Portland - July 19th - 22nd: Home Is Where The Horror Is.

Wave goodbye to living alone, I think we've found our home - Patrick Wolf - The Railway House.

Three groins in a fountain...and one girl smirking on a street corner.

I came to Portland with three indispensable guides - the Frommer's Guide to Portland, generously donated by Astha, Chuck Palahniuk's Fugitives & Refugees (my favourite author's guided tour of the place he calls home) and Katherine Dunne's Geek Love, which isn't really a guide but is an essential read as a couple of the characters call the city home. I only had three and a half days to spend here, which didn't seem like enough time when I first left Seattle. By the time I had climbed aboard the bus to leave Portland, I knew for sure that I needed to stay longer and halfway into my week in San Francisco, I had half a mind to board the next bus, forget the rest of the trip and spend two months in The City of Roses.

You know why they call it the City of Roses? It's to cover up the smell of sex, drugs, booze, sweat and other illicit indiscretions that occur in this most interesting of cities. How do I know this? Because I witnessed it. Mum, if you're reading this...you might want to go back and read my Utah entry because we all know how wholesome Utah is and well...this one ain't gonna be pretty.

Portland isn't a pretty city by any stretch of the imagination. For a major city, it's really small (two million people in the entire metropolitan area) The tallest building is big, pink and fabulous and the residents of Portland, a city which has given the world plenty of writers (Chuck, Katherine and Ursula K. LeGuin among others), musicians (The Shins, Dandy Warhols etc.) and other assorted brilliant minds, naturally they all call it The Big Pink. There are tons of bridges of all different shapes and sizes crossing the Willamette River, which divides the city in half. It has beautiful parts (The Pearl District, The International Test Rose Garden, Washington Park) but it has a lot of not-so-beautiful bits as well. Skidmore immediately springs to mind and well, whatever immediately springs to your mind when pondering over a word like Skidmore, that's probably what you'll find in that part of Portland.

So why did the place have such a profound effect on me? Buggered if I know.

Whilst in Portland, I stayed at two hotels, The Benson & The Paramount. One of these hotels still has one of my precious black and white heeled shoes. I don't like to play favourites with my shoes but these were particularly special, however if Portland needs a tithe from each visitor then I suppose a shoe is the least I could be giving up (for the record, the other one is in San Francisco, as there was no point in me carrying around one shoe, was there?). The Benson was classy. What happened because of the Benson was um...possibly ever so slightly less classy. During my first night in Portland I heard they had free live jazz down at the bar. I also didn't want to pay for my internet (damn cheapskate classy hotels), and (reasons to move to Portland: #1) the city has free wi-fi covering the whole of the Downtown area. Free. Hell yes, quoth I, so I put on my glad rags and wandered down to the bar area to hear some jazz and maybe gather up some inspiration for that entry about Utah that I was planning. Yeah, that was the plan...

When I get to the bar there's an assortment of middle-aged folks clustered around and most of them turned to see what the hell this young whippersnapper thinks she's doing with her laptop and that crazy flower adorning her head. Cripes. There's a young guy behind the bar who pours me a glass of Viognier which, surprisingly, I don't hate. A few gulps of wine later, I'm still not able to think of an opening line but at least the jazz is kickin'. A younger woman with a Southern accent wanders over to the bar, sits next to me and strikes up a conversation with the young bartender. Then, she spots me, the only other person in the area who isn't nearing the blue-rinse decade and comments: "Well, that looks like a lotta fun there, honey."

I've given up trying to think at this point, so I chat to the Texan woman for a while. Her name is Denelle, she's in Portland for a high school teachers' conference, her favourite word is ‘groty’ (pronounced ‘grow-ty, a synonym for ‘gross’ and yes, Texans are hilarious) and she's thinking of hitting up a strip club as soon as her friend comes down. She's got no idea where my accent originates from, so it's a good thing that she doesn't teach geography. Her friend, Ron, who I initially think is her boyfriend, arrives shortly thereafter and they depart for the club around the corner and I'm stuck being bored and surrounded by baby boomers once again. Cut to two drinks and about an hour later...

