Waterfront park

One of the pleasures of having visitors from out of town is showing them sights that you've been wanting to see yourself, but haven't yet gotten around to.  Such as Seattle's new Waterfront Park.

One of Seattle's prime tourist attractions has always been the Pike Place Market.  The Market consists of old buildings, many of them perched on a steep hillside above the waterfront and lining the narrow Pike Place street -- a street or alley crowded with pedestrians and vehicles competing for passage.  Building filled with vendors of produce, fresh fish, and a plethora of tourist knicknacks, and of places to eat and drink.

Another sight has been the waterfront itself, a street along the shore of Elliot Bay, with its numbered piers jutting into the bay.

Unfortunately, getting from one of those attractions to the other has never been particularly easy, and even less attractive.  Until now.

My friend Jim, our friendship dating back to UW student days, was visiting from Indiana on Wednesday.  The weather had been snowy off and on, and the streets -- at least streets around my home -- were full of slush.  We wanted to get out and do something, and finally the weather cooperated.  The temperature creeped into the high 30s, and the slush began turning into water -- clearing enough pavement that we felt like getting out of the house and walking.

Jim grew up on suburban Mercer Island, and attended school at the University of Washington, so he was familiar with the city.  Or at least the city of the 1960s.  We walked a mile through the draining streets to the UW light rail station, and took the train downtown.  We wandered through the Market, and then into/onto Waterfront Park.  We walked through the park, admiring the views of the Seattle skyline in one direction, and the ferries and commercial boats cutting their way through Puget Sound on the other.

I hoped that Jim, a Seattleite by history although I call him now a Hoosier, would be impressed.  He didn't disappoint me.  

He remembered the waterfront as it had been until very recently.  Several flights of steep stairs dropped down behind the back side of the market to ground level.  There one had encountered a two-level elevated freeway that separated downtown and the Market from the waterfront.  The highway -- the Alaska Way Viaduct -- didn't pose a physical obstacle to pedestrian access, but it was definitely a psychological block and an esthetic horror.  Californians familiar with the old elevated Embarcadero freeway in San Francisco have a fair picture of the problem.

But now, the Viaduct traffic has been re-routed through an underground tunnel and is totally out of sight and out of mind.  The new park extends from the Market out over the waterfront street traffic and leads pedestrians through a series of plateaus, ramps, and steps gradually down to ground level, right at the waterfront.  A considerable amount of landscaping has been installed, which will come into its own when Spring arrives and leaves begin bursting out on trees and shrubs.  Also bursting out will be outdoor cafés where weary tourists and residents can stop for a meal or libation.  

No one was eating outside in 35 degree weather, so we worked our way down to the waterfront and walked most of the length of the touristed area until we reached Ivar's where we had fish and chips.  Ivar's has been around even longer than I have (founded in 1938), and is another Seattle icon.  Eating there, out doors but under cover, watching seagulls scarf up French fries tossed by amused diners, was a perfect way to wind up our explorations.

After examining the brand new ferry terminal -- another revelation -- we worked our way back to the Symphony light rail stop by a more conventional route on Second Avenue.  It was an enjoyable day -- one full of surprises for Jim, and for me as well.  

I also discovered on my phone, once back home, that we had walked a total of 5.5 miles, which we can chalk up as early preparation for our planned hike, with a number of Jim's relatives, along the coast of Wales come June.