[usa13] seattle

In the baggage claim two lads are taking the piss out of the battered green rucksack riding round the carosel. They look a bit more sheepish when I move between them to hoist it off the revolve. Sometimes it helps being over six foot tall; inadvertantly striking something approaching worry into innocent bystanders.

Half awake from lack of sleep I'm staring at the signs in the 'parking lot' scratching my head and not really taking in the information I need to find my way to the bus to the centre.
"That's not a good start," says a voice and I look up to see Rachel mimmicking my vacant stare at the sign, "where are you going?"
"There's supposed to be a bus to the centre somewhere.... its just a matter of where"
"Well do you want a ride?"

Despite my insistance that she needn't put herself out before I know it I've been introduced to Rachel's 'mom' and I am getting a lift downtown in the back of their typically huge vehicle which is nearer a mini-bus than a car. After a few miles I notice the hand written sign on the dashboard reflected in the window. 'Jesus loves you, do you love him back?' If this were the UK I would be very worried by now and checking the available exits as only a real religious fanatic would put up a sign like that in their car... and fanatics of any sort in the UK are never the sort to let a chance to share the fanaticism pass by. But then, conversely no person in the UK would ever go out of their way to drive a stranger this distance so it balances itself out. If people are prepared to go out their way to help me regardless of my faith then I'm willing to accept their kindness regardless of theirs. Rachel and her 'mom' Liz drop me at the foot of the Space Needle and we swap email addresses, all the while with me feeling incredibly guilty that I can not offer anything more than a thanks in return.

From the Seattle Center I make the trek by foot to the Moore Hotel off 2nd Avenue, at which I may or may not have a reservation. Thankfully I do and from my 7th floor window I can see Union Lake and with a bit of a lean the Space Needle. It reminds me of the cliche of the Eiffel Tower being visible from any window when a film is set in Paris, a notion made instantly less romantic as a seagul pecks at the remains of a pigeon on the roof of the building nextdoor.

First port of call is a walk up and out of the centre in search of an internet cafe. I've been looking unsuccessfully for one since I arrived in the US and am just about to begin cursing the advent of wireless access for the ninth day straight when I finally spot Online Coffee across the street. America, land of opportunity... unless you don't have a lap top and want the opportunity to send email. "There aren't nearly enough of us in the city," confesses the guy at the counter. I talk with him and his waitress about travelling on the train and he puts my Dallas to San Antonio trip into perspective "...so we arrived in LA about twenty hours behind schedule."

From Online Coffee I head back down the hill, back to the Seattle Center and the Space Needle, which like the Tower of the Americas in San Antonio has another mandatory photo opportunity at its base, an experience made all the more cringeworthy now I am sans Maria and Chris. The photographer doesn't even bother telling me to get ready, she just presses the button and plays her role in what we both know is a pointless yet unavoidable exercise.

Atop of the needle things are more hectic than the San Antonio equivalent; families looking for the snap shot and groups surrounding tour guides throng the outside platform. Here though there is also more to see with views across the city, the waters of the Puget Sound and Lake Union, and onwards to the mountains beyond. Regardless of the activity up here and the traffic in the city below the sight of water seems to enforce an air of tranquility. I am sometimes ashamed of the football fan in me and this becomes another such occassion for this embarrassment as with all this on view my vision seems to centre in on the Seattle High School Memorial Stadium beneath the tower, complete with soccer markings on its artificial field. I resolve to myself to play there one day and on descending from the tower seek it out for a better look.

The light begins to dim over the city and from my window at the Moore Hotel I watch the red glow of the sky above Lake Union turn a midnight blue. Hotel room lights flicker into life across the city and from somewhere below the tinned sound of live band belting out Mustang Sally drifts up while my curtains billow in the late evening breeze.