So by this stage I'm still at the bar, talking to a guy named Cliff who's in Portland on business and another guy named Mike about my trip and their work and, you know, just shootin' the breeze. Both are around the 40 something mark but they're kind of cool, I'm kind of smashed, they're kind of smashed and Cliff's from San Francisco so at least I'm getting some decent travel advice. Also, I'm no longer paying for my own drinks. My head is yelling at me. Denelle and Ron arrive once again, fresh from their adventures in the strip club and they ask the bartender, who I've discovered is a Jonah from Hawaii where he plans to go once his shift ends. Somehow, we all end up talking and before I know it, all of us bar Cliff who has retired by this stage, are wandering drunkenly around the streets of Portland, with NFI where we're headed. It's around this point in time that I realise Mike is tagging along because he's drunk enough to have developed the idea that he has a shot at me however it would take a wide variety of simultaneous intoxicants before I lose both my equilibrium AND my dignity, so we all know nothing's going to happen there (you can breathe out now Mum, why are you still reading this?). Denelle is frightened when she discovers my age (I'm the baby of the group at 22), I'm shocked when I learn hers (no way does she look 30) and the fact that she only met Ron about a week ago, he’s married with kids, she’s also married but with without the kids, and when the shocks subside, we resume our drinking. Mike is the next to retire when he realises he's out of his depth, I'm also considering retiring however, somehow time leaps forward, it's 3:00 in the morning, we've all left the bar which closed an hour ago and are sitting around Jonah's studio apartment eating Doritos and I've been tagged as the wild one because these guys have assumed that since I don't talk much, I must have a lot to hide (I don’t). I become acquainted with my bed at around 3:45 a.m and for the record, there's no one else in it but me.

Did I mention that was my first night?

I wake up the next noon expecting a bitch of a hangover but I'm proud to say that I'm still every inch the hangover virgin. Muahaha. A long history of alcoholism in the bloodline certainly does have its uses, doesn’t it?

I dedicated my second day to wandering around aimlessly around the local area and I discover the joys of The Pearl (and its many galleries and excellent Peruvian restaurants…for such a small blue-collared city, Portland sure produces a lot of artists), the cleanest Chinatown I’ve ever seen (which is not many mind you, but the number is steadily growing and Portland is still winning), and the smells of Skidmore (ick) which to its detriment is kinda dodgy but to its credit, they’ve got a pretty cool Saturday street market there and Portland still has less homeless people than Seattle. Portland is a mecca for vintage clothing and Magpie is easily the pick of the bunch, two blocks from The Benson and as I would discover soon enough, indispensable to my Portland experience. Portland is also to home to the Greatest. Book. Store. Ever. It is called Powell’s, it covers an entire city block and it is so good that people are literally, dying to get in there. On the corner, there’s a sculpture of books containing the ashes of a guy who wanted to be buried in the store. I could have spent my entire travel allowance in a matter of hours, however I restrained myself and simply bought a copy of Geek Love.

Only Portland could provide the inspiration for such a novel. It’s a city filled with freaks: young kids proving punk isn’t dead as long as there is hair gel and various shades of electric blue still present in the colour spectrum, undiscovered prophets covered in rags and dreads, spreading their unique gospel to an audience who can’t be fucked with listening and gorgeous little gay boys running around hand in hand, knowing full well that if there’s ever a place where the marginalised can find their kin, it’s here. Then there’s me. By the time the sun has set, I’m in love with a city all over again.

That night, I’m buggered but not yet beaten. I grab some Thai food and head over to the celebrations at Powell’s, because it’s the 21^st, it’s Harry Potter 7 and they’re throwing a block party. It’s the Pacific Northwest which means it’s drizzling with rain (my two and a half weeks of sunshine in Seattle were sheer, dumb luck) but nothing can dampen the spirit of a couple of thousand people of all ages, watching some dudes in purple, red and green ribbons dance around, beating each other with sticks whilst singing traditional English tunes. There are fire-eaters, jugglers, people dressed as Dumbledore and Hagrid standing around for photo opportunities and the biggest sea of black-cloaked Hogwarts students seen since last Halloween. I stick around for a while but since I’m not buying the book (I was spoiled and happy about it, because that ending…ew!), I decide to bugger off and catch a bit of shut-eye after a quick nightcap.

The next morning I move hotels to the Paramount and catch an Asian brunch in the hotel bistro which is meh, average, but I’m seated next to a couple with kids, their daughter takes a shine to me and we chat. They’re Portland natives (also known as lucky bastards) who have previously lived in cities all over the world and chose to raise the ankle biters in The City of Roses because there was no better place. They give me all these brilliant suggestions for places to go and I realise I’ve only got one and a half days and there’s no way I can manage to fit it all in. Sigh.

