As soon as I walk down Virginia Street, the question forms on my tongue like clockwork even before I reach the Pike Place Market: "Why, why do they allow cars to drive through the narrow street that fronts the market?"
Cars other than loading vehicles, that is.
Nine years ago, divesting myself of a car and whittling down possessions in order for my husband and me to move into a 480-square-foot condo was no easy feat. Part of what I wanted, other than to simplify, was to reclaim a walking lifestyle that included shopping at the Pike Place Market. Of all the things I wanted to change about my life, buying groceries from vendors rather than dealing with parking lots broad and routine as the aisles inside was way up there on my list.
So it's no surprise that I love Sundays at the market best, when the northern lane of Pike Place is roped off from car traffic so that strollers don't have to fear being run over by a taxi vying for time, and the street operates at a pace unhurried.
And tolerating a visual blight of any kind when I can see it from a more aesthetic, albeit more romantic, perspective is not my forte. So when I see an engine-revving automobile/tank nearly half the size of my condo (and no more attractive and less practical today than it's ever been) trying to bully its way over cobblestone laid down in the early 1900s - well, I'm embarrassed to say it, but more than once I've addressed the situation with a remark that was just a little bit malicious. Easy for an Italian girl who'd rather feel persuasive in the moment than wait for etiquette to dictate the pace of things.
The sad but inevitable conclusion is that, yes, the Pike Place Market is an American entity. Which means perpetuating the time-honored tradition of cars, cars and more cars. This is what James Haydu, director of marketing and communications for the market, confirmed for me when he told me how the merchants who face the street have consistently assured him that "direct traffic access is important to their livelihood." Cold comfort to those of us who walk through Pike Place on a regular basis. If the market merchants, like most of our society, continue to value automobiles over pedestrians, my guess, and my fear, is that many of us, especially during the summer months, will be walking to the new Whole Foods at Westlake & Denny.
What is incomprehensible to me is why we can't entertain a creative solution. Such as designating several car-free hours in midday when tourist flow is at a max. But, alas, James Haydu and I agree about the adage that seems to define Seattle of late: that change, other than condo development, comes slowly to our city. And why this is so is still pretty unclear to me, even more than it was before, when it was already pretty ambiguous.
Still, if left to simple human inclination, I'm quite sure Mr Haydu would agree that a car-free market would improve the atmosphere for all. But reluctance to accept the responsibility for change is exacerbated in our litigious times. And taking the first step toward change involves risk. And fear of taking responsibility for a risk limits creativity in myriad ways every second of our lives.
Just imagine the Pike Place Market without a traffic crunch. I close my eyes and imagine it, remembering an open-air market in France where not a single automobile crowds through and where shopping feels not like a rush-rush hassle but a social occasion. And Europe is our parent, wiser in many ways. We should not shrug off what our elder society can teach us.
I wish I could knock on every city dweller's door to ask people to help change our historic food-shopping district into what it could be rather than the roadway it is.
But I can't take on this challenge just now. I have to follow through on ones I've already set into motion.
What I can give is this column. I hope you'll think of it as a rap at your door.
Sanelli's latest book, "Falling Awake," a collection of essays, is forthcoming in January from Aequitas Books, NYC. Ask for it at your local bookstore.
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