Meatless in Seattle

I didn't like Seattle the first time I went there in 2002. It was not long after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks, and I awoke one morning to learn of a plane crash off of Long Island that appeared to be terrorism-related. Also, it rained the whole time and I got accosted by too many homeless people for my liking. Plus I was stuck in a boring hotel in a not-so-great part of town, sitting through meeting after meeting of pompous businessmen and lawyers discussing price fixing among oil companies and other topics for which I cared very little.

I returned to the Emerald City last week, and this time my experience was 180 degrees from my 2002 trip: The weather was cool and the scenery beautiful; the homeless were few and, dare I say, pleasant; and I actually got to see much of the city, as well as Mt. Rainier, from a distance. Trees that seemed too tall for their own good enclosed the roadways, creating natural tunnels. Oh, and no terrorist threats to dampen the day.

After a day of meetings and workshops, I participated in an "Amazing Race" knockoff sponsored by my company, accompanying 10 people I didn't know to places such as the Seattle Aquarium, Pike Place Market (home of the first Starbucks and the infamous fishmongers, pictured) and the Space Needle. The highlight wasn't so much the weather or the sights but the people I was with -- again, people I barely knew.

After completing the race, which my team "won," we headed to an Asian-fusion restaurant called the Wild Orchid or something similar. The menu served me -- the sole vegetarian among throngs of meat eaters -- well. I sat next to two gentlemen in much different phases of their lives: both fathers, far along in their business careers. One of them had been a writer, like me, but ultimately his path took him to the helm of a business for which I have no stomach. I also spent time, happily, with a married mother of two, a sweet woman in her mid-40s who liked to touch my arm when she talked. She put me at ease immediately, but kept telling me to have children, telling me how wonderful the experience was, how it had changed her life and would surely change mine for the better. We traded jokes about the Dalai Lama. She kept asking if I had had enough to eat, mothering me.

I ended the night in a biker bar along the waterfront, meeting up with two women in their late 40s to early 50s, and one of their husbands. They talked of shaved genitals, among other things. One showed her breasts to a biker named Dave who looked remarkably like Jabba the Hutt with a handlebar mustache. I am still amazed at how irresponsible some people act when they are away from home and embolded by the spirit of a few drinks. Throughout the night I laughed. I cringed a little. I traded stories and revealed tattoos.

I started walking back to the hotel, alone, at 11:00 p.m. Seattle time. As always, I was happy to be by myself. The streets reminded me of San Francisco: not vertical but by no means flat. The buildings reminded me of Chicago. As I turned right onto the street that my hotel called home, I thought I could do well in a place like this.