I spend most of my day hiking up to the International Test Rose Garden (after going the wrong way. Note to self and others – the Rose Garden and the International Test Rose Garden are NOT the same thing. One is a sports area and the other is an actual Rose Garden and they’re on opposite sides of town. I am an idiot, but we already knew that. When I manage to find my way to Washington Park, the first thing I notice are the squirrels (how cute!) and the first thing the squirrels notice is me, and the possibility of food somewhere on my person. After taking a breather on a bench, one springs its way over to me (the way they move is so funny, to me at least), with a curious look. I fake as though I’ve got something nutty and delicious in my hand and the adorable little rodent is brave enough to come all the way over to sniff my hand. It discovers I’m a liar, shoots me a look of squirrelly wrath and runs off, probably so it can plot the destruction of the human species and rant about how shit everything is to a freaky Goth girl.

As for The Test Rose Garden…I’ll let the following photo speak for itself:

Yeah. There's a reason why half of my Portland photos have a distinct floral motif.

The other great part of this side of town is at the foot of the hill, there’s Elephants Deli. It’s bloody huge and full of good looking gourmet food and sweets. Because I’m predictable, I choose the rose flavoured lollies and they’re now responsible for keeping me awake on Greyhound trips. That night I had myself a burger at Virginia’s…one of the oldest cafes in Portland, where you can still smoke inside (a minus, but at least it’s well ventilated), it looks like a dive (quite cool) and they serve up an awesome Cajun burger. This is all so I can mentally prepare myself for this evening’s entertainment.

I’m off to Rocky Horror.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show holds the record for the longest theatrical release in history. Right now as you’re not reading this, somewhere in the world it is midnight and there is a cinema playing the film. It is also the only film in the world which is a comedic, dramatic horror/sci-fi/musical where by the end of the film, all the characters are in drag and know each other in the biblical sense. The Clinton St Theatre has been screening the film since its first release and as a result their shows have become legendary. If you’ve never seen the film before, then you’re not my friend and I don’t want to talk to you. Also, don’t go to a midnight screening, hire the dvd first, be mesmerised and THEN go to a screening. Preferably at the Clinton St. Theatre, a classic cinema on the outside, buggered and worn on the inside. You don’t know what kind of substances make your feet stick to floor. Purely by chance, I’m there on an over-18’s night. Outside of the cinema there’s a girl running around in her underwear, a man who is the spitting image of Comic Book Guy from the Simpsons, a lady wearing more clothing than half the queue who reveals she’s a stripper by trade and a girl clutching a Potter book who, like me, is a Rocky Horror virgin and she becomes my buddy as we’re both not a little terrified. Yes, you’re labelled a virgin if you’ve never gone to a screening at the Clinton and tales of all the horrible things the regulars do to ‘devirginise’ the newbies have become a part of the Portland folklore. I rocked up in a makeshift Magenta costume (it’s a dream of mine to play her at least once in my life) including this perfect white apron I scored from Magpie that afternoon, ten minutes before the store was due to close.

As for the show itself…I’m not breathing a word, at least not in writing. As far as I’m concerned, what happens at Rocky Horror stays at Rocky Horror. What I will say is that I’m going back at least twice before I leave Vancouver, if only so that I can confirm that what happened that night wasn’t all a twisted figment of my imagination. Did I feel violated during my Rocky Horror experience? Oh yes. It was such a relief to find some Americans who have made it their personal mission to be as offensive as possible. What I will tell you is to drive there and park nearby. Do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT rely on cabs, as I spent a frightening half hour waiting around in the deserted streets for my cab to arrive and in my fishnets, apron and somewhat revealing top I had a couple of guys in cars pull over in an attempt to well...you know. I ended up hiding out in a pub for ten minutes to ward off more potential stalkers and gave my cabbie an earful when he finally arrived.

On my final day in Portland, I wandered across the river and into the Hawthorne district, which is full of funky stores, people with dreadlocks and the largest assortment of tools for Wicca that I’ve ever seen. I make it back into the city in time to take some happy snaps of downtown before I go off witness the world record attempt for the worlds longest all drag queen chorus line in Portland’s main square. Only in Portland could such an event happen. A lot of the ladies were professionals but many were volunteers, the oldest in his 60s and the youngest was a mere 11 (get them young, get them forever!). His drag alias for the day? Miss Samantha. Of course. Also in attendance was the legendary Darcelle, who has been doing drag shows for donkey’s years and her club is yet another Portland staple which I didn’t get a chance to check out (next time…). They broke the record, with over 60 people donning a frock and dancing to ‘I’m Coming Out’ (of course!) by Diana Ross. Fantastic. I’m so pleased I was there to witness it.

