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I Love LA

“I love LA” certainly has a better ring to it than “I love El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de la Porciúncula.” Maybe that’s why the name has been shortened over the years to the point that now it’s just two letters. This gives Los Angeles… CONTINUE READING >>


“I love LA” certainly has a better ring to it than “I love El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de la Porciúncula”.

Maybe that’s why the name has been shortened over the years to the point that now it’s just two letters.

This gives Los Angeles the distinction of having both the longest and shortest name for a city in the US and fourth longest in the world.

Prior to being dubbed that mammoth moniker by Don Fernando Rivera y Moncada (his own name a mouthful) and his band of forty-four Spanish settlers back in 1781, the area was inhabited by the Tongva.

The Tongva territory covered all of what we now think of as Southern California and the Channel Islands including Catalina.

While journeying through The Golden State, we reckoned we ought to see where The City of Angels got its start and that meant a trip into the heart of downtown.

Nestled among the skyscrapers, train stations, bridges and parking lots we found Olvera Street, the “Birthplace of Los Angeles.”

A tiny block of mixed up Spanish-Mexican-Anglo heritage right in the middle of modern America.

This spot has been the center of LA since the 1820s when the plaza was built on the edge of what was then known as Wine Street. The road was officially renamed Olvera Street in 1877 in honor of Augustín Olvera, a Judge for Los Angeles County.

Nowadays we find a lively tourist area and historical district. Apparently the place rocks during Cinco de Mayo and El Dia de los Muertos, a weeklong celebration of joyful remembrance of lost loved ones.

Our Olvera Street explorations began at Sepúlveda House. Eloisa Martinez de Sepúlveda arrived here in Alta California with her family at the age of eleven.

They had come from the State of Sonora, Mexico, which at that time was a move from one state to another within the country.

Five years later, her family found themselves living under the rule of the United States. Luckily Eloisa’s family were landholders and didn’t suffer the fate of many early inhabitants of the new American Southwest after the Mexican-American War.

Eloisa was one tough cookie. In 1887, widowed and left without the property given as her marriage dowry, she built a commercial building known as the Sepúlveda Block on land that her also-widowed mother owned, quite a feat for a woman of her day.

The two story Victorian-style building cost Eliosa $8,000 and featured businesses, a boarding facility and her private residence.

Beautifully restored, Sepúlveda House remains today as the Plaza District’s Visitors’ Center and mini museum providing a taste
of life in late nineteenth century Los Angeles.

Armed with information from The Center, we took to the street. The street is flanked by twenty-seven historic buildings dating back to the 1800s, blending Mexican and the newly adopted Anglo architectures.

The original adobe structures from the late 1700s no longer remain. Most buildings are refurbished as restaurants or the ever present tourist area crap shops but we nevertheless got a feel for how LA rolled before Hollywood came to town.

Down the center of the narrow street small carts have set up shop to ply their Mexican wrestling masks, paper flowers, cup and ball toys, sarapes, cheap guitars, puppets and even an Elvis on velvet or two.

Browsing the souvenirs amidst the aromas of the many authentic cafes was killing us, so before we could make the last few exhausting steps to the plaza, a sustenance stop was necessary.

There are plenty of culinary choices on Olvera Street– from table cloths adorned with fine china to walking-around-with wrapped tacos.

We chose an in-between — a sit down and eat from a basket establishment, La Noche Buena, with its colorful atmosphere and tables in full view of the tortilla flinging in the kitchen.

Salsas are generally a good yardstick when sizing up a Mexican restaurant and La Noche Buena did not disappoint.

Four varieties — muy mild mannered to aye carumba! — served with whole fried corn tortillas. Everything else was gravy after that.

After a few tacos al carbon and some killer taquitos, we had regained the strength to manage the last fifty yards or so to the plaza.

The circular plaza in front of the old church is ringed with historical markers depicting the founding of the LA and its counterpart
settlements up and down the west coast.

Turns out the Spanish had a well governed system of missions and presideos all across
the southwest.

Veronica, a native California girl, was well versed in the mission chronicles, but David was not taught about the Spanish and Mexican side of things while growing up on the prairie in the 1960s.

We’re never too old to learn something new.

