Four Days in Portland

Recently I had the good fortune to be sent to Portland, Oregon, to attend an editing conference for work. The conference was on a Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, so I flew in Wednesday evening and stayed through Sunday morning. Work paid for my food and hotel through most of Saturday and my flights, so I was able to see a new town (one I’ve been wanting to visit for years!) for only the cost of a hotel room on Saturday night, a few extra meals, drinks, sightseeing, and souvenirs. AND it was sunny and in the 70s the whole time I was there. AND my friend Michele was coming to visit on Saturday. Luck was definitely on my side!

I rarely get to travel for work, but when I do I try to add an extra night or two at my expense when possible. Flights tend to be the biggest expense, so if someone else is covering that for you, take advantage! I won’t bore y’all with details of the conference (although if anyone wants to know about it, I will happily nerd out with you) other than to give you the bare bones as a backdrop for my experience in Portland. The conference was in a Hilton downtown, which was also where my company put me up Wednesday through Friday nights, meaning I could walk around the downtown area super easily. Also, the conference included a dinner on Friday night, but no other meals, so I got to try a bunch of different restaurants.

Day One (Half)

After an easy, direct flight but a painfully expensive cab ride from the airport to the hotel (pro tip: take the train!), I dropped off my bag in my room around 8 pm and headed right back out. I had looked up restaurants and breweries before I left Austin (Portland has more microbreweries than any other U.S. city), so I knew exactly where I was going: Deschutes Brewery in the Pearl, an area just north of downtown. It was a ten- or fifteen-minute walk from my hotel and the weather was perfect.

Deschutes

The restaurant was packed and I waited about 15 minutes for a table next to a vacationing family who kept staring at me. At one point I heard the dad tell his daughters I looked sad and lonely (I wasn’t; I was eagerly picking out beers to try). It seemed like the sort of parenting fail that’s probably going to keep those girls from being very adventurous, but I might not be a good source of parenting advice, not having any kids and all. My waiter was terrible, too, but otherwise the experience was great. For less than the price of two beers I got a flight of six different Deschutes brews (Theory of Sourtivity was my fave, but I’ve been on a sour-beer kick recently and admit it’s not for everyone).

Even more exciting for me was dinner. I’ve been a vegetarian for 22 years, but for the last year or so I kept toying with the idea of adding seafood into my diet. So, I took the plunge! Deschutes had a crab roll on the menu, and it sounded too delicious not to try. Plus, it didn’t seem too seafood-y for my first meal back. And damn if it wasn’t one of the best things I’ve eaten in recent memory. Obviously I don’t have much to compare it to, but I’d highly recommend it to anyone visiting.

Random pretty building

After dinner, I strolled back to the hotel and walked by a semi-homeless artist or musician, Powell’s bookstore (the one place on my must-see list that I didn’t make it to, which feels like a huge failure considering I was at a conference for people who read for a living and it’s all anyone was talking about), another semi-homeless artist or musician, a building with really pretty lights on it, and a gaggle of semi-homeless artists or musicians. Finally it dawned on me: there were more “homeless to be cool or to live more authentically, but not out of necessity” people in Portland than I have ever seen in one place before. And I’ve been to lots of places. It seems to be a subculture that springs out of predominately middle-class, white enclaves (I’m a sociology expert now as well as a parenting expert), so I wasn’t surprised to see so many of them in Portland once I thought about it. I just hadn’t really anticipated it.

Day Two

Maurice

The next morning I had breakfast at the hotel (I thought breakfast would be included in the conference so I hadn’t researched any options at that point), learned some stuff, and then headed north during my lunch break. I had read about a quaint French bakery called Maurice and decided it would be my first lunch in Portland. It was every bit as adorable as I was hoping, and my meal (risotto and lemon soufflé pudding cake) was delicious. A woman who I think was the owner/head chef made my risotto directly in front of my seat at the counter in an old-timey, French-country-looking pot and asked with genuine interest how I liked it after I finished eating. So, so charming.

I took the long way back to the hotel and walked along the river. It was a nice, open space with people biking, jogging, and just walking around on their lunch break like me. And did I mention it was sunny and in the 70s?

I spent the afternoon engrossed by editorial wisdom and then hobnobbed with a few fellow editors at the hotel bar for happy hour. Ever the introvert, though, I politely (or so I hope) ducked out for dinner by myself, hoping it wasn’t obvious that I was intentionally not inviting anyone to join me. I had a couple brewpubs on list, and I decided to try Old Town Brewing because it was near the Lan Su Chinese Gardens, which was also on my must-see list. The plan was to walk over to the Gardens with about an hour of daylight left, wander around inside, and then pop over to Old Town. It was only about a twenty-minute walk and I was going to see Chinatown. Long story short, that didn’t work out and I just went to Old Town.

