OK, not exactly one month, but four weeks in close enough. I’d like to start by reviewing some of our favorite activities here in Portland. Since we’ve arrived, we’ve seen much of the city and seem to appreciate it more with each new destination or site. The odd, individual attractions, like the world’s smallest park or the Shanghai Tunnels, endear our new home more deeply but cannot replace our ties to New England and the friends and family we’ve left behind.
As you know, we’ve stopped by and spent some time in many of the outdoor attractions in and around Portland. Our favorite so far must be the Japanese Garden, which beautifully juxtaposes engineered excellence with raw, natural beauty. The gardens provide an impressive meditation space with striking views of the city, a peaceful respite from the busy streets. We’ve sampled some of the local cuisine (pizza and beer) and are less impressed by the pie than the beer. American Dream Pizza came well recommended from the Internet, an entity with which I have lost some trust, and is located just up the street. The sauce was bland, with a slightly bitter after-taste and the dough tasted as if it had been frozen. It was OK, but not worthy of the five or so stars it had received. I’ve also eaten at Old Town Pizza, which was slightly better. The sauce had a more developed, spice rich flavor, but the crust still tasted frozen. It’s time to invest in some dough-training and make it fresh. A freezer has never been a friend to pizza. The beer, on the other hand, has been surprisingly rewarding. Portland is well known for its beer creation and consumption, a well-deserved reputation. Amber limits her flavors to the palest of all ales, while my flavor preference varies to include lager, bitter, cream ale, everything from Corona to Guinness. One standout exists amongst the crowd: Slingshot Extra Pale Ale. It has a light flavor without the bitter after-taste and a slight hint of fruity balance. I really enjoy the research that has gone into Portland cuisine, drinking beer on the patio.
We have also spent some time away from the city. We drove to the coast, which is detailed in a previous post, and enjoyed the inspiring power of a relentless surf driving into the jagged, volcanic rock of an overly active geo-thermal past. The trip was phenomenal and I could describe all over again, but won’t. You lead busy lives and I couldn’t live with myself for stealing away precious moments. Just read the earlier post two or three times in a row which will have the same effect.
Moving away from the review of what you’ve already read, we’ve also kept busy since the beach. I’ve had two job interviews, one with an insurance company and one for an SAT Prep company and am waiting to hear about their decisions. We visited the Hoyt Arboretum, a large forest with a variety of trees from around the world just west of the city, and were amazed at the towering sequoia and timeless ginkgo. If any lovers of the outdoors come to visit, we have a list of several sites worthy of any tree-hugger and Hoyt is near the top. We hiked around the arboretum, following trails named for the dominant trees: Fur, Maple, you get it, and spent a few hours checking out the natural beauty of dedicated tree space. The trees towered above and shaded away the driving sun.
We also toured the Portland Underground, known as the Shanghai Tunnels. History whispers that less than respectable saloons would over serve able-bodied patrons and send them unconscious through a dead fall in the floor. Once subterranean, these forsaken sailors were imprisoned and later sent onto trading ships and forced into labor on the open seas. A terrible fate, to be sure, but with the ever-growing city seeking cosmopolitan status, developers must sacrifice these historical sites for earthquake prevention. The only reason I know any of this is, our tour guides repeatedly reminded us “what earthquake proofing does to history,” and the message was not lost on me. No, sir. I understand that we should forsake the future for the past; that in a geographically turbulent reason, we should ignore the demands of plate-shifting safety and not prepare for the inevitable quake. Come on. Be reasonable, tour guide. If we are to respect the past, we must make it to the future and maintaining the underground, while important, cannot compromise our safety or the progress of a developing people. Sure, there’s a compromise somewhere in there, but the internet is only so big and I don’t have time. Preserve or destroy? This question has troubled the minds of millions, and at some point, we need to get out of the way.
Just this past weekend we got out of our own way and toured the Mt. Hood Fruit Loop; that’s what they call it, and I’m impressed. I wouldn’t have the brazen ignorance to call something a fruit loop, unless I was trying to make the entire project fail. Fruit loop? You don’t call something what it is, if what its name is means something different and amazingly insulting. Enough. The loop is a thirty five mile drive near Mt. Hood lined with orchards, wineries, and county stores. It’s a drive much like the Mohawk trail, with more fruit. Some of the farms were charming, while some of the wineries were stuck-up, elitist assholes. We felt singled out as less than worthy for a sampling. Even though wine sucks, a company shouldn’t presume I think that before I clearly say it. Boycott Cathedral Vineyards! Don’t buy their small-market batches. Stay away from their Chardonnay! Hey, that’s a pretty good battle cry. 3-5-7-9; I will not drink their wine! I’m pretty good at this. But enough outrage, the drive was nice and the views of both Mt. Hood and Mt. St. Helens were worth the hour drive. But wine still sucks.
Now down to the weather. It has been hot as hell, here. It hasn’t rained all month, so everyone that told us to get used to the rain can eat it. It’s hot. It’s been over ninety degrees for the past few days and dry. I’ve had more boogers from the dry air here than I ever had in New England. This is not the ideal sixty-seven degree weather I had been promised. If I could sue a city for breach of contract, I would sue Portland. Lobo v. Portland, a case to set an earth-rocking precedent for disenfranchised citizens everywhere: I’ll be famous, immortal in the annals of the Library of Congress. Lofty dreams, to be sure.
As you can see, we’re keeping busy as I search for employment and Amber waits for her placement to begin, two weeks to go. We’ve seen the city, eaten the donuts, drank the beer, and sampled the coffee. There are still countless experiences to experience and I’ll keep writing if you keep pretending to read. Below are several pictures of our time in Portland, so far.
No wine samples for me
Cookies and pies on the Fruit Loop
In awe at the Arboretum
Gaze ever upward at the towering timbers
It came from the stalks, lumbering forward, driven by the unseen forces of converging ley lines.
The maze was fun and we challenged ourselves to go forward and backward through it with and without the trivial directions. We were only lost once or twice and quickly recovered. GPS be damned.
The following Saturday, we discovered the Smithsonian magazine was offering a free museum day for select museums. Through some financial revue, we chose to visit the Oregon Historical Society, which cost slightly more than the other available museum. We need to be frugal in these trying, economical times. What? Don't judge us.
He also worked on some more ethnic puppetry, as you can see below. He made giant Day of the Dead puppets, and those wires just in front of the figures made them move and dance. I couldn't figure out how to make them jitter-bug, but we sure made them shake it. The entire museum was worth the free coupon and we had an enjoyable time, until I set off the alarm.
We were in the pioneer section, having viewed the Portland hats and geological review, heading toward the Lewis and Clark exhibit. The museum had recreated the tent of a botanist traveling with Meriwether and Willy with fine detail. Drawings and notes littered the wooden table, a foot-locker lay in the corner, a fine lantern lit the canvas from above, and I innocently poked my head in for an inquisitive look. Perhaps I was too close, or too curious, but the overhead alarm sounded with three less than cordial blasts and shocked me backwards. Probably what it meant to do. It was a brief brush with the law, but I'm a changed man, skirting the fringes of acceptable society, staring down the man, loitering. You know the kind, Jimmy Dean like.
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