David & Veronica, GypsyNester.com

Video – Day Old Baby Elephant Seal


enlarge video
Baby seal born on the Elephant Seal Beach. Baby and mother have a visit from a bull and things get… CONTINUE READING >>

Baby seal born on the Elephant Seal Beach near San Simeon, Ca. Baby and mother have a visit from a bull and things get all stirred up! More seal video here: https://www.gypsynester.com/bs.htm

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The San Francisco Treat

Growing up all we knew about San Francisco was that it was really cool. Eric Burden sang about it, Otis Redding sat on its dock of the bay and it required flowers in your hair if you were going there. Sure Tony Bennett left his heart there but Jimi Hendrix left his guitar, on fire! Well… it’s true, it’s true, it really IS cool.
We rode the subway under the Bay into town (comforting ourselves with the knowledge that the odds of an earthquake rolling through while we were underground were minimal)… CONTINUE READING >>

Growing up all we knew about San Francisco was that it was really cool.

Eric Burden sang about it, Otis Redding sat on its dock of the bay, and it required flowers in your hair if you were going there. Sure Tony Bennett left his heart there but Jimi Hendrix left his guitar, on fire!

Well… it’s true, it’s true, it really IS cool.

We rode the subway under the Bay into town (comforting ourselves with the knowledge that the odds of an earthquake rolling through while we were underground were minimal) and immediately encountered some modern day hippy wannabes trying to make the scene.

Haight – Ashbury may not be filled with real live hippies these days, it plays on that past as a tourist attraction rather than a current event, but it’s still far out.
The buildings, the views, the park make this district ooze with reminiscent coolness.

The shops with apartments over them along Haight. The houses stacked on top of one another along the sidestreets.

The groovy little panhandle connected to Golden Gate Park. It all adds up to make a very happenin’ little
neighborhood.

We quickly noticed San Francisco is a city of neighborhoods, each with a unique personality and style. A stroll of a few blocks — and bam!– a new and wondrous part of Frisco to discover.

The short — and shockingly steep — walk from Haight-Ashbury to The Castro gave us great views of the city from the hills of Buena Vista and Corona Heights.

Made famous by the movie “Milk”, The Castro is considered the world’s largest gay neighborhood. Turns out, we may have the military to thank for this fact.

After WWII, when thousands of soldiers were dishonorably discharged as homosexuals, the military dumped them  at the Pacific Theater  Administration Center in San Francisco.

Many chose to stay in one of America’s most beautiful cities rather than face the discrimination likely awaiting in their hometowns.

These veterans settled in and transformed what was then called Eureka Valley but became known as The Castro, after the theater in the heart of the neighborhood.

The two blocks of Castro Street south of the Castro Street Station are a sensory overload. We had to walk up one side and down the other to take it all in.

For a little break, we stopped in at The Twin Peaks Tavern for a beverage and as it turned out, some interesting conversation.

The group at the next table told us how Twin Peaks — “the gay Cheers” — was the first openly gay bar in San Francisco.

For years the fantastic picture windows overlooking the corner of Market and Castro were covered to avoid repercussions from the police and others, but by 1973 the times they were a-changin’.

The Summer of Love was long past, Harvey Milk had opened his camera shop and the Twin Peaks felt safe enough to open the windows for all the world to see.

Our knowledgeable new friends also filled us in about the famous Castro Theater. A popular San Francisco movie house since 1922, The Castro now hosts film festivals and revivals as well as tributes to some of Hollywood’s legends.

The old palace has maintained its glory through the years right down to the “Mighty Wurlitzer” pipe organ playing before shows. The marquee alone is worth the visit.

We bid our farewells and hopped on the F-line street car for a ride right through downtown and on to Fisherman’s Wharf.

The city has restored several of the old street car lines, not to be confused with the famous cable cars.

The street cars grab electricity from an overhead wire and can’t handle the steep hills like the little Rice-a-Roni fellas can with their underground cables.

A fleet of classic streetcars from the late forties have been  restored and put back into service along with  eleven 1928 models acquired from Milan, Italy.

We were lucky enough to get one of the Italian gems to clatter and clank through town until we reached the old waterfront.

This area, though ridiculously touristy, has a distinct personality as well.  It’s pretty much all about fish. Fish markets, seafood restaurants and cheesy fishy souvenirs.

But underneath the tacky veneer there is a very cool neighborhood in the shadow of The Golden Gate Bridge and overlooking The Rock. Yup, perhaps San Francisco’s two most famous sights are both visible from here. The bridge spans the entrance to the harbor and Alcatraz sits right in the middle of the famous bay.

