Grannies, Cookies and Duplexes

My first major task since arriving to Seattle has been to locate and secure a suitable apartment. This was following a disastrous decision to secure an apartment close to the University without having seen the building. I have no wish to revisit this sorry episode but it is sufficient to say my apartment did not have the views of Lake Washington as depicted on the web. The apartment had a more graceful vista of the rooftop of a nearby burger restaurant equipped with visually stunning extractor fans and muddy puddle textures.

After dropping the apartment I then began the search for another. This involved many days of my Converse and I clocking up the mileage on foot through the Seattle suburbs. I learned a few valued lessons during this period: Firstly that converse trainers were not made for walking further than 4 blocks. Secondly, scanning through the rental listings, that lots of Americans have basement duplexes available for lease. In terms of a definition, a duplex is a house comprising of two units on two different floors with the second unit in either the basement or sometimes in what is known as a Mother-in-Law apartment (otherwise know as a MIL). So the basic principal of the duplex is that your landlord will generally own the house and in most circumstances live in the unit above you. In my search for a suitable apartment I excluded all MILs simply on the basis of the name, as I could not live with the shame of renting a Granny flat.

However, I was intrigued by the basement duplex concept and my first introduction to them transpired when I answered a rental ad placed by a very nice lady called Judy. Now Judy owned a big, traditional American home and to save money to send her grandkids to college, she had converted her basement into a two bedroom ‘apartment’ to rent out specifically to graduate students and ‘fine, young couples’. As if to emphasis her grandmotherly and trustworthy credentials as a prospective landlord, she had freshly baked cookies for me on arrival.

There were a number of striking features to Judy’s basement apartment, which will hopefully provide some insight. Firstly, every light fitting in the entire apartment had been switched on, which considering it was a bright and clear late summer morning, struck me as a tad odd. However, the reasoning behind this decision became apparent the moment I switched off a light, as it was darker than the London Underground. This was more poignantly illustrated by a collection of the sorriest looking spider plants I have ever seen, which were not a good advert for the presence of natural light in the ‘daylight’ basement.

Secondly, there was a large garish purple curtain covering a doorway in the lounge, which revealed a pine staircase leading upwards to a door. In my naivety I asked Judy what lay behind this door and she simply stated that it was her home (I guess stupid questions…). I think the shock on my face, drew Judy into reassuring me that she hardly ever used the door except when doing her laundry or to pay her tenants a visit. The next obvious question was to ask whether as a tenant, I would be provided with a key for the door. Judy laughed at this and stated that for her own security she had the only key and that the door was kept locked with the exception of laundry day.

Now I appreciate that grannies need to maintain security in their homes, I really do, but what about my security? Judy seemed like a very nice lady but whose to say that she was not a danger to me also. Just because she has grandchildren does not mean I will not wake up one night to find her standing over me offering more cookies. Plus do I really want to be interrupted during dinner by a granny descending the stairs and passing through the purple curtain to wash her nighties?

Suffice to say thanks to my hyperactive imagination and the less than satisfactory first impression of the basement duplex – I did not rent Judy’s place. It is a sad, sad world in which you cannot trust a granny, especially one offering cookies…

The A-Team

It is general accepted that a sign of one’s fading youth is the regurgitation of TV programs from childhood, as either a renewed program or a big screen adaption. It could then be argued that any excitement evoked by this possibility is sufficient evidence of unashamed immaturity and a failure on the part of the individual to properly assimilate the process of adulthood.

But then again would it be more interesting to discuss the relative differences in rental property prices comparative to squared footage across Seattle or the news that a big budget film remake of the A-Team has been approved and actors cast in the roles. Perhaps surprisingly to some but probably predictably to many, I fall into the later category. In my defence, the A-Team was my favourite TV program as a child, a title closely contested with Knight Rider and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. However, in truth no amount of Turtle Power or David Hassellhoff being outperformed by a robotic car could ever truly surpass the joy that was the A-Team.

The program formula was always the same; our soldiers of fortune would battle against glass-jawed bad guys in an exhilarating mix of guns, explosions, car chases and harebrained schemes for daring rescues. Made in the ‘golden’ era 80’s TV, it also reinforced bad social stereotypes; deployed clichéd characters in predictable plotlines and never blinked at cheesy dialogue. Nevertheless, each episode would inevitably crank up to climatic and theatrical do-or-die moment of peril for the A-Team. Only for BA to save the day with the construction of a hovercraft using a tumble dryer and a garage door, on which the heroes could then outrun and out manoeuvre the enemy. This was always despite their seemingly superior numbers, automatic machine guns, rocket launchers and helicopter gunships. But then the bad guy could never shoot straight!

