Portland in black and white

I don’t dabble in black and white photography much. These shots sort of make me want to do more.

portland bw

cover   leavesbw

mossbw   rosesbw   gardenbw

Oregon travelogue vol. 2

Sunday in Oregon started with breakfast at the Sassy Onion in Salem, which served me a fabulous slice of French toast, whose toppings included the hilariously named marionberries. I wish all fruits shared names with disgraced politicians. How could anyone pass up a heaping plate of bacon and fulliloves? Mmmm.

Chock full of carbs, Jason and I dropped Alanna off at the house so she could complete the week’s trivia questions, and we took off toward Portland.

Our first stop was Washington Park, home of the zoo, the rose garden, and the Japanese gardens, among other attractions. We followed the twisty road until we were sure we had gone too far, and then realized that we had arrived at our destination. We hit the Japanese gardens first. It was odd going from bustling park atmosphere with cars and people everywhere to reverent, nearly silent wooded area within mere seconds.

waterfall

The Japanese gardens, for me, are a study in texture, pattern, and light. I filed away little ideas to take back home for my house and garden. At the top of my list: Those little smooth hand-sized pebbles lining the walkways. Oooh, and moss.

bridges   walkway detail   awning

The gardens — and all of the area, I found — were also a study in spiders. Good god almighty, they were everywhere.

spider

I’d be poking my head this way and that, trying to take pictures or get a closer look at something, only to find that three webs populated by three spiders were hanging mere inches from my face. Mercifully these were not evil kamikaze jumping spiders, but small laid-back hippie garden spiders who had no interest in injecting my face with their deadly skin-rotting venom. I suspect their presence was at least partially responsible for the fact that I didn’t get eaten alive by mosquitoes even while in the lush woods. That’s right: Lovely weather, no humidity, and no mosquito bites. Heaven is populated by a bunch of spiders. What a fucking rip.

Jason and I both have fastwalk syndrome when it comes to being inside a place we’ve paid admission to (see also: museums), so we saw all there was to see of the gardens in no time. I suppose you’re meant to walk around and meditate or contemplate or pontificate or whateverate, but I’ve never felt comfortable paying money to have deep thoughts. Except when I went to college. Ba-zing! Wait, that wasn’t even a good zinger.

my favorite   IMG_1576   peach roses

The Japanese gardens are within walking distance of the rose garden, which is just kind of a ridiculous place because it is just bursting with color as far as you can see. I mean, it seems improbable that so many varieties of roses can be so beautiful at the same time. It’s a bit overwhelming. Jason and I made our way leisurely through the rows, stopping to smell the blooms when we thought about it. That was part of the fun — not every rose smells great and there’s no real way to tell which ones will.

bunches of roses

After our sashay through the gardens, we were ready to get out of the sun. So we drove on into the city and made our way to Powell’s, that giant beacon of literary retail fortitude. I thought New York’s Strand was huge. Ye gods. Powell’s is the kind of huge that becomes kind of impossible to contemplate right away. It’s constructed and laid out like a confusing old thrift store, which I kind of loved. I ordered a refreshing tea type drink from the cafe and roamed the aisles, marveling at all the esoteric sub-departments. I did not allow myself to buy any books, although I did get suckered in by the stationery knicknacks on sale. I’m weak.

Once Powell’s was conquered, Jason and I found ourselves in need of a novelty doughnut. We were in luck, because Voodoo Donuts is just a mere sunny-day jaunt from Powell’s.

voodoo donuts   bubblegum donut   menu

I suppose I can forgive Voodoo for stealing what could have easily been my personal slogan (hyuk!), because they make an obscenely fine novelty doughnut, for which which we waited out in the sun for MULTIPLE MINUTES, in a line wrapped around the building like iPhone-on-release-day fanboys. Jason found himself unable to resist the pull of the Bacon Maple Bar, while I found myself seduced by the Old Dirty Bastard. Jason was kind enough to let me sample the BMB, and it was unbelievable. Like pancakes on a doughnut. My ODB was ridiculous as well; it’s a glazed doughnut with chocolate icing, crumbled Oreos, and a swizzle of peanut butter. That’s right, America. I hate my arteries. (Full Voodoo menu here; I regret that I did not try a Memphis Mafia.)