We coped a squat on the dock of the bay to check them out and to watch the seals and birds romp and dive in the harbor. They’re pretty into fish too. From one tourist Mecca to the next, it was time to see Chinatown.

 The easiest way to get from Fisherman’s Wharf to Chinatown is on the Powell-Mason cable car line over Nob Hill.

The little cars have been running up and down Nob Hill since 1873 by  grabbing an underground cable and being pulled along.

The cable is gripped with a viselike mechanism that is operated by the gripman via the grip lever. It takes an expert hand to smoothly grab the moving cable without tossing passengers all about the car.

On the steep downhill the gripman becomes the brakeman. He must skillfully avoid a runaway car resulting in a disturbing mishap that involves destroyed historic transportation and flying fried rice and vermicelli.

San Francisco’s Chinatown is the oldest in North America and one of the largest Chinese communities outside of Asia.

It is  also a top tourist attraction, drawing more visitors every year than the Golden Gate Bridge.

This too is a unique neighborhood with incredible shops and restaurants as well as the day to day business of life in this vibrant community.

With all of the signs written in Chinese and the strange, exotic foods and wares on display in the  windows, it’s hard to imagine any place else in America that feels as much like a foreign land as this.

On our way out of town the next day, we decided to drive over The Golden
Gate Bridge. This gave us a chance to check out Oakland and use our Oakland neighborhood guide. From there we swung around to the north so that we could cross the famous span heading south into the city.

This also gave us the chance to stop at the Golden Gate National Recreation Area just above the northern approach to the bridge. A short hike up to Battery Yates from Horseshoe Cove yields fantastic views of the bridge, the bay and the city.

 We crossed the channel as the sun broke in and out, lighting different portions of the city and bay as the wind blew the clouds along.

From our two hundred and fifty foot high perch atop the bridge we scanned the open Pacific on our right, the bay to our left and the hills of Frisco spread out ahead.

Driving across, we noticed signs and suicide hotline telephones all along the bridge.

Turns out that The Golden Gate Bridge is the preferred spot to commit suicide in the United States and one of the most popular in the world.

There is no official count, since many jumps are not witnessed, but the total  is in the thousands.

People travel to the Golden Gate specifically to jump, leaving abandoned rental cars, empty motel rooms and a mystery.

Not everyone succeeds, at least twenty-six hardy souls are known to have survived the fall, having hit the water feet first at just the right angle — then not freezing or getting eaten by a shark.

It’s unclear how many, if any, of these survivors were thrill seekers attempting a crazy-barrel-over-Niagara-Falls kind of endeavor.

So why not put up a fence to stop all of this  free falling? Well,
a fence would disrupt the form and balance of the bridge just enough to possibly destroy it.

Wind could catch the barrier and begin to rock and roll the entire structure until it catastrophically fails. So no fence, but in 2008 the Golden Gate Bridge Board of Directors voted to install a net below the bridge as a suicide deterrent. So far a lack of funding has held up the process.

Our twisted little minds couldn’t help but ponder possibilities. Would jumpers bounce like a trampoline? Would others jump just to test the net?
What would they do with all of the people stuck in the net after they took the leap? Enough of this crazy contemplation!

Reaching The Presidio on the far side of the bridge, we shook the flowers out of our hair and headed down the highway. Unlike Mr. Bennett though, we only left another little piece of our hearts in San Francisco.

David & Veronica, GypsyNester.com

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Keep Portland Weird

P-Town, Bridgetown, Little Beirut, Stumptown, Rip City, The City of Roses, Beervana or Beertown, what is this all about? Let’s see… it starts with the letter P, has a lot of bridges, protested the visits of the first President Bush so much that his staff compared it to Beirut, grew so fast that the cleared trees left stumps everywhere, had a play-by-play announcer named Bill Schonely who used odd phrases, has a lot of roses and a ton of micro breweries… must be Portland, Oregon.

So with all of these informal handles, how did the official name come about? How about a flip of a… CONTINUE READING >>

P-Town, Bridgetown, Little Beirut, Stumptown, Rip City,  The City of Roses, Beervana or Beertown, what is this all about?

Let’s see… it starts with the letter P, has a lot of bridges, protested the visits of the first President Bush so much that his staff compared it to Beirut, grew so fast that the cleared trees left stumps everywhere, had a play-by-play announcer named Bill Schonely who used odd phrases, has a lot of roses and a ton of micro breweries… must be Portland, Oregon.

So with all of these informal  handles, how did the official name come about?

How about a flip of a coin?