Old Town and Chinatown

I ordered the Old Town Pils and learned that beer isn’t brewed onsite, but it’s still a local beer, just brewed at a different Old Town in Portland. I had a chatty bartender, which was perfect for the mood I was in: wanting to talk when it was easy without being obligated to carry on a conversation. There were two other people at the bar, not together, who seemed to be in the same mood as me, so we all chatted while I ate my (giant and surprisingly tasty) Caprese sandwich. I learned about heroin’s recent comeback in the area, the Portland basketball team, and the bar's sordid history relating to the Chinatown slave trade. Bartenders used to get people drunk and open a trap door under the bar stools that dropped the drunkards into underground tunnels, where slave-traders would carry them to ships waiting to take them to China and a life of slavery. I did not order a second beer.

By the time I was done eating it was too dark to visit the gardens so I said goodbye to my bar buddies and headed back to the hotel. I walked by Voodoo Donuts on the way but the line was too long and we have one in Austin now anyway. I also walked by the Chinatown arch but there were so many homeless and semi-homeless people around it that my photo is terrible. Then it was a quiet night and early to bed. I was there for work, after all.

Day Three

Imperial

The next morning I still hadn’t looked up breakfast places nearby, so I grabbed a bagel and coffee from the hotel restaurant. For lunch I went to Imperial, a restaurant in a trendy hotel downtown, just a few blocks from the Hilton. It kept popping up in my searches as one of the best restaurants in town and the chef seemed to be a celebrity on the Portland food scene, so I was excited to try it. I was so taken in by all the hype about it that I made a reservation online. For lunch, for one. I know. But, I had a limited window and it was Friday and it was the most popular restaurant in town, so I couldn’t risk it! When I arrived there were open tables and tons of room at the bar, so I asked to sit at the bar without telling the hostess I had a reservation. Pro tip: if you take some very lame, type-A precaution like this while traveling, and it turns out to be unwarranted, no one needs to know (unless you write it in a blog).  

Imperial was stylish and looked cool, and the food was good, but nothing was as amazing as everyone made it out to be. Maybe it was because I ordered simple food (kale salad and a roll), but it didn’t live up to my expectations. I’m glad I checked it out, but Maurice was so much better in every aspect of the experience.

Lan Su Chinese Gardens

After lunch I had enough time to go back to Chinatown and see the Lan Su Chinese Gardens. It cost almost $10 but I’m always willing to pay for gardens in new cities. It was peaceful and beautiful and a mini-oasis surrounded by city architecture. But then it was back to the Hilton to learn more, followed by another informal networking happy hour at the bar. It was banquet night, so I headed down with my networking friend Gina and grabbed spots at a table in the giant ballroom. The food was just okay and it was a cash bar, but one of my table-mates was an editor of Christian romance novels, so that kept things interesting. To close out the night Kory Stamper gave a keynote speech. She’s the editor of Merriam-Webster and a major celebrity among editors. (She seemed super cool, btw.) It was a fun night even if I didn’t leave the hotel.

Day Four

Mother's Bistro

I finally did a little breakfast research and headed over to Mother’s Bistro in the morning. I got there right as it opened because I read that it fills up quickly. I sat at the bar and watched more and more people squeeze through the door as a wait formed, then happily ordered cereal-encrusted French toast. There were two other ladies next to me at the bar and we became buddies. One was attending the same conference I was, and the other was attending a printmaking-artist convention. They were both in their fifties, one early and one late. I glimpsed my future as they discussed how good the fabric stores in Portland were compared to their hometowns.

For my lunch break I headed straight for the river and the Saturday Market. Blocks and blocks heading west toward downtown from the waterfront were taken over by vendor stalls selling prepared food and all the hallmarks of a craft market: jewelry, soap, various forms of art, purses made from recycled jeans, and lots of crystals. My kind of place. I bought a handmade necklace and a purple tank top with an elephant on it. On my way back I walked by Huber’s for probably the twentieth time and decided to have lunch there, solely based on the sign outside saying it was Portland’s oldest restaurant. Meh. It was nice and old-fashioned-looking inside, but the bartender couldn’t have cared less about bringing me anything and what I finally got was mediocre. However, they have a “famous” flaming coffee cocktail that I didn’t order; maybe if I had I would’ve left with a different impression.

