Clueless In Seattle

After the immigration ordeal was finally over and we had loaded up on caffeine at Starbucks, we all agreed we were STARVING. Darn ship had thrown us into the streets of Seattle without any breakfast. We found the Pike Place Market which I had seen before on �Emeril Eats Seattle� If you can�t find something good to eat at the market, you just aren�t trying. It�s a riot of smells, colors and tastes. Fruits, flowers, seafood. Street musicians, magicians. Arts and Crafts.

I had the Blueberry pancakes.

Our waiter was a scruffy lad who looked purely Seattle in his flannel and goatee. We asked him about the good places to shop, but it turned out he was from St Paul, Minnesota and was still searching for the local Target. He had been in town 3 weeks

Check out my Seattle slide show. I love big city markets. Fishmongers throw giant silver salmon through the air. I didn�t think we were in Kansas anymore.

After several hours wandering the market and the obligatory trip up the Space Needle, my legs were begging for mercy. The rest of the happy family wanted to visit the aquarium. Ray had this idea that the girls should learn something since they were missing school. I elected to skip the aquarium, since I am no longer in school, but I did want to see Safeco Field: Home of the Mariners

Ichiro Suzuki is HOT, and I don�t just mean his bat

There was a little waterfront trolley that ran from the cruise ship to the ballpark. The plan was for me to ride the trolley, see the ballpark and return to the ship to rest, maybe even take a nap.

But you know what they say about how men make plans and God laughs.

I pay my $1.50 and board the trolley. Seattle dogs are cool. They are allowed on public transportation and they all seem to be veteran riders. Unlike me, who stays on the trolley too long and ends up in Chinatown. Then the conductor kicks me off the trolley and says I can�t get back onboard for 20 minutes.

I am not wearing a watch. My phone says �No Service� but I am near a large metro bus terminal. After consulting a bus schedule, I make new plans for getting back to the ship. They involve a transfer at Northgate station, or maybe Eastgate Station. Some Directiongate station, anyway. The bus people are friendly and my $1.50 transfer seems to get me onto other buses without having to pay anymore. I am looking out the window, thinking about how wonderful public transportation is when I realize the bus is leaving the downtown area and gets on the freeway.

And it drives and drives and drives. For maybe 20 minutes before it stops again. I�m in the �burbs north of Seattle now. I am a child of the �burbs. I recognize one when I see one. The bus is slowly emptying out. Finally I am the last person except for the driver. He stops and tells me I have to get off, and �where was I going anyway?� I mention the dock for the cruise ship. He laughs and says that another bus will be along soon and I just need to backtrack.

While the �burbs of Seattle are very pretty, I wish I had dropped breadcrumbs. It�s 3:30 and the ship leaves at 5pm and I am the parking lot of a freakin� Target in North Seattle.

Ray wouldn�t let the ship leave without me, would he?

The other bus comes. The misadventure plays itself in reverse and I arrive back at the cruiseship trolley stop at 4:50. Ray is waiting there with a wheelchair and looking like my parents used to when I finally came home after being out too late. That "Oh Thank God you are alive, because now I am going to kill you!" look. I am sure you have seen it

�How was the aquarium?� I ask innocently

�Maria liked the otters� he growled as he began pushing me to the ship. I don�t tell him that my legs are feeling much better. I had been sitting on my butt for hours on the bus

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