It’s true, back in the 1840s Francis W. Pettygrove of Portland, Maine and Asa Lovejoy of Boston, Massachusetts were co-owners of the land and each wanted to name the new town after their old homes back east. How to break the deadlock?

Believe it or not, Portland was named in a best two out of three coin toss. The Portland Penny used to decide the matter is on display at the Oregon Historical Society. Wonder what would be on display if they’d used rock, paper, scissors method?

We decided to mount our trusty cycles for a tour of Rip City. The Willamette River  runs right through Downtown and bike trails skirt both banks.

Eleven (that’s one more, isn’t it) bridges connect the two sides of Bridgetown and supply great viewpoints for The City of Rose’s landmarks.

We pedaled past The Rose Garden, no, not a plot of flowers but the home of the NBA Trailblazers, viewed the Aerial Tram from the Hawthorne Bridge and wheeled around the Historic District.

While rolling through Chinatown we found the Chinese gardens, which DOES sport a collection of flowers, displayed based on traditional Chinese landscape paintings.

The design is from Suzhou, China during the Ming Dynasty.

As usual, it didn’t take long for our thoughts to turn to food.
When in P-town, a growling belly leads to a stop at Voodoo
Doughnuts where “The Magic Is In The Hole.”

Maybe their slogan should say Hole in the Wall, because this place defines the phrase.

Oddly, there were several hundred thousand dollars worth of Mercedes, Volvos and Porsches parked right in front of this tiny dive.

The line for fried dough ran halfway down the block and consisted of  everything from tie-dyed T-shirts to business suits. Looks like health food fans come in all shapes and sizes. The locals in the queue explained that this kind of crowd is business as usual at the Voodoo.

What was drawing this strange blend of characters? We stepped into the closet sized shop to find out.

The décor is early punk rock teen bedroom with the music turned up loud. Real punk, serious angst filled I’ll-cut-you punk — no Greenday here — we’re talking Lou Reed, The Sex Pistols, Iggy Pop and The Ramones.

Needless to say, it’s all take out, there’s no place to stand, much less sit.

We ordered the famous Voodoo Doll with a pretzel stick through his heart, bleeding raspberry- blood filling and the equally illustrious  Maple Bar with not one, but two strips of bacon on top.

Our little chocolate frosted supernatural pin cushion was a-dough-rable and tasty to boot but the homely little confection of maple icing and hog won the day flavor-wise — despite our initial revulsion.

Turns out it’s like when the pancake syrup gets on the bacon.
Good eatin’.

While our deep fried sugar and dough appetizers settled we decided to take in the Saturday Market down by the riverside.

Since 1974 Stumptowners have been gathering downtown to consider the offerings from  local artists, musicians, chefs, bakers and candlestick makers.

This weekly event has become America’s largest open air arts and crafts market.

While browsing the booths we eerily felt that we were being browsed back by dozens of faces looking out from their perches at Toyu Ceramics and Life Masks.

Beverly Toyu makes the most lifelike art possible. They are perfect replicas, molded in plaster from a living face then fired in clay from the molds.

The expressions are completely captivating and the detail, down to the hairs of the eyebrows, amazing.

Moseying on, Doña Lola’s stand caught our eye. A pause for a bite of Salvadorian fare wouldn’t suck. We were immediately drawn to the pupusas, an item on the menu that neither of us had seen before.

Pupusas are El Salvador’s version of the tortilla, made from corn masa and thicker than what we are used to, similar to a gordita.

Originated by the Pipil tribes, they are stuffed with meat, cheese or bean filling and pan fried to perfection. Muy bueno. Now to find something to wash it down…

In keeping with the Beertown title, a beer garden is right in the center of the Market. Weird and intriguing musical combos entertain under the tent while the assemblage samples offerings from some of Beervana’s twenty-eight breweries.

Ah, Saturday in the park.

All in all, we found Saturday Market the optimal place to embrace Little Beirut’s unofficial motto “Keep Portland Weird.”

Weird is good.

Remembering is good too, so we were thrilled to receive the Portland version of an Explore Local Box in the mail recently. The unique items included took us right back to the Pacific Northwest.

Tasty treats like hazelnuts and jasmine tea may not qualify as weird, but they sure are good. Yet our favorites were the coasters and soap dish fashioned from reclaimed Douglas fir trees that have fallen in storms.

Pretty cool… and maybe even a little weird.

