11-24-2008Portland International Airport (PDX), Oregon
I arrived on Thursday and the rain that was predicted was delivered right on time. The MAX light rail line runs directly from the baggage claim area at PDX to downtown Portland. It takes about 40 minutes, costs less than $3, and is pleasant enough. Portland's Northwest Hostel is a great place. Room 20 is typically hostel simple but it has a window, a private bath, a double bed, a dresser, and a chair. It was more than I expected for $40 a night. Strangely, one wall is covered by shallow white cupboards, as if it used to be part of a kitchen. It's clean, respectable, cheap, and in a great neighborhood. It's exactly what I wish for in a hostel, especially at
this time of year when there are fewer young people and the drunken noises they make. Somehow the place gets daily donations of fantastic artisan breads and these breads, and often bagels, are distributed freely in the kitchens. Thus, all morning the old Victorian house smells of fresh toast.As advertised, Portland is a wonderful place for walking. Over the course of the three days I spent in town itself I must have walked eight or ten miles. The city reminds me greatly of Providence, the city of my youth. The red brick industrial buildings, the turn of the century Victorians, the quaint shops and odd teenagers, all struck me as immediately familiar. Not to mention the gray skies and chilly rain that fell all Thursday afternoon and on Friday after
noon.
noon. Portlanders love their beverages. I apparently loved them too much myself over the course of a Friday night spent in Nob Hill. I woke Saturday with a head like a brick and a desperate need for water. In the afternoon, I met up with Joshua Cohen, a fellow Brown University graduate, for a glass of wine on the east side of town. He works out of a historic building on Burnside Street as an independent architectural draftsman. Since he and his family live on that side of town too, he's able to commute by bicycle. It felt just about perfect to chat with a local whose professional and personal interest in smart growth and intelligent urban renewal are so obvious. He recommended Ken's Artisan Pizza about 12
blocks further east. The damp hike out there was great for clearing out my head and taking in the Friday night restaurant and nightlife scene along the way. There's something so familiar and pleasant to me about long, determined urban hikes. It just feels right. Ken's pizza is thin, sweet, toasted. The cheese is fatty. The sauce is peppery. In short it's awesome. The restaurant has a refined, upper crust vibe and I had to wait just to take a seat at the bar. Getting a table was out of the question. My Matello Pinot Noir was the lightest-bodied Pinot I've seen but it was surprisingly peppery and aromatic. No doubt that a couple of more trips to Portland and I'll be a wine snob of the worst sort, what with pizza joints selling so much quality "daddy juice" and tastings priced at around $5 and fully redeemable towards purchasing a bottle.
While walking about, I often had the impression that the city was asleep or that most everyone was away on vacation. This may be because I was so recently in India, which seemed to reset my perspective on crowds. Or it may be because I've lived for so many years now in frenetic Los Angeles, but there is little in the w
ay of crowding or traffic in the city. Even more surprising is that while Portland is famous for it's intimate size and its public transport, most people still use a car and I felt decidedly independent marching across town with a backpack and camera slung over my shoulder. This was especially true outside of the northwest sections of the city, The Alphabet District and Nob Hill, where there is a real density of small shops and people do seem to march about. On Friday morning I explored downtown via the neighborhood they call The Pearl. Most of the other pedestrians were homeless people who were more congregating than they were going anywhere. Yesterday, I passed by Portland State University and was truly surprised to see only a handful 
of young people walking the streets. This morning, a Monday mind you, I saw almost no one on the streets of downtown. They must be inside those office towers somewhere. Despite this, I was a walking fool this weekend. Over the course of three days, I managed to hike all over downtown, Nob Hill, Alphabet City, and The Pearl. I even took a long hike on the Wildwood Trail, which stretches for 30 miles through gorgeous Forest Park. I climbed at least 800 feet through moist forest rich with autumn colors and ended up at the Pittcock Mansion, overlooking downtown. Too bad it was closed for holiday decorating. I'll take the tour next time.
Speaking of quiet and uncrowded transport, Portland's drivers are the slowest, most polite, most deferential to pedestrians on the planet. Just approaching an intersection on foot brings most traffic to a halt, sometimes in both directions, as drivers attempt to figure out which way you're headed, often eagerly waving you on. The one time I saw a car insist on taking the initiative ahead of a walker, the sense of outrage felt by the pedestrian was palpable, and eventually audible. There was nearly a confrontation. This was downtown, mind you, where in any other city the pedestrians would know they had better be damned careful before they step into a cross walk.
