 turned up, Sam (Tom Hanks) got gooey-eyed and the rom-com Sleepless in Seattle became another notch on Hollywood's blockbuster belt. Looking out over Washington state's biggest city from Kerry Park 30 years after the film's release, I was getting a bit gooey-eyed too. The park itself, just north of Seattle's centre on Queen Anne Hill, is a scrabbly little patch that doesn't amount to much more than some benches, a baffling abstract sculpture and a view. But what a view. There are the Olympic Mountains to the west and the Cascades to the east; shimmering Elliott Bay lies straight ahead; and then there's the classic skyline of downtown skyscrapers, familiar to anyone addicted to reruns of Frasier. It's a stunning spot. Romantic too, judging by the number of lovey-dovey couples checking out the sunset — not to mention a proposal that happened while I was there (she said yes; people cheered). Of course, one of those skyscrapers is not like the others. The Space Needle is a loveably daft tower, a Jetsons-style vision of what the future used to look like. I had visited the day before, whizzing up its 184m in a glass lift with a live commentary that the attendant had timed to fill the 41-second journey exactly (from £24; spaceneedle.com). Conceived as Seattle's answer to the Eiffel Tower, the Needle was the centrepiece of the 1962 World's Fair, an expo designed to show the USSR just how advanced America was in terms of science and space. (The Soviets must have been quaking in their boots when they heard about the revolving restaurant at the top.) The Seattle monorail ALAMY From the Needle's observation deck you can look out across the rest of the 74-acre World's Fair site, now redeveloped and known as Seattle Center. Among the theatres and exhibition halls there's a brilliant venue dedicated to the local glass){kind=link}
In 1993 an eight-year-old boy called a radio talk show to try and find a new wife for his dad. Before you could say “Isn’t this a bit . . . weird?” Annie (Meg Ryan) turned up, Sam (Tom Hanks) got gooey-eyed and the rom-com Sleepless in Seattle became another notch on Hollywood’s blockbuster belt.
Looking out over Washington state’s biggest city from Kerry Park 30 years after the film’s release, I was getting a bit gooey-eyed too. The park itself, just north of Seattle’s centre on Queen Anne Hill, is a scrabbly little patch that doesn’t amount to much more than some benches, a baffling abstract sculpture and a view. But what a view.
There are the Olympic Mountains to the west and the Cascades to the east; shimmering Elliott Bay lies straight ahead; and then there’s the classic skyline of downtown skyscrapers, familiar to anyone addicted to reruns of Frasier. It’s a stunning spot. Romantic too, judging by the number of lovey-dovey couples checking out the sunset – not to mention a proposal that happened while I was there (she said yes; people cheered).
Of course, one of those skyscrapers is not like the others. The Space Needle is a loveably daft tower, a Jetsons-style vision of what the future used to look like. I had visited the day before, whizzing up its 184m in a glass lift with a live commentary that the attendant had timed to fill the 41-second journey exactly (from £24; spaceneedle.com). Conceived as Seattle’s answer to the Eiffel Tower, the Needle was the centrepiece of the 1962 World’s Fair, an expo designed to show the USSR just how advanced America was in terms of science and space. (The Soviets must have been quaking in their boots when they heard about the revolving restaurant at the top.)
From the Needle’s observation deck you can look out across the rest of the 74-acre World’s Fair site, now redeveloped and known as Seattle Center. Among the theatres and exhibition halls there’s a brilliant venue dedicated to the local glass artist Dale Chihuly (from £24; chihulygardenandglass.com) and the Museum of Pop Culture, a Frank Gehry-designed showcase for everything from video games to local grunge legends Nirvana (from £21; mopop.org). The MoPOP highlight for me was a Jimi Hendrix exhibit that contains handwritten lyrics and fragments of guitars the Seattle shredder almost destroyed on stage.