This was Memorial Day, and in celebration of America we observed that annual crossroads of community and capitalism: the locally-sponsored festival. We spent the afternoon at the Pike Place Market Street Festival, where we sat at the very first Starbucks location, ordered expensive and complicated coffee, and spat on all the underlings. Actually, we marveled at the all the pricey arts and crafts that we could never afford to appear free enough to buy.
We then drove to Seattle Center to observe the Northwest Folklife Festival, which featured more affordable crafts, more music, and more food. It didn't take us long to see those grungy locals to continue to pay tribute to Kurt Cobain and the crispy Seattle weather with their Native American hoodies, hacky sacks, and backwards baseball caps. Hello, 1993.
There's a grand fountain area in the middle of Seattle Center that you can descend into a large bowl-shaped structure and get your feet wet. Not that I did; after all, I am wearing new sneakers. But there were many steps and columns. It was most tranquil.
There's something magical about a place where a tourist can successfully bargain. This was the last night of the festival, and by early evening the food vendors started to get restless. We leapt to action. First, we got two Indian food entrees for slightly less than the price of one, though I think we got smaller portions, so that our merchant brethren could savor a small victory. Soon after came a clearance bounty of cotton candy, coconut milk, strawberry shortcake, brownies, and vitamin water. A few hours earlier we would have paid thrice as much, or starved.
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