Yesterday was the highlight of my visit to Oregon. In the morning I drove out the old highway along the Columbia River into the Gorge, stopping to while away time in the spray of massive waterfalls and to gaze upon the Bonneville Dam and various public viewpoints and historical markers. After Thursday's cold front the temperature dropped of course but the skies cleared and I was treated to crystalline views of Mt. St. Helens and Hood from the city as I headed of to the east. Later, as the sun set I drove Route 26 right around Mt. Hood, a snowy peak s
o grand and bathed in light so angelically ethereal that when the road brought it flashing into view I gave out a small shout of joy and nearly wept. Along the way I took short hikes, snapped photographs of the scenery, and called my baby girl and some old friends. It was an unhurried meander in blessed and beautiful country made all the more splendorous by outstanding. My initial destination was the little riverside town of Hood River, so lauded by Outside Magazine and the other adventure travel rags. Many good wineries surround the town to the south and east so there are no shortage of places to taste good Viognier, Pinot Gris, Chardonnay, Zinfindel, Barbera, Pinot Noir, Merlot, and Cabernet Sauvignon. Apparently Oregon's numerous micro-climates make it possible to grow just about any grape well and, as one fellow taster put it, "anyone who owns south facing land is either stupid or has planted it in wine grapes." Two tasting rooms are right in town and since that was simple and convenient I headed for those. The Pines had a great Old Vine Zin, their signature wine, which is made from 100 year old vines, the oldest in the area.
More fun was the tasting room at Naked Wines. This intimate place, pun intended, feels more like an upscale coffee shop than a wine tasting room. It even has couches and armchairs. Their wines all have childishly suggestive titles, such as the Escort Pinot Gris or the Penetration Cabernet Sauvignon. Each wine label is delightfully naughty. Many of their white wines, we are told, suggest ripe melons and the Cabernet is aggressively forward. I assure that I'm being much more polite than their labels, which I'm told make it impossible to sell their wines in a few states, though I'm sure in these same states it'd be no problem to find gory and violent films, video games, and even comic books on the shelves. Tasteful paintings of an athletic nude adorn the walls and it can't be a coin
cidence that Pictures of Lily by The Who was one of the songs on the Muzak system. Surprisingly most of their many wines were quite good and I ended up buying a bottle and a wildly inappropriate shirt for Catalina ("What happens in preschool stays in preschool.") Next it was on to Double Mountain Brewery, famed for it's locally-distributed high hops content beers. After two little tasters and some chit-chat, I headed around the corner to the larger, regionally-distributed Full Sail Brewery. They've got a great little restaurant with a panoramic view north across the Columbia River and Gorge to the steep southerly slopes and valleys there. Late afternoon light played across these hills as I devoured a fresh spinach, bacon, and tomato salad and tried three tasters of their brew. The hands-down winner was Wreck the Halls, a high alcohol lightly malted ale dosed with incautious masses of hops.
I managed to be sensible and restrained about all of this alcohol and instead of ending up fatigued or downcast I instead felt renewed and hopeful. The drive home took me up into the hills surrounding Mt. Hood. A thin layer of snow covered the landscape at those elevations and I had a wondrous slow winter tour of the area and its firs, cedars and jagged white peaks.
blocks further east. The damp hike out there was great for clearing out my head and taking in the Friday night restaurant and nightlife scene along the way. There's something so familiar and pleasant to me about long, determined urban hikes. It just feels right. Ken's pizza is thin, sweet, toasted. The cheese is fatty. The sauce is peppery. In short it's awesome. The restaurant has a refined, upper crust vibe and I had to wait just to take a seat at the bar. Getting a table was out of the question. My Matello Pinot Noir was the lightest-bodied Pinot I've seen but it was surprisingly peppery and aromatic. No doubt that a couple of more trips to Portland and I'll be a wine snob of the worst sort, what with pizza joints selling so much quality "daddy juice" and tastings priced at around $5 and fully redeemable towards purchasing a bottle.
