Sunny Seattle

Accounting the events of an eventful day I actually had money to enjoy myself.

Sunny Seattle

Part 1

It has been a very turbulent couple of years since moving back from Nevada and quite a while since I’ve had a day in which my free time and spare money actually aligned in a way that could break the cycle of work/sleep neurosis. The original goal was to go see The Districts; a young, up and coming band from Philly that came across my ears a year or so ago. I purchased tickets to their show in Ballard a couple months prior and since I had the day off and the show wasn’t until 9 pm I thought I’d make a day of it and see who else I could get in on it. Luckily, I have a few friends up North.

The day started out, as it usually does, with buses. I left around 7:30 in the morning very tired from being too excited to sleep but caffeinated, with my ukulele sticking out of my backpack and a vague idea of what I was doing as I caught a bus out of Milton to Federal Way to catch the express bus downtown. Most express buses that enter Seattle from the south usually take the Seneca Street exit and turn on 4th ave and I always get a rush when it does. It is one thing to drive in through SoDo and watch the small buildings turn into warehouses, then complexes, then office buildings, then skyscrapers as you get into downtown; but I-5, since it’s position is halfway up a hill rather than down in the valley, allows for a perspective of everything all at once, occasionally obstructed by the twisted knots of off ramps and on ramps. One minute the tallest thing next to you is possibly a semi-truck on an otherwise flat freeway, then one exits and instantly gets the sensation of being but an ant in a forest of glass, concrete, and steel. Even at the exit the buildings seem to be spewing from the ground and attempting to take the freeway like bamboo chutes.

What has always drawn me to Seattle is that I have always seen it as Washington’s social hive. In the smaller towns around King or neighboring Pierce County that I have lived in, one can assume upon encountering a stranger that they either live there or, at most, live a couple towns over and are here for work or dropping through on their way somewhere else. In Seattle, however, anybody could be from anywhere for vastly more exciting, considerably more adventurous, downright strange, or completely innocent reasons. The family loading up their luggage in front of the hotel could be from out of state, or even visiting from another country, or they very well could be from Eastern Washington and headed back after a relaxing weekend. The same applies to every face you see walking down the sometimes gray, sometimes shining, sometimes soggy, definitely gum covered, occasionally infused with “cologne de bum pee-pee” or “perfuma de tear gas” (as well as fresh coffee and sea air), and, on not-so-rare and wonderful occasions, singing and dancing streets.

On this day, it was sunny and blue skied.  Despite or precisely because of the hour (9ish), the streets were humming with folks Petitioning, Picketing, Performing, Panhandling, Percolating, Napping, Negotiating, and Narrowly avoiding each other while going to Work, breaking from Work, Waiting, Watching, Wondering or attempting to make a transfer in Westlake to the Woodland Park Zoo. It was the quintessential Populated Nebula of Whimsy that the Pacific Northwest is known for, and they were all looking at their phones.

Stepping off a bus in Westlake is like walking off a boat into a river; one must observe the flow and be ready to jump in and go with it. One can not get immediately distracted by the view of seemingly infinite towering structures, or the occasional penis draining itself behind a construction ladder lest one wants to be bumped in to the former or the latter. While riding the surf and avoiding the spray, I managed myself to the calmer stream of 3rd and Pine and waited for what turned out to be one of the most enjoyable bus rides I’ve experienced.

The King County Metro bus route number 5 had a particular driver that day who clearly loves his job. He greeted every passenger warmly and with enthusiasm and had a constant dialogue going over the intercom as if he were playing the role of an airline pilot when announcing there will be “turbulence” up ahead due to potholes. He also played the role of a tour guide as well as a lounge singer the way that he would call out the approaching stops using a song lyric to describe the neighborhood we were entering (example: singing the first line of  Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together” as we approached Virginia Street declaring “Virginia is for lovers”. Or, singing the chorus of “Route 66” but stopping just in time to make the correction that we were actually approaching 63rd street). Everyone else on the bus must have seen this act before as I seemed to be the only one hanging on his every word as we zigged and zagged (or was it a zag then a zig?) to and across the Aurora Bridge, through Freemont, and finally the Zoo.

In my deepest regret, my stop came up on me sooner than I expected and I only had time to jump off last minute instead of going up and shaking his hand and thanking him for the ride and the show.

It had been years since I had last explored The Woodland Park Zoo. The last time, just like this time, I had a guide with me. Since High School, I have had three friends who were devout enthusiasts of the animal kingdom. Of these three friends, only one went on to pursue it to extent of making it their profession as well as their passion. As for the other two, I lost contact with one a long time ago, the other, only a few years ago (both of which had their sites set somewhere else or lost the drive), but not before going on an adventure much like this. I consider it mutually beneficial to visit the zoo with someone with an encyclopedic knowledge of animals because I have somebody to fire random (and hopefully insightful) questions at and they get to not only test their own knowledge on the subject but get to expound that knowledge to someone who is all ears in a way that must be similar to how I feel when I finish an art project I actually like.