David & Veronica, GypsyNester.com

Revealing Victoria’s Secrets

Queen Victoria of England dubbed the westernmost region of Canada British Columbia in 1858 — in tribute, her name remains on B. C. ‘s capital city and our destination, Victoria.

Just before our arrival we were treated to a breathtaking show. The captain announced that orcas were sighted… CONTINUE READING >>

Queen Victoria of England dubbed the westernmost region of Canada British Columbia in 1858 — in tribute, her name remains on B. C. ‘s capital city and our destination, Victoria.

The chilled salt sea air was in our faces as we steamed north aboard the good ship Coho, crossing The Strait of Juan de Fuco toward the southern tip of Vancouver Island.

Just before our arrival we were treated to a breathtaking show. The captain announced that orcas were sighted off the starboard bow as he slowed the vessel to a crawl.

We bounded to the forward deck, grinning maniacally. Sure enough, two black and white killer whales were passing within a few hundred feet of the ship. The glorious glimpses of fluke and fin were a wonderful welcome.

Slipping into the harbor is a picturesque passage in and of itself. The port is dominated by two grand old buildings, The Parliament
Building and The Empress Hotel.

It’s not only the structures of these venerable landmarks that are so impressive but the grounds as
well. Meticulously manicured and managed — botanical gardens just a few steps from the ferry dock.

The hotel is magnificent. Built between 1904 and 1908, the four hundred and seventy-seven rooms and four restaurants are all beautifully restored to their Edwardian era grandeur.

High Tea for over eight hundred people is served every afternoon in the Tea Lobby and reservations are required well in advance. Unfortunately, due to our “the plan is no plan” philosophy, we would not be partaking in their high-falutin’ tea time.

Even more impressive is the Parliament Building with its five hundred foot andesite facade, white marble and prominent domes.

Back in 1893, the provincial legislature determined a new parliament building was needed and announced a competition for the design.

A 25-year-old — with no formal training — anonymously submitted drawings for the project under the moniker of the A B.C. Architect.
Nevermind that it sounded like one of those names that serial killers make up for the media, he won the job.

The result was so popular that he went on to design many of Victoria’s most famous buildings including The Empress Hotel, The Crystal Garden, the Steamship Terminal (now the Royal London Wax Museum), the Court House (now the Vancouver Art Gallery) and The Merchant’s Bank.

Not bad.

By the way, A B. C. Architect was Francis Rattenbury and he is well known to law students who study the “love triangle” murder case that ended his life in 1935. Moral: Think twice before getting in over your head architecturally.

Hanging out near the water, we stumbled upon a floating village. At Fisherman’s Wharf the shops, markets, restaurants, houses and boats all float in the bustling harbor.

On one end, the fishing boats fetch their catch. The docks on the other side have become little lanes between homes built on barges, giving the term “houseboat” a new meaning.

Several little markets sell the haul from the fishermen just a few steps from their boats. Now that’s fresh fish!

Turns out that harbor seals like fresh fish too and two of them had staked out a spot in front of one of the markets.

It’s quite the symbiotic relationship. The seals draw a crowd and the market provides — for a fee — scraps for people to feed them, which draws a crowd who need scraps to feed the seals which draws more people… everybody’s happy!

Watching those adorable little faces chow down their lunches made us hungry too — so it was off to Chinatown to find some grub.

Victoria’s Chinatown is Canada’s oldest and second only to San Francisco in North America. The gold rush brought prospectors from China to find their fortunes.

In order to keep traditions alive for their children, a “Forbidden City” was built within the interior of the buildings.

This created a unique architecture featuring hidden courtyards and incredible little alleyways.

However, our search was for food, not gold, and the choices in Chinatown are plentiful.

We were attracted to Don Mee by the overwhelming groovyness of their sign and entryway. It looks very much like an old theater.

Through the doors and up the stairs, we felt like we were in one of those cheesy old Charlie Chan movies.

We mean that in the best way imaginable — we LOVED it!

They were serving Dim Sum.
Truth is, we didn’t know Dim Sum from Chop Suey and felt like Dim Bulbs — but we are fast learners, especially when it comes to new ways to stuff our faces.

Dim Sum means touch the heart, referring to the loving touch in the small portions of succulent dishes. Its tradition stems from Yum Cha, or “drinking tea,” the ritual of family quality time in the south of China.

Kind of like Mother’s Day Brunch with a twist. Don Mee does Dim Sum right — bamboo steamer baskets containing artistic appy-sized delectables served from carts rolling through their large dining room.