While walking about, I often had the impression that the city was asleep or that most everyone was away on vacation. This may be because I was so recently in India, which seemed to reset my perspective on crowds. Or it may be because I've lived for so many years now in frenetic Los Angeles, but there is little in the w
ay of crowding or traffic in the city. Even more surprising is that while Portland is famous for it's intimate size and its public transport, most people still use a car and I felt decidedly independent marching across town with a backpack and camera slung over my shoulder. This was especially true outside of the northwest sections of the city, The Alphabet District and Nob Hill, where there is a real density of small shops and people do seem to march about. On Friday morning I explored downtown via the neighborhood they call The Pearl. Most of the other pedestrians were homeless people who were more congregating than they were going anywhere. Yesterday, I passed by Portland State University and was truly surprised to see only a handful 
of young people walking the streets. This morning, a Monday mind you, I saw almost no one on the streets of downtown. They must be inside those office towers somewhere. Despite this, I was a walking fool this weekend. Over the course of three days, I managed to hike all over downtown, Nob Hill, Alphabet City, and The Pearl. I even took a long hike on the Wildwood Trail, which stretches for 30 miles through gorgeous Forest Park. I climbed at least 800 feet through moist forest rich with autumn colors and ended up at the Pittcock Mansion, overlooking downtown. Too bad it was closed for holiday decorating. I'll take the tour next time.Speaking of quiet and uncrowded transport, Portland's drivers are the slowest, most polite, most deferential to pedestrians on the planet. Just approaching an intersection on foot brings most traffic to a halt, sometimes in both directions, as drivers attempt to figure out which way you're headed, often eagerly waving you on. The one time I saw a car insist on taking the initiative ahead of a walker, the sense of outrage felt by the pedestrian was palpable, and eventually audible. There was nearly a confrontation. This was downtown, mind you, where in any other city the pedestrians would know they had better be damned careful before they step into a cross walk.
Yesterday was the highlight of my visit to Oregon. In the morning I drove out the old highway along the Columbia River into the Gorge, stopping to while away time in the spray of massive waterfalls and to gaze upon the Bonneville Dam and various public viewpoints and historical markers. After Thursday's cold front the temperature dropped of course but the skies cleared and I was treated to crystalline views of Mt. St. Helens and Hood from the city as I headed of to the east. Later, as the sun set I drove Route 26 right around Mt. Hood, a snowy peak s
o grand and bathed in light so angelically ethereal that when the road brought it flashing into view I gave out a small shout of joy and nearly wept. Along the way I took short hikes, snapped photographs of the scenery, and called my baby girl and some old friends. It was an unhurried meander in blessed and beautiful country made all the more splendorous by outstanding. My initial destination was the little riverside town of Hood River, so lauded by Outside Magazine and the other adventure travel rags. Many good wineries surround the town to the south and east so there are no shortage of places to taste good Viognier, Pinot Gris, Chardonnay, Zinfindel, Barbera, Pinot Noir, Merlot, and Cabernet Sauvignon. Apparently Oregon's numerous micro-climates make it possible to grow just about any grape well and, as one fellow taster put it, "anyone who owns south facing land is either stupid or has planted it in wine grapes." Two tasting rooms are right in town and since that was simple and convenient I headed for those. The Pines had a great Old Vine Zin, their signature wine, which is made from 100 year old vines, the oldest in the area.
More fun was the tasting room at Naked Wines. This intimate place, pun intended, feels more like an upscale coffee shop than a wine tasting room. It even has couches and armchairs. Their wines all have childishly suggestive titles, such as the Escort Pinot Gris or the Penetration Cabernet Sauvignon. Each wine label is delightfully naughty. Many of their white wines, we are told, suggest ripe melons and the Cabernet is aggressively forward. I assure that I'm being much more polite than their labels, which I'm told make it impossible to sell their wines in a few states, though I'm sure in these same states it'd be no problem to find gory and violent films, video games, and even comic books on the shelves. Tasteful paintings of an athletic nude adorn the walls and it can't be a coin
cidence that Pictures of Lily by The Who was one of the songs on the Muzak system. Surprisingly most of their many wines were quite good and I ended up buying a bottle and a wildly inappropriate shirt for Catalina ("What happens in preschool stays in preschool.") Next it was on to Double Mountain Brewery, famed for it's locally-distributed high hops content beers. After two little tasters and some chit-chat, I headed around the corner to the larger, regionally-distributed Full Sail Brewery. They've got a great little restaurant with a panoramic view north across the Columbia River and Gorge to the steep southerly slopes and valleys there. Late afternoon light played across these hills as I devoured a fresh spinach, bacon, and tomato salad and tried three tasters of their brew. The hands-down winner was Wreck the Halls, a high alcohol lightly malted ale dosed with incautious masses of hops.
I managed to be sensible and restrained about all of this alcohol and instead of ending up fatigued or downcast I instead felt renewed and hopeful. The drive home took me up into the hills surrounding Mt. Hood. A thin layer of snow covered the landscape at those elevations and I had a wondrous slow winter tour of the area and its firs, cedars and jagged white peaks.
Finally, while falling asleep last night I glanced at Friday's posting and realized that without any deliberate planning or haste I managed to accomplish all I had hoped in Oregon.
