 "The EMP building")
It's an exceptionally fine morning and to celebrate, I decide to brew myself the last of my coffee from Seattle. Mug in hand, I fiddle with the internet radio to find the right music to pair it with, and randomly come across a channel dedicated to Nirvana, the rock band that electrified the eighties and nineties.
It's fate, I muse, that I've been reminded of Seattle for the second time that morning. For it was when Nirvana's frontman, bad boy Kurt Cobain, sang the grunge classic, Smells like Teen Spirit, that Seattle was catapulted from being somewhere in the middle of an all American nowhere to the centre of the pop music world. Nirvana's alternative music and Cobain's onstage antics, especially his habit of smashing guitars at the end of every concert, electrified me when I was in my teens. Not surprisingly, as the music and coffee took me back to Seattle, the first place there I recalled was the Experience Music Project (EMP).
The chandelier of guitars inside the Experience Music Project
The EMP is a museum of popular culture like no other. When I saw it first, two questions sprang to mind. Had jet lag made me hallucinate? Or was there something really special, if you catch my drift, in Seattle's coffee? The building was silver, blue and fluorescent pink; its weird curves defied architectural principles and aesthetics. Then I learnt that its architect had modelled it after one of Cobain's guitars - after he'd smashed it onstage.
Inside, the EMP is nirvana for TV, film and music junkies. From the minute an immersive exhibition on horror films got me thinking about a movie genre I've never really cared about, I knew this was going to become my favourite place to hang out in Seattle, and it did. Interactive exhibits turned my own shadow into a plethora of monstrous images, making me wonder if the lure of the supernatural was that it somehow makes us confront the monster within. Hall after hall was filled with immersive rock memorabilia and special exhibits, including the famous "lightbulb" jacket Michael Jackson wore in Thriller and a crazy chandelier made of guitars.
The EMP building
Hours later, when I emerged from the EMP, everyone around was smiling. "You're lucky to see Seattle when it's not raining," said the guard as I walked out of the building. He was right. My impressions of Seattle, largely fuelled by my compulsive watching of the TV show Grey's Anatomy, were of a rainy place with an unusually large population of good-looking doctors. With blue skies and nary a dreamy surgeon in sight, this Seattle, with its unique laidback pop culture vibe, had been excitingly different so far. What else can one say for the city whose attractions include a futuristic phallic needle rising up in the sky, a beloved wall decorated with chewed up bubblegum and a neon-coloured museum building shaped like a smashed guitar?
I headed to Pike Market, stopping en route at its famed Bubblegum Wall, an insalubrious expanse of gobs and gibbets asserting man's right to stick his chewed up piece of gum wherever he chooses to. Last year, when the "establishment" decided to clean it up for reasons of hygiene, the wall developed a life of its own. Overnight, colourful blobs re-appeared, till it seemed as if the cleanup had never occurred. Today, the public art installation stands proud, adding a goopy dimension to the term "mixed media".
Staff looking at the Nirvana exhibition that took place in 2011
At Pike Market, there was a super array of fresh seafood on display. All this coupled with the fresh salty breeze gave me an appetite, and at a nearby cafe, I asked for a plate of mussels cooked in wine. Dipping crusty bread in the aromatic broth, I felt content to linger over lunch. A fine drizzle picked up, making me realise that in Seattle, even the weather conspires to make you yearn for that cup of coffee. The coffee there was seriously good, not surprising given that Seattle isn't just the birthplace of Starbucks but also has some of the most serious artisanal coffee roasters in the US today.
Just then, the doorbell rings, bringing me back to my faraway balcony in Delhi. I realise with a pang that my cup is empty. That's the end of my coffee from Seattle, at least for a while.