I, too, am a huge fan of beasts, bugs, birds, and behemoths. The non-partisan, eco friendly crowed that (at least for some of them) only send a tweet because it’s the only way they’ve known how to converse since the dawn of time. The furry, scaly, feathered, 2 legged, 4 legged, 8 legged, 100 legged, no legged bunch that are our terrestrial roommates. They say when someone is acting without conscience, logic, or compassion, they are inhumane, or, behaving like animals. Is instinctually hunting for food and pursuing procreation worse than the human inventions of starting wars over ideology, the practice of human trafficking, factory farming, reality tv, or advertising? Would you rather be in the company of a congress of apes, or The U.S. Congress? Both will probably tear you apart, but at least one group will be up front about it.  Some days I’d rather cast my lot with the hairy thumbed and thumbless, but who would text me? My fawning over fauna falls short, of course, when compared to my old friend, the recently crowned zookeeper.

It’d been approximately eight years since we had met up and a debate could be waged over what I was looking forward to more: exploring the zoo or meeting up. After a short exchange of texts to zero in on each others location we eventually spotted each other from across the Flamingo Parking area, which was easy considering there were no pink birds, pink cars, nor pink birds driving pink cars or any birds driving any cars were present. As I crossed the lot, on the lookout for pink pedestrians, the eight years of time dust, the same dust that tends to accumulate over our memories of estranged friends, began to shake itself loose until we were within smiling distance, then hugging distance, as we eventually did both and pieced together how long it had been since we had done either. Then we were off.

Having a obviously superior lay of the land, she quickly charted our path through the different exhibits and established that a mexican restaurant would be the finish line. Our first stop was the African Savanna where my first zoological observation involved watching a zebra take a nice long morning pee as well a summary of how zebras can behave like jackasses sometimes, though there was no donkeys to reach for comment. Additionally, as we made our way, we encountered an amalgamation of wetland birds, the amazing termite snacking sloth bears *see Grateful Dead*, giant and beautiful Malayan Tiger brothers standing up on their hind legs for sips from a milk bottle, earth's original skyscrapers: the giraffes, as the zoo was celebrating the birth of an adorable new calf that still stood several feet above me and in the shadow of it’s still taller mother, aunt, and papa, a sleeping king of the jungle and his queen, a raptor show which not only showcased their avian grace as they swooped from perch to perch above the crowed or off in the distance, but also 101 puns about pigs that will make your tail curl as it also featured a little teacup pig turned stagehand attempting to “earn its wings”.

All the while, she recited with passion and enthusiasm everything there was to know about the exhibits as well as what goes on behind the scenes. As she explained things to me, others would overhear and ask follow up questions, and she would field those as well, beaming as she went.

Later, with ice cream cones in hand, we saw a pack of grey wolves in a doggy pile as a moose solemnly strolled in the distance, we observed enormous brown bears lounging in their pool, silverback gorillas and THEIR new baby lounging in the grass, and a flat out sleeping group of orangutans curled up in their burlap blankets. (Pro tip: show up early before everyone goes down for the afternoon nap).  Of course, the reptile house is always squirming with the ever deadly Komodo Dragon, a (pardon my language) F*****G HUGE python (trussssssst in meeeeee), as wall as the other smaller slithery crowed made all the less visible but the giant wave of summer campers that had enveloped the zoo at this point.

Next, we saw humboldt penguins as they wobbled on land and torpedoed through their pool.  Then, the tropical rainforest that was so teeming with exotic birds including the incredibly beautiful and banana beaked toucan, that it felt like I was back in the tiki-tiki-tiki-tiki-tiki room at Disneyland. Nearing the end of the of our loop, we passed the interaction area complete with goats and pigs that, as a grown man, I had to refrain from plopping down in and petting whatever approached. Lastly, we past the a fan favorite and majestic steer who shared close quarters with a group of exclusionary donkeys that prefered to keep their distance.

While I may have missed a few, I will not forget the exhibit that caught my eye and made for a hilarious theme to our wandering. The Francois Langur, or leaf monkey, is small and resembles a 17th century diplomat with broad white mutton chops. Upon meeting this hilarious creature, my zookeeper friend bestowed a personality to it; full of pompous, yet hospitable gruffness, incorporporated with the most expertly executed british trill to which I could not help but laugh hysterically, join in, and continue on in this fashion at each exhibit.

The morning and afternoon was not all academics and animal character development as we also discussed the headache of protesters that are want to show up and complain about anything they feel like defining as abuse, which is always a tricky subject with zoos. Along the same lines we discussed some points that I read about in Yann Martel’s “Life of Pi” regarding humanity's tendency to personify animals and not see them for what they really are which pertains to the former point as well as politics involving animals in the wild or captivity. Additionally, and well into lunch at El Chupacabra in Ballard, we partially caught up on the past 8 years as well as all our stories of our decade deep adventure into adulthood. We discussed friends from the past and what is left of them which was both celebratory and jaded in tone, the trial and error of being grown ups, and how fascinating I was finding North Seattle and it’s potential for possibly being my future residence if I can get the dough together. We munched, I had delicious carne asada tacos, and we sipped strawberry lemonade until we parted ways; she to her other gig and I to catch a bus to Myrtle Park for the 2nd half of my day, still 6 hours to showtime.