With four hours to go before I had to head off to the Greyhound station and parts beyond, I grab a coffee, stumble across a craft show four blocks away from the main square (there’s always something going on in this city) and bid a temporary farewell to a place I know I’ll be seeing again very soon (but not soon enough for my liking).

To all the people of Portland, Oregon…thank you. If there’s any hope for the United States of America, it can be found within your city walls.

Discography

The Shins – Sea Legs

The Rocky Horror Picture Show Cast – The Time Warp

Diana Ross – I’m Coming Out

Wilco – Impossible Germany

Patrick Wolf – The Magic Position/The Railway House

The Rapture – Get Myself Into It

Seattle or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love My Inner Sci-Fi Nerd - June 30th - July 19th

Viva viva viva viva viva Sea-Tac! We've got the best computers and coffee and smack...

You know you're off to a good start when, on your very first day in a new country, you stumble across an International Beer Festival and can therefore cure the jetlag with drinking! Welcome, my friends, to Seattle. Condensing my three weeks into one entry may prove to be an impossible feat, but I'll try my darndest.

Phwoar.

I'd like to start by saying that Seattle is a very good looking city. With the majesty of the Olympics overlooking Puget Sound on one side of the city and Mt Rainier on the other, (not to mention that Space Needle, he's such a nice guy), I barely glanced at the men...but when I did manage to tear my eyes from the natural wonders of the Sound and have a solid perve at the other natural wonders...heh, well they weren't too bad either. Of course, the best looking people in the whole of Seattle were the people I had the good fortune to leech off for almost three weeks...my dearest friend Milly and her equally lovely housemate Astha (cheers ladies).

Seattle isn't without its dodgy side, for starters there's a good many homeless people in the Belltown area (which is also home to a chunk of the Seattle yuppies), including one guy who decided to park himself across the road from Milly and Astha's building at one in the morning and sing, off-key, as loudly as possible. You want to know what the real 'Seattle Sound' is? It's a combination of the cawing of crows and seagulls, the shrill whine of the ambulance siren, the hammering of construction and the chorus of the hobo 'battle of the bands'. This is why the Seattlelites invented grunge, it was the only genre of music loud enough to compete with all the background noise. I had trouble adjusting to Seattle when I first arrived and it took me the full three weeks for me to start liking the place. The odds weren't exactly stacked in favour of Seattle, what with the jetlag (I kept waking up at 3 a.m which is 10 a.m Sydney time, also known as 'normal time'), the flu (it accompanied me on my flight over and still hasn't picked up on my numerous dropped hints for it to bugger off), the eventual dependence on Nyquil in order to try and solve both problems (it caused more problems than it started) and just the general feelings of displacement and confusion everyone has to deal with when they're faced with the infamiliar (re: 'Milly, WHY DOESN'T THIS SHOWER WORK? This backward American plumbing system is vexing me!').

That and, as cool as Seattle is, I had difficulty fitting in with its rhythm. Seattle's a strange mix: both casual (almost to a fault) and upmarket (yuppie, ugh) at the same time. Everyone's got at least three different expensive, new-fangled, technomological gadgets, but they'll go to a classy Italian restaurant in shorts. What?! That and there were quite a lot of cool places (four tiki bars!) but there just wasn't enough freaky in the tiki, at least not enough for this former Newtown rat. Where had the famed Seattle underground that had brought forth the greats, like Cobain, disappeared?

Capitol Hill.

Oh, how my opinion changed once I found this little slice of home in a land far away from home! All of a sudden my hair colour was tame, my sense of style made sense and the ever-present coffee houses were...still ever-present, but they had vintage clothes and rainbow flags next door. Hooray! Capitol Hill is also home to great food, quirky little joints and a statue of Jimi Hendrix on Broadway (rub the head for good luck).