Huber's

A couple afternoon sessions later, I was officially on vacation! I had about eight hours of unfettered adventuring in front of me before I would just start falling asleep wherever I was (because I’m old and my body loves sleep more than anything else in the world), and I was going to live it up! First, I wheeled my suitcase about ten blocks south to the cheap hotel I booked by the university. Work was no longer covering my bills, and the Hilton was way too fancy for my checking account.

Michele had been working in Seattle that week and was driving down to hang out for the night. She met me at the hotel and we immediately headed back out. Mish used to live in Portland and was happy to get me out of downtown to see “real” Portland. We hopped in her rental car and headed east across the river. I’m pretty sure we went to three distinct neighborhoods: Mississippi, not sure, and Hawthorne …sorry I can’t remember the middle one.

Ecliptic spread

First she drove us to Mississippi and we went to a brewery (Ecliptic) with perfectly fine beer and delicious snacks. Then we walked down to a bar in a pink house called Liberty Glass Bar. Ecliptic was a little too stark and warehouse-like for my taste, but Liberty was perfect. We sat outside under a vine-covered awning for another drink but time was limited and we had to keep moving. Next was White Eagle, further down the road. It used to be a brothel but now it’s a bar, live-music venue, and hostel. They serve pink beer. One of us ordered one. One of us loved it.

Happy with my life choices

After our beers it was time for dinner, so Michele drove us to the neighborhood whose name I can’t remember to an old school that’s been turned into an adult-fun complex and hotel. Mish informed me that it and the White Eagle are owned by McMenanims, a brewery and real estate investment company that finds old, dilapidated buildings around Portland and turns them into cool places to sell their beer. She also told me they’re better at creating cool bars than making good beer.

The Kennedy School had a full restaurant and lots of little bars scattered around the building, along with a theater. I embraced my new pescatarian side and ordered lobster mac and cheese, and … dang. It’s the richest thing I can remember eating, I think ever. We walked around the whole school to see everything they had (and almost crashed a wedding), but then we had to keep moving.

Backstage

We drove to Hawthorne, parked a couple houses down from the one Mish lived in while she was in Portland, and walked around the corner to our final McMenamins bar of the night: Backstage. This one used to be the backstage of a live theater (that part is a movie theater now), and they kept the high ceilings and catwalk. We had a couple drinks and played shuffleboard, but then my internal clock started telling me it was time for bed. Michele took the hint when I couldn’t stop yawning and we headed back to the hotel, but decided to have one last nightcap before bed, since there was a bar right next door. Besides, we only see each other a couple times a year and we were still catching up. But then it was off to bed, up early to go to the airport, and my Portland experience was over.

It was such a short trip, and I know there are so many areas of the city I haven’t even seen, so I’d love to go back, especially with some time to hike. It’s so green and beautiful that I instantly wanted to move there as we flew in, and I still think it would be a nice place to live. Although Michele insists that it really does rain all the time, so I’m not sure. But I’d definitely be up for another trip (and more of Portland’s delicious food and beer) to continue forming my opinion.

Solo Travels, Part 2: The Joy and Self-Reflection

I love traveling by myself. There is almost nothing I can think of that is so joyously liberating as being in a place where I know no one and I have no expectations put upon me. When I get to act free from judgment (relatively, I suppose, but at least I haven’t heard or understood the judgments), I can focus on judging my own actions in a quasi-vacuum; I find it to be pretty darn insightful.

I think solo traveling gives me the freedom to see what I do without my normal social structure and comfortable boundaries influencing me. Of course, we all carry our influences and expectations around with us, but removing all familiarity and plopping myself in a foreign situation is a good way to strip as many of those external forces out of the mix. It is a rare opportunity that traveling affords and the source of that clichéd “finding yourself” theme. Clichéd, yes, but clichés can be true.

To beat a dead horse (I need a less gruesome saying…anyone?), here is my very first experience traveling alone and the mini lessons it taught me.

London, England

I flew from Austin to London solo when I was 21. I had graduated college a month earlier and I was so excited to be taking this first adult adventure by myself. My sweet mom had taken me to the airport and she cried as I walked through the security checkpoint, which brought home just how big this step was (lesson one: my mom is the biggest softie and I have a uncontrollable, reciprocal cry reaction to her tears). Six months abroad! I had no contacts, no safety net, no job prospects or ideas of what I would do, just a work visa and a hostel lined up for two weeks.

When I made it to Heathrow, I exchanged some cash, found my way to the Tube station, and faced one my fears straight away: how to buy a pass that would get me where I needed to go. When you grow up somewhere with basically no public transportation, trying