Sorry! There are no listings matching your search.
Try changing your search filters or Reset Filter
Seattle’s Pike Place Market turns a simple errand into street theater, and the star act happens when a 20-pound salmon sails over tourists’ heads. Since 1930 the market has stacked nine levels of fish, flowers, and flannel along Elliott Bay, but the fish-throwing corner remains the loudest, slimiest, and most Instagrammed patch of Washington.
Pike Place Fish Market squats at the corner of Pike Street and 1st Avenue, under the giant red neon clock that’s ticked since 1927. Orange ice beds glisten with king salmon, Dungeness crabs, and geoduck clams longer than your forearm.
The monks in orange rubber aprons start the chant at 11 a.m.—“One, two, three, fly!”—and the fish arcs like a silver torpedo into waiting gloves. Miss the catch and it slaps the counter with a wet thud; the crowd roars anyway. Buy a whole salmon for $12 a pound or just stand back and film—the show’s free. The smell of brine and coffee hangs thick; gulls circle overhead hoping for scraps.
Drop one level down Post Alley, under the market’s main arcade, and the bricks turn rainbow with 30 years of chewed gum. The Gum Wall started as a prank in 1993; now it’s a sticky collage taller than your head. Pose for photos—phones come out faster than wallets—or add your own piece if the mood strikes.
The alley smells like bubble gum and wet pavement; a hidden speakeasy called The Can Can hides behind a false panel if you need a cocktail to wash the sugar down. City crews steam-clean it every few years, but the gum grows back like moss. Bring hand sanitizer; you’ll thank me.
Cross Pike Street from the fish stall and the brown mermaid logo marks the 1971 Starbucks—smaller, darker, and way louder than the chains you know. The line snakes out the door by 8 a.m.; order a Pike Place Roast and watch baristas pull shots on the original brass machine.
Buskers set up on the corner—today it’s a violinist sawing through “Sweet Child O’ Mine” while a guy in a unicorn hat dances for tips. The store still sells the brown ceramic mugs that started it all; grab one before they sell out at noon. The bathroom code changes daily—ask nice or hold it till the public restrooms upstairs.
Washington’s Pike Place Market packs a century of saltwater hustle into one city block—flying fish, sticky walls, and the coffee that fueled a revolution. From the first throw at 11 a.m. to the last busker at dusk, every corner begs for a second lap. Caught a salmon on camera or found a secret stall we missed? Drop the clip at pingviews.com—we’re mapping the Evergreen State one flying fish at a time.