The main disappointment I faced whilst in Seattle was the lack of good bands playing in July. Here I was in the land of good music and all the good music had decided to temporarily vacate the city for a month so I was left with only one gig to attend. Boohoo. The good news is that my one gig was a Klaxons gig and the plusgood news is this gig happened before Jamie decided to botch a stage dive and fracture his tibia (I'd like to nominate myself as his replacement as I can sing those high notes in It's Not Over Yet better than he can and I'll take any reason to be sandwiched in between James and Simon...clearly there's something in the Strathford-upon-Avon water). The doubleplusgood news (for me) is that the Australian fans had to miss out because their gig was after the accident and I, therefore, get gloating rights.

The gig was definitely one of the better moments of my Seattle experience. I'd had a shocker of a day - I'd experimented with a different sleeping pill (note to self: never again), woke up at 3 in the afternoon feeling as though I'd been socked on the back of the head by an entire orchestra of blunt instruments, faffed around the flat for a while trying to wake myself up and then looked at a text message from Milly reading "Are you ready for the gig tonight?" only to realise I had about half an hour to get ready and get out the door. Shit. I raced up the hill (as slowly as possible), met Milly and Sean and promptly felt a fresh onslaught of pain and suffering from joyous cramps. We rocked into Queen Sheba's Ethiopian Restaurant (naturally my first thought was oh so politically correct: "What? They have food there now?") with me looking like the by-product of death's final cough, wanting nothing more skip the gig and instead be lain out on a rock somewhere in order to be pecked by birds.

And then the food arrived.

I don't know if it was the ibuprofen or the bold flavours of the Ethiopian food (a cuisine which now sits in pride of place next to Thai and Spanish in the list of 'Sam's Favourite World Foods') but I managed to find my second wind (well, actually, it was more like the first for that day) and had never felt more refreshed in my life. We rocked up to the gig late (oops) but we caught most of the set, even if we had to see it all from the back. Fortunately, Chop Suey is a small venue so I could still see the stage (not to mention the rather attractive individuals who were on the stage) and there was a nice little piece of eye candy standing directly in front of us (yeah, I was totally there for the music), so I wasn't too irritated that I'd broken my tradition of being in the front row. Unfortunately, Chop Suey has no ventilation so it was bloody hot and sticky for most of the gig. Oh and naturally the little new raver bastards in their day-glo body stockings chose the back as their little fortress so it was difficult to hear the post-song banter over the cries of "YOU GUYS ARE SO HAWT!!" So, the boys were really good live, the highlights being Gravity's Rainbow (the one song off Myths of the Near Future that I'd properly listened to...'properly' here means 'heard more than fifty times'...the reason why I barely knew any of their other songs pre-gig was because I couldn't stop playing that one song) and Golden Skans, which kickstarted the next little Klaxons obsession (let's not discuss how often that song has been played over the past couple of months) despite their drummer (Steffan, the almost-fourth member who, as Sean correctly noted, looks about thirteen and dropped so many beats during Skans that I almost nominated myself for the position of new Klaxons drummer...any excuse, really).


Top Seven Best Things About Seattle (not in any specific order, as always):

1. Cheap flowers at Pike Place Market - The rest of the market is like any other market in the world, but you cannot find more beautiful flower arrangements for the right price. $10 for a bunch of flowers which completely obscured my view of the oncoming traffic as I walked back to the apartment building and would have set me back at least $25-30 had I been in any other city. Anything that is bigger than my giant head and that cheap has to be worth it.

2. Red Light & Pretty Parlour, Capitol Hill - Vintage, glorious vintage. Red Light is actually a thrift store chain, they've got a bunch of stores in Portland and a couple in Seattle but the stock is quality (and the stock that isn't quality is often good for a laugh) and organised by decade. The fact that they even made an attempt at organisation won me over instantly. Pretty Parlour is smaller but more fun and retro in decor as well as in fashion.

3. The Space Needle - It may seem ridiculous, especially if you're a local but you can't not go up to the observation deck at least once, if only so you can take in the views of the Cascades and the Olympics at the same time. Try not to go weak at the knees once you experience the view, it's a quite a long and presumably deadly drop to the bottom of the tower.

4. Oddball Mini-Museums - I originally wrote off the Ye Olde Curiosity Shop down on the Seattle waterfront as a rubbish little tourist lure, filled with tacky little 'Got Rain?' t-shirts and Space Needle mugs and what have you. Then I got bored and wandered in. Yeah, it's a tourist trap, but it's a tourist trap with a real mummified body among other things. I don't know why an emu egg is classified as a curiosity, but there's some stuff up on the back wall that's worth checking out if you're in the area. Also, on Capitol Hill there's the Seattle Museum of Mysteries. Say hi to Phil and eavesdrop on people debating the existence of Bigfoot in the Washington forests, find out where the ghost of the first woman mayor of American, Bertha Landes resides and ask to have a go of the theremin.

