SEATTLE was a strange place. The mountains were beautiful, like giant monuments to aspiration and challenge; but they also looked fake, like mountains painted on a scrim, to people like me who ordinarily don’t see anything taller than the Washington Monument. The colors were very “West Coast”–more neutral, more dark greens and maroons, less grime and beat-up-ness. There seemed to be a lot of money sloshing around that city. Everything we saw was Georgetown-esque. No doubt there are less fancy parts of town, but we couldn’t manage to get lost in them despite some valiant efforts. The pine trees and mountain landscape reminded me, eerily, of the drive-up-the-mountain scenes from “The Shining”–yet another sign that I’m East Coast bred. The people were bizarrely, floridly, Midwesternly friendly.