsibility.

After getting our fill of the fish ladders and stopping to watch the locks transit boats like a 50s futuristic elevator, we made our way the Fremont Troll, a huge fantastical sculpture beneath a bridge where Melina courageously climbed to the shoulders of the troll while Diane performed the possibly more dangerous act of sifting through every speck of dirt under the bridge looking for, I don’t know, hypodermic needles? Old chewing gum? Dog feces? I can only guess at what she was hoping to find.

Then yet again I thanked my lucky stars to have Juan in my life as he introduced us to Hot Cakes in Fremont. Sigh. The diabetic coma was so worth it for molten mint lava cake and salted caramel milkshake. I had to pry the spoon containing the last drops of ice cream from Diane’s freakishly strong hands, but her tantrum was short-lived as if she understood that it was a privilege to have even sampled desserts like these.

So we wound our way via bus back through Seattle to Capitol Hill. If you’ve spent much time with my girls you know that we are incapable of passing a dog without stopping, and they make no exceptions for rush hour in the city. Luckily dog owners are typically like proud grandparents and are happy to oblige when Melina fearlessly asks, “CAN I PAT YOUR DOG?” in her four-year-old Owen Meany voice. Then Diane squeals with joy as the dog licks whatever disgusting street residue is left on her hands from playing in the gutters, and Melina relays her life story to the owner as Diane barks nonstop. It is pretty darn cute and I’m sure they will grow out of this routine long before I tire of watching it.

When there are no dogs to bark at, Diane keeps herself busy by meowing at passersby or desperately trying to catch pigeons, which she is convinced are chickens. “Bok bok bok!” She says to them as the strut the streets, and I wonder why I never realized how much they really do resemble hens. 

We ended our day with pho at a place recommended by Juan, and the girls filled themselves with broth and noodles and basil leaves. They didn’t really touch the “ga” (chicken) in the soup and I am just now wondering if it is because they couldn’t bring themselves to eat the birds they spent so much time admiring.