5. Famous Graves - Jimi Hendrix (who, sadly, I missed as he is buried all the way out in Renton), Bruce and Brandon Lee were all buried in Seattle. You can spot which graves are theirs easily, even if you're a stupid red-haired tourist because of all the pilgrims gathered around, taking photos. Is it morally wrong to do so, do you think? I have no idea...

6. The Science Fiction Museum & Hall Of Fame, Seattle Center. - God, how embarrassing. I originally went here for the Experience Music Project and only dared to venture into the Sci-Fi half of the museum simply because it was free with the EMP entry. My name is Samantha, and I'm not a Sci-Fi geek but at the same time it just so happens that a lot of the pop cultural thingies I like just coincidentally happen to be vaguely related to that particular genre, and for the record those pop cultural thingies certainly do not AT ALL extend to anything beginning with Star, whether it be Trek or Wars, thank you (uh, hi Samantha). It's a really extensive museum, they have everything from the uh, cool side of sci-fi (re: Blade Runner, Brave New World, Nineteen Eighty-Four, Red Dwarf) to the usual rubbish convention fodder (Trek, Wars, Babylon 5, Battlestar Galactica, that Joss Whedon shit...etc.) I was so surprised to find myself preferring this over the less-than-overwhelming EMP, even...dare I say...enjoying it.

7. The Abundance of Live Music, Everywhere (especially on Capitol Hill) - The best thing about Seattle is that in so many places, you can see musicians getting their gear out and playing a live set...even in the smallest cafes.

Top Seven Places To Eat/Drink

1. Queen Sheba Restaurant, Capitol Hill

Bliss. There's something that feels so natural about eating with your hands, especially when you can also eat the plate that your food is served on. Plus, how good is that food? Australia needs more (well, one would do) Ethiopian restaurants, it might just lure me back home. America would do well to ditch all the Mexican restaurants and replace them with more Ethiopian, for I just can't get enough.


2. Broadway Grill, Capitol Hill

Try the giant chocolate chip cookie, served warm and still in the skillet with ice cream on top. It's like an orgasm in technicolour. The crab cakes were great too. The waiters are so fabulous, darling (I felt right at home) and there's Red Light a few floors down. Er, I recommend that you try on clothes before you go to the Grill.

3. Phuket Thai Restaurant, Queen Anne

The best Thai restaurant with Thai Food (I love how they phrase it as though there would be some other kind of cuisine at a thai restaurant...) in the second (possibly third, but I didn't get to see much of Fremont, sadly) best neighbourhood in Seattle. Conveniently near Easy St. Records and the local indie cinema. Try the Swimming Rama (again, this dish needs to be introduced to Australia posthaste, it's basically like Satay Chicken but with the addition of spinach. Mmmm. ) and complement it with a Thai Iced Tea (American Thai restaurants are awesome because they all serve thai iced tea, as opposed to Sydney Thai restaurants which barely ever have that particular drink...the only place I recall is the second-rate joint near my house where the food is meh but at least there's tea).

4. Etta's - Belltown.

I had my first traditional Sunday brunch here. As it was my first time, I was rather nervous (had to have a strong cocktail in order to get myself in the mood) but I was very pleasantly surprised by the size (just right) and quality (again, phwoar) of the dungeness crab cakes. I want more...and I'll spare you all and refrain from making a poor quality joke out of the possibility of having coconut cream pie next time.

5. Salty's, Alki Beach

Phhhfttt, beach. I've seen pathetic little spits of sandy land at the edge of Tuggerah Lake that have more claim to the title of 'beach' than Alki does. The sand is grey (what little sand there is) and miserable looking and you can't swim in the water because even in the pleasant warmth of summer, the water is still too cold. So why do people still insist on coming here? Two reasons. One is the brilliant view of downtown Seattle, which might even top that of the Space Needle, because from Alki the Needle is included in the skyline. The other is Salty's, a buffet restaurant that a bunch of us journeyed (ugh, damn you Steve Perry) to for Sean's birthday. At first I thought "Ugh, a buffet? Does it look like I do buffet?" and then I discovered that well, yes actually I kind of do...but only on the condition that said buffet is Salty's and that it's the Sunday brunch buffet because oh my lord, what a spread. Delicious. No danger of salmonella poisoning here. There's a ridiculous amount of top-class gourmet selections here, including Atlantic Salmon with miso and something-I-can't-quite-remember-but-whatever-it's-fabulous dressing and a delightful little dessert called key lime pie which I've never seen in Australia before and that fills me with shame and disappointment.