This big screen reincarnation of the A-Team is therefore under considerable pressure to live up to the sherbet happy, dewy-eyed days of my childhood. After all, many of us have seen beloved programs, books or even video games dashed against the rocks of the Hollywood machine. For every Lord of the Rings there have been nightmares such as Thunderbirds, Lost in Space, Planet of the Apes, The Avengers and most tragically of all, Dolph Lundgren as a steroid enhanced He-Man.

Sadly I’m already disappointed with the casting, Liam Neeson as Hannibal and relative unknowns for the other characters. Also according to news reports the film’s director is seeking to create a more serious tone for the movie as opposed to the camped up capers of the TV series. Personally I feel that is a shame and I would have preferred George Clooney as Hannibal, Sam Rockwell as Murdoch, Owen Wilson as Face and anyone who suggests that somebody other than Mr. T can play BA, I have three words for you:

‘You crazy fool!’

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Ifestiophobia

It has been brought to my attention, by a longstanding resident of Seattle, that I failed to provide a full and accurate description of Mount Rainier in my last posting. I mistakenly missed off the most intriguing and yet worrying element of the mountain’s relationship with the city of Seattle. Without the archetypal disaster movie soundtrack to provide sufficient suspense to my narrative, the following statement may have less impact but Mount Rainier is an active volcano. I have unknowingly travelled over 4500 miles to live less than 80 miles from an active volcano.

After some extensive and anxious internet research it is apparent that my local volcano isn’t just any volcano. No, according to the US Geological Society, Mount Rainier is a stratovolcano and potentially the most dangerous and explosive volcano in the contiguous United States. So basically outside of Hawaii, whose islands are created and continually extended by volcanic eruptions, Seattle is the worst location in the US for proximity to the Earth’s molten magma. As the author of the US Geological Society article so delicately surmises, ‘Few are aware that Mount Rainier poses a deadly threat to all who live and play in its shadow.’

Unbelievable…. For years the closest I’ve been to a volcano is a bottle of Volic water and their incredibly irritating advertising campaign with the phony French accented voice over, ‘Drink in the treasure of the volcano’. (This I guess is why we love to hate the French, as only they could sell water in a poncey manner.) To now I discover that I leave right on top of volcano and can see this huge and menacing natural edifice from almost every area of my adopted city has given me a little cause for concern. Forget my fears over being shot by an over zealous moose hunter or local gangster-type; and my concern for the destruction of my vocabulary replacing 'pavement' with 'sidewalk' and 'aubergine' with 'eggplant'. These school-boy fears fade to insignificance when you have a volcano to contend with.

Cue dramatic and pulse quickening flashbacks to every CGI disaster movie and TV show that I’ve ever seen….

As I highlighted in my previous posting Seattleites simply refer to Mount Rainier as ‘the Mountain’ due to its prominence across the city. On reflection I have drawn the conclusion that this local diction is entirely too casually and flippant for my liking. As such, I will be adopting my own term of reference and will know refer to Mount Rainier as, ‘THE MOUNTAIN,’ and is to be said in an appropriately deep-voiced and ominous fashion.

You may not be able to detect this but I have a developed a certain level of irrationality about this whole topic. After consulting the reliable diagnosis tool for all mental health concerns that is the internet, I have discovered a name for my lava-induced fear: Ifestiophobia. This condition is common to actors in low budget disaster movies, geologists and Meg Ryan (See: 'Joe Versus the Volcano').

My first steps on the route to recovery from this affliction are to memorise the Washington State Emergency Management Division Disaster Preparedness plan and to start a support group for fellow victims of Ifestiophobia. Hopefully these steps will keep me from panicking until I actually see smoke rising from 'THE MOUNTAIN'.

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City vistas

Any new arrival to the city of Seattle and the surrounding metro area will initially be struck by one simple observation – the mountains. It is hard to do justice to this impression but driving to downtown Seattle from the airport provides an amazing view of the area’s topography; and it seems as though the city is totally enclosed by mountain ranges and great expanses of water. The horizon is abruptly halted by the effortless dominance of these ranges which stand like huge bastions of Nature’s might overseeing the life and times of the city.