Fragrant jasmine tea is served by the boatload.

We learned quickly that if we removed the lid from the teapot, refills came instantly.

There is no menu, each cart contains different dishes and we pointed and grunted at what we wanted as the carts rolled by.

The table had a little checklist that the cart keepers marked each time we ordered.

Immediately we were offered to consume things that were completely unrecognizable. Of course, we’ll try just about anything and, luckily, everything was delicious.

Steamed dumplings stuffed with any manner of stuff were prevalent as are steamed buns, also stuffed — the array is impressive.

The rice cooked and served inside a lotus leave was unbelievable! Who knew rice could be the star attraction of a meal?

On the odder side of the bill of fare stood the chicken feet.

Googling at the table like maniacs, looking for any excuse to get away with NOT eating the feet, we found that you haven’t really had dim sum if you haven’t sampled them, so… off the cart and into the pie hole.

There’s not really much on a chicken’s dogs to gnaw on, just skin and bones. Chicken skin is — well, chicken skin — the sauce was yummy but we won’t be petitioning the Colonel to sell them by the bucket.

Not that we need any help with food preoccupation, but we found it odd that we were thinking about food so much. Maybe it was all the secondhand pot smoke.

As we wandered about Victoria we noticed the propensity of the locals to smoke what they call B.C. Bud — right out in the open. On the sidewalk, in the park, we even spied a guy at a stoplight rolling one up as he waited for the light to change.

Curious, we asked our friendly bartender (we get most of our information from bartenders and taxi drivers) about the rampant pot consumption later that evening.

He said, “We grow the best stuff in the world so everybody smokes it. Well, not everybody, but almost.” He went on to explain that the laws have changed back and forth from legal to illegal to decriminalized that finally the local authorities decided to ignore them.

Well, mostly. Even the explanation has exemptions.

We tipped him a loonie and a toonie and headed for the ferry. LOVE it — a loonie is a one dollar coin with a loon on it and a toonie is the two dollar coin with a polar bear, eh?

In actuality, they don’t say “eh” much out here on the west coast — they’re too mellow for that. Reckon why?

David & Veronica, GypsyNester.com

Pacific Northwest Seafoodapalooza

Nothing draws us GypsyNesters to an event like sticking the word “Fest” on the end of it. Like moths to flame, kids to candy, cats to a catbox or flies to…. windshields (what did you think we were gonna say?) we’re there in a heartbeat.

We were downright giddy with excitement to hit Washington State just in time for Salmon Fest AND Crab Fest. As we ventured into the Pacific Northwest, the salmon were running upstream with their insane, unstoppable urge to spawn. The horniest teenager ever has nothing on these swimming sex fiends.

Many Cohos and Chinooks fight their way up… CONTINUE READING >>

Nothing draws us GypsyNesters to an event like sticking the word “Fest”  on the end of it.

Like moths to flame, kids to candy, cats  to a catbox or flies to…. windshields (what did you think we were gonna say?) we’re there in a heartbeat.

We were downright giddy with excitement to hit Washington State just in time for Salmon Fest AND Crab Fest.

As we ventured into the Pacific Northwest, the salmon were running upstream with their insane, unstoppable urge to spawn. The horniest teenager ever has nothing on these swimming sex fiends.

Many Cohos and Chinooks fight their way up Issaquah Creek for their reproductive romp, desperate to return to The Washington State Fish Hatchery from whence they came.

In the Seattle suburb of Issaquah this fascinating annual phenomenon spawns the beloved Salmon Days each autumn. (The 2023 festival is October 7th & 8th.)

As Fests go, this is a winner. For forty years now, hundreds of thousands of people have come to celebrate and sell-a-brate the return of the salmon.

Scores of booths hock the wares of local artists and artisans along the closed off streets of downtown Issaquah. Five stages scattered throughout feature music while humans satisfy their urges through feeding frenzies at the food vendors.

Larger-than-life salmon are toted throughout the festival on specially harnessed volunteers along with banners that say “This ‘spawn’ brought to you by…”

In an odd quirk, almost none of the available vittles contained any salmon whatsoever.

Where were all the salmon steaks, sandwiches, salads or sushi?

Not here.

All we could find was one booth selling smoked salmon packaged to take home and a couple of cubicles with questionable fried cakes.

What we did find was a fascinating view of the life cycle of these giant fish at the hatchery.