6. Tini Bigs, Belltown

You know why American beer is so piss-poor and made from strained and fermented cat's vomit? It's so people will leave it for the rednecks and seek superior fare amongst the wide selection of 'whyhelloI'mdrunkandyou'rehotoratleastIthinkso' martinis! It took Milly one, possibly one and a half (bless her little cotton socks) and me about three (very bad effort, where on earth did my indestructible Irish liver disappear to?) before we were slaughtered. I suggest the Burning Man Martini (chilli and chocolate, is there a better combination?). I also suggest that you not mix martinis, for the consequences may be dire.

7. Coastal Kitchen, Capitol Hill

We went to Coastal Kitchen during Jamaican food month (their cuisine changes every few weeks...you might be lucky and get to sample Sub-Saharan African food one week and then the next week find they've changed to Italian and ...I imagine...they'll want to put cheese on top of everything) and we were lucky. That jerked chicken was good (I'll let the Futurama fans finish off the rest of the sentence).

Top Four Worst Things About Seattle

1. The Hobo Chorus

There are only two million people in Seattle, which is nothing compared to the five million in Sydney, yet I'd say the homeless population is about equal. Which is quite depressing, especially when they're all asking you for cash and if you gave your spare change away to every single person asking for it, you'd soon be joining them on the corner.

2. The Coffee

Yes, it was Seattle that was responsible for Starbucks. I think you can blame Seattle for most of the annoying coffee chains that have sprung up over the past ten years, except for Gloria Jeans, which is clearly the work of Satan. I didn't have one decent coffee the whole time I was there. I was told this is because I chose iced coffee each time but hey, it was summer and it was quite warm for Seattle, why the hell would I drink boiling hot coffee? If you want good coffee, go to Portland. Not only is their coffee vastly superior to their northern neighbours, they also have free wi-fi everywhere.

3. The Experience Music Project, Seattle Center

Oh Seattle, city of the emerald hue, you let me down with this one. It wasn't completely boring (they had video interviews with Ruth Brown and Henry Rollins) but it just wasn't as much of an experience as I had hoped. I barely spent an hour trolling around. Sure, the Jimi exhibition was great but the rest all looked a bit sparse. I'd say to anyone wanting to go here, come back in ten years when they've picked up their game a bit and for this trip...um...gonextdoor.

4. Everything Shuts At Once

I now recognise this to be a nationwide issue (like the cheese fetish) but come on Seattle, I thought you would be so much cooler than that. Bars shutting at 2 a.m because of silly liquor laws? The whole city shutting down after 11 on weekdays and maybe 2 if you're lucky on weekends? Not even Sydney is that slack.

Discography

Despite my poor gig effort, Seattle will forever be associated with the following:

Klaxons - Golden Skans. Will someone please get this song out of my head, I am begging you, please stop this madness! Seriously, you don't want to know how many times this song was put on repeat, particularly in that last week in Seattle. And in Portland. And well...I'm in Santa Fe now and still not tired of it, although there have been other tunes on high rotation to help curb the Klaxons-induced insanity. Damn you sexy Simon Taylor and your so-indie-it's-almost-emo hair. And that music video. Omfg. No wonder I find him (and James isn't too bad either) attractive, they're so obviously gay!

Obviously there has to be some Nirvana, the question is which? I'm going to go with School.

Robyn Hitchcock - Viva! Sea-Tac. Awesome, awesome song about the city, sung by a loony British bloke with a kink for the streets of Belltown. Get it here, because it took me ages to find this song, those of you in Australia have no chance of obtaining it and everyone deserves to hear this little gem.

Weezer - Undone (The Sweater Song)

C.S.S - Let's Make Love & Listen to Death From Above

Justin Timberlake - What Goes Around, Comes Around. Arrghhhh. Damn you Timberlake. I hate you so very, very much for making me love this song. To be truthful, I fell in love with this song during the flight over to the U.S.A, in a double bill with Nelly Furtado's Promiscuous (double the arrrgghhhh) and yes, I am totally blaming the cabin fever for this one.