Sat 7 Jul 2007
We just returned from a two day trip to Port Townsend. Always delightful, always beautiful, our trip was super fun. We couldn’t seem to get the food thing right, however, and with the exception of one coffee shop we found error in all our dining excursions. From finding a big hair in my salad (I picked it off and gamely ate what I could) to the horrendous, obviously frozen, fish and chips Josh ate, we couldn’t seem to eat well. I also chomped on a huge clump of nasty tasting baking soda in my vegan bran muffin (I guess that was technically my fault, what with ordering so practical).
We chose to go historical this time around at stayed at the Palace Hotel, which was once a brothel:
Pro’s: Old fashion, cute, comfortable king size bed, all the rooms were named after former prostitutes (Miss. Rose was the name of our suite), no clocks or phones in the room, and Josh sprung for the huge soaker bathtub.
Con’s: Big fat cookie crumbs on the bed spread when we first walked in, loud music emanated from a nearby club–sure it was honky tonk but after several hours it began to wear on me, three long flights of stairs and no elevator, a near fire was started when the lampshade fell off its holder and made contact with the hot light bulb (me: “What’s that burning smell? josh: “I have no idea.” me: “Wait, a minute, is the lampshade smoking?).
The close proximity to so many cute shops and cafes was super fun. I had these grand fantasies of visiting all these historical buildings but balked when I looked at the price vs what-you-actually-get ratio. The historical museum didn’t look all that promising, from what we could see it looked like someone’s senior project: photos tacked up on cardboard sort of displays. The museum store was a lot of fun:
I also had high hopes for the historic Rothschild House. I had envisioned a huge house, like a mansion on the bluff, that we could roam around and imagine what life was like 100 years ago. Instead we cruised up to a house not unlike our own, ramshackled, turn of the century craftsman. We walked into a tiny corridor with roped off rooms and a lady pounced on us. She was obviously a volunteer for the historical society and we all had an awkward moment standing in the corridor. Josh and I didn’t realize how ‘one on one’ the tour might be, there were no other people around, and the lady totally stared at us. In hindsight, I realize we were probably suppose to make small talk with the her, where we were from, what sort of tour we wanted. This sort of banter is what good tourists do. I awkwardly asked if we could look at the garden outside and beat a hasty retreat, Josh trailing after me.
Port Townsend continues to be an adorable hub of galleries, shops, and art is everywhere! The local artist coop was super cute, lot’s of cute, quirky art:
Josh noticed how hippy Port Townsend felt, what with its anti-patriotism in the windows, abundance of farmer’s markets, and a coffee shop literally on every block (locally owned I might add). I would much rather vacation in this environment then in the yuppy touristy places that even Seattle isn’t immune to, (not-local veggies at Pike Place anyone?) I also loved that art was everywhere–not just in the galleries. When trying to find a place to eat we stumbled on this large chalk poem on a picnic table:
This sweet VW bear also made me smile:
Check out my flickr page for more Port Townsend pics.