When I consulted a map I realised that this initially topographic impression was actually fairly accurate. Seattle is located on long and thin inlet from the Pacific Ocean called Puget Sound and is the largest of approximately 8 or so reasonably sized towns and cities that stretch along the Sound and up the coastline to the Canadian border and Vancouver. Towards the east of the city is the Cascade Mountain range and then towards the west across the Sound is the Olympic Mountain range. These two ranges and the Sound are what give the city an atmosphere of natural topographical encirclement and most definitely account for the soon to be arriving autumnal (or should I say the Fall) rainy season.

The only escape from this natural encirclement is seemingly to the south of the city, which on a cloudy day appears clear and inviting. However, during my first and probably last bout of sunny and clear spells for sometime over the weekend, it is more than apparent that this is not the case. To the south of Seattle lives a gargantuan monster of a mountain….

This is a photo taken of Mount Rainier, from the top of Capitol Hill in Seattle. I had to fight some visiting Japanese tourists for camera space but I got a good shot in the end!

According to my well informed hosts, Mt Rainier stands tall at over 14,000ft and 4,300m. As you can clearly see from the photo, it has permanent snowfields all year round and stands like a benevolent citadel protecting the city. It is impossible to described how this mountain just hits you in truly poetic fashion as you travel across the city and it is understandable why Seattleites refer to it simply as ‘the Mountain.’

Friendly Neighbourhood Cat

Washington State is an area renowned for its natural beauty and an abundance of animal and marine life. The State has a rich diversity in topography including rainforests, mountain ranges and semi-deserts. Despite 60% of the population residing within the Seattle metropolitan area, the city maintains a close affinity with its natural surroundings and environment, and nationally is often referred to as the Evergreen State. This affinity is probably best illustrated by the abundance of parks, lakes, canals and waterways that available for public use across the city. As such, outdoor activities including hiking, mountain biking and sailing are part of everyday life and are fair sized local industries in their own right.

I live close by to the city’s largest park, Discovery Park that at over 500 acres is only a few blocks over from my current address. The park has attracted a lot of media attention over the last week or so following numerous sightings of a cougar. For those unappreciative of wildlife, such as myself, a cougar is also known as a puma or mountain lion and is a stalk-and-ambush predator. Primary food sources include ungulates such as deer, elk, and bighorn sheep, as well as domestic cattle, horses, and sheep but it also hunts species as small as insects, rodents and unsuspecting British students.

The animal was reportedly seen climbing trees, investigating driveways and trash cans in the neighbourhood surrounding the park. Fortunately, officials from the Department of Fish and Wildlife, with the assistance of tracker dogs, trapped and then tranquilised the cougar in the early hours of Sunday morning. The animal was reported to be around 3 years old and weighed just less than 140 pounds, which translates to about 10 stone of agile, muscular animal. Not your average friendly neighbourhood cat!

Check out the links for more on the story and some excellent photos of Seattle’s second newest resident:

http://www.magnoliavoice.com/2009/09/06/cougar-caught-in-discovery-park/

http://www.magnoliavoice.com/2009/09/06/cougar-got-to-magnolia-by-accident/

And just before I thought it was safe to take a nice stroll through the park this afternoon, a second animal has reportedly been seen in the northern outskirts of the park. I’m thinking of either buying a large dog or taking up my second amendment rights to keep and bear arms…

Jetlagged on Labor Day

Having never completed a flight across a time zone greater than anything that Europe has to offer, I have had exactly zero experience that pertains to jetlag. It was a complaint that friends and family have discussed but garnered little sympathy for. I now regret this dismissive and callous attitude, as over the last few days the affects of my trans-Atlantic flight have begun to take their vengeful toll on my pitiful and weak frame.

If I were not a naïve and green traveller perhaps I would have noticed the warning signs a little earlier: a slight maniacal twitch in my right eye, the occasional slurring of a word, a distinct flu-like sensation and the constant feeling of pressure in my temples and forehead. More significant was the over-whelming desire to simply fall to the floor, adopt the foetal position and rock myself gently to sleep. These symptoms combined to create a condition that, in the course of my long and hypochondria tinged medical history, could only really be compared to man-flu.