Gut bomb successfully dropped, we walked around a bit and decided to rejoin Alana in Keizer so we could have dinner in Salem at McMenamins (Boon’s Treasury). Aside from waiting forfuckingever for drink refills, the dining experience at McMenamins was pleasant, and I enjoyed two glasses of Ruby. I love that the proprietors hunt for interesting old buildings to transform and inhabit.

I should also probably note that while exiting the car to go in to McMenamins, a bird shat on me. Well, actually, near me. On the car as I was getting out. I received some residual splashback. It was my first bird shitting ever. I’m glad it could happen in Oregon, where the bird shit is organic and free-range.

Anyway, my trip was shorter than I would have liked, but it gave me a taste of life in a region that is so vastly different from where I live now. I can’t wait to go back.

Oregon travelogue vol. 1

I nearly mucked my trip up entirely, but the fine people of Delta Airlines got me to Portland safe and sound and mostly sober (wine is now $7 on flights and therefore out of my price range) early early early Saturday morning. Jason, legendary Sidelines alum and current evil muckraking boss of Keizertimes, was such a trooper, and picked me up at the airport shortly after midnight. He may or may not have brought a Welcome-to-Oregon! Gatorade bottle full of syrah for the hourlong trip back to his house, during which he gave me a pretty comprehensive overview of local politics and civics and culture and the $300 million Portland is about to spend on bike lanes thanks to the efforts of those damned feisty cyclists in the Pacific Northwest.

I love traveling to a new place and getting the rundown on the local controversies and scandals and even the mundane political shit that plagues every municipality. Sure, every city is kind of the same but every city has its own weird shit, and when you venture into a truly liberal part of the country, that weird shit just seems so far-fetched. I love that Portland has an openly gay mayor who shares a name with a beer and I love even more that he’s not even three years in to his term and he’s already had a pretty scandalicious sex scandal.

Saturday morning I managed to get up bright and early at 9:30 local time. Jason was out at the local RiverFair festival, so Alana and I got breakfast in Salem and swung by the farmer’s market for some fresh-cut flowers and blackberries (which turned out to be so unbelievably sweet and awesome when dropped into a glass of bubbly). Salem and Keizer are cute as can be (Jason and Alana will argue this, I’m sure). They’ve both got sort of a bustling, idyllic smallish TV-town feel to them — Salem especially because it’s older — but Salem’s obviously not small, being the state capitol and all. There is something about Oregon’s statewide urban planning regulations that makes even their suburban towns feel very accessible and pedestrian-friendly and homey. I dig that a lot.

Alana and I met Jason at RiverFair Saturday afternoon and perused the booths. I was tempted by glow-in-the-dark artisan jewelry. And dogs. God, I’ve got the dog lust and it needs to quit.

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IMG_1366   IMG_1359

Then it was on to the Willamette Valley wineries, starting with Firesteed, which I see locally all the time. We tasted a flight of reds and whites and then all chipped in for a bottle of riesling and went on our merry way. We also hit up Left Coast, where I bought a bottle of pinot noir rosé, and Johan, where I bought nothing but was very impressed with both their estate and reserve chardonnays. I usually hate chardonnay but they take it easy on the “oak” so it’s not nearly as much of a mouth punch as some others. Mental note: See if this is carried locally. We ended the day’s tasting round at Eola, where I bought a couple of bottles without regard to how I was going to get all that booze home safely (happy ending: I left a bottle for my hosts and got the other two home, wrapped in clothes in my suitcase, intact).

The valley itself is beautiful to look at and it seemed like every time we topped a hill, an even more beautiful vista laid itself out before us. I love Memphis but I am tired of flat West Tennessee landscapes. I need drama in my horizons.

This post is getting long and I’ve got to head to work so I better wrap it up and continue my travelogue in a new post later.

First, I’ll say this:

As I’m getting older, I’m really starting to appreciate the fact that so many of my friends have situated themselves all over the country. It’s a marked luxury to have all these interesting places to go and my friends to greet me there and show me a good time. I’m not sure how I lucked out in that regard, but I am incredibly grateful for the experiences it has brought me.