Thousands of salmon, anywhere from three to six feet long, fighting their way up dozens of miles from Puget Sound, in a stream too shallow to cover their backs in many spots.

At the end of the journey they pile up in a traffic jam at a dam waiting to get into the tanks where they began their lives several years before.

The  hatchery has been breeding and releasing Coho (King) and Chinook (Silver) salmon since 1936. These days they return a whopping four million fish a year to Issaquah Creek.

Between the salmon in Issaquah and the big Crab Fest in Port Angeles sits Seattle. We figured we ought to take a look.

In keeping with our theme, our first stop was Pike Place Market on the waterfront. This was our kind of place!

There was seafood galore. Pike Place is famous for their vendors and their propensity to toss large fish over the counters to fill an order. A whale of a good time!

Colorful produce booths line the market with free samples of candy-like  Washington apples — fresh off the tree — offered every step of the way.

Literally. Our fiber intake went way up that day, we couldn’t help but gorge.

Our never-ending search for weird regional food brought us  to PIROSHKY, PIROSHKY… where piroshky rule the day, in fact, piroshky is all they serve.

We had never eaten — much less heard of — a piroshky, so not trying one was out of the question.

A piroshky is the  Russian version of a handheld filled pastry, much like pates in the Caribbean or pasties in the U. P. of Michigan. Or possibly an apple “pie” from McDonald’s.

The shop offers over thirty varieties and our favorite, both for its fresh local content and its shape like a fish, was the smoked salmon. Besides, we’d been craving salmon since we got skunked at the Fest.

Just a few blocks  walk from the market and a quick trip on the Jetsons- esque, world’s first full sized monorail and we were staring up at the landmark of The Emerald City.

No visit to Seattle is complete without a trip to the top of The Space Needle.

Built for the 1962 World’s Fair, the 605 foot tall structure is perhaps the best example of cheesy  1960s space age architecture on the planet.

Better yet, it was the location for the Elvis 1963 cinematic classic It Happened at The World’s Fair.

The view from  the observation deck 520 feet in the air is fantastic, but pales in comparison to standing on the very spot where The King portrayed Mike Edwards, Cropduster.

Elvised up and ready to rock, it was time to head out across the Olympic  peninsula for The Dungeness Crab & Seafood Festival in Port Angeles. (This year, 2023, the festival is October 5th through the 8th.)

On the northern coast of  Washington, this is definitely the place to be for any decapod chowing seafood lover.

Crabfest in Port Angeles, Washington

Not nearly as vast as Salmon Fest, what Crab Fest lacks in size, it more than makes up for in crustacean tastiness.

Wanting to work for our grub, we tried our hands at crabbing in the Grab-A-Crab Derby on the pier.

For $12 each we were handed a little contraption with snares made from loops of fishing line and pointed towards a oversized tank full of crabs. If it were left up to David we would have starved.

He couldn’t snag one of the claw footed, bug eyed buggers to save him but luckily, Veronica snatched them out of the water like an old salt. She snared six of them, so we chose two for dinner and released the others back to the tanks to be snagged again by some other lucky crabber.

For those who don’t want to fish for their supper there is also “The Famous Crab Feed” where a whole Dungeness Crab is served up with corn, coleslaw, music and beer.

Demonstrations of crab cookery from celebrity chefs help to whet the palate.

Shells cracked and bellies filled, we wandered through  beautiful downtown Port Angeles.

Nestled between the Olympic Mountains and the Strait of Juan de Fuca, scenic beauty and ginormous trees define the area but a more recent claim to fame dominates the business district… The Twilight books and movies.

Port Angeles is the town where the bloodsucking characters come to shop and hang out.

The local entrepreneurs have embraced it wholeheartedly — we glimpsed Bella’s prom dress at a clothing store and were bombarded with displays for days at the book store, restaurants, gift shops and, of course, the movie theater — all decked out in an endless array of Twilight swag.

We discovered that Port Angelean teenagers have a love/hate relationship with Twilight when we visited the local downtown movie theater.

As we settled in with our popcorn, we were surrounded by young folk — giggling, gossiping and flirting amongst themselves.

As the lights dimmed the preview for New Moon, the second movie in the Twilight series, lit up the screen and the place filled with audible groans.

 Teenage angst aside, the Twilight phenomenon has really benefited the area. As one bookseller told us, “Anything that boosts the economy around here without clear-cutting trees — I’m all for it.”

And so are we.

David & Veronica, GypsyNester.com