Despite this significant impairment, I was due to attend a Labor Day party that my host had planned to mark the holiday. The invites for the party had foretold of the presence of witty, gifted young British student who would bring sparkling company, entertainment and enlightenment to the much-anticipated event. How was I to live up to this stellar billing in my pitiful, jet-lagged condition?

Now prior to the party I had enquired of my American hosts as to the origins of Labor Day and had been informed that it was a Federal holiday to recognise the importance of the American worker. I confess that I was initially dubious of this explanation as it sounded more reminisce of Communist Russia than the red, white and blue of the USA. However, after consulting the only reliable guide that is Wikipedia, I discovered that their explanation was true. Labor Day was created to recognise and celebrate: ‘the strength and esprit de corps of the trade and labor organizations.’

I therefore decided that I would play on this theme as part of my witty banter during the course of the party. As I was introduced to each guest and conversed about general and polite niceties, I would drop in a typically droll, British mannerism; the observation that Labor Day was a rather socialist holiday for Americans to celebrate. Without wishing to brag, this anecdote played like a dream, as I circulated amongst the guests, sprinkling their evening with a small dose of the famous British wit. That was until I met the Joe….

I dispensed the by now well-rehearsed line about socialism and Joe didn’t blink. He paused and stated matter-of-factly, ‘Well son, you know what they say: work will set you free.’ My jetlag-addled British brain had no witty comeback or throwaway line to this stoic profundity. I simply gaped for a few seconds, then wished Joe a pleasant evening and retired to an early bed with my newly blunted British humour in tow.

Arrivals

Prior to my departure to the US, I had been told numerous scare stories of over zealous Customs officials making life unpleasant for visitors and migrants to the US. These stories usually followed the format of gun crazed, maniacally paranoid officials shaking down individuals for having the wrong papers, carrying ‘suspect’ items, making jokes about terrorism or the most heinous crime of all – commenting on George W Bush.

It was foreseeable that I could fall into any of these categories, if not all of them. I had darks visions of being dragged away by burly Customs & Border agents after a serious misfire of British humour, to dark interrogation room where an individual who in my mind resembled Jack Bauer would make me talk… Thankfully none of this stereotyped imagery related to my actually experiences. My paperwork was scrutinised on at least three occasions but each time in friendly and polite manner. At Customs, the agent was politer than any British Passport Control Officer I’ve met and took a kind interest in my upcoming studies.

Unfortunately the same could not be said of the stewardesses on my flights to the US. Travelling with Icelandair did initially seem like a risk but the low price swung the decision favourably towards the airline. I was also concerned that the airline would go the way most Iceland banks of late and be bankrupt before I could set foot into Heathrow. However, I safely boarded pleasant and well-kept planes to Reykjavik and then Seattle.

The flying experience was unlike any other, mostly thanks to the air stewardesses. On each flight, the crew was comparatively unremarkable to any other airline, save for the Head Stewardess – a strapping matron like figure of a woman who stood apart from her peppy and fake smiling underlings. She commanded the plane gangway with the air of Genghis Kahn meets Margaret Thatcher and had a gaze that would melt the bravest and most seasoned of passengers. She dispensed meals like rations in an army barracks and marched the gangway as we ate stopping to dispense icy stares at those failing to consume the ‘nutritious’ and oddly glowing in-flight food.

About halfway through the flight, I requested a blanket to fend off the stiff, icy draught coming from the emergency exit as we flew over Greenland. Although the matron was willing to accommodate my request, it was dispense with air of frank disappointment and condescension that shredded my pride and self-esteem.

Next time I think I’ll fly with British Airways to fly in comfort and hopefully maintain my manhood….

Welcome!

I’ve been in the US for about 20 hours now so I feel partially qualified to begin writing although a little jet-lagged. I had been tempted to post prior to my departure but what with moving homes and the rollercoaster ride that was my final farewells it simply proved impossible.

Firstly a big thank for taking an interest in my blog. It is a terrible way to begin blogging but I have to confess that I generally avoid them as much as possible. It’s probably because most bloggers are either incredibly boring or so egocentric that posts become self-indulgent drivel. Hopefully I’ll avoid these pitfalls and provide an interesting alternative view to life in the US….

So please stay interested and feel free to comment on whatever is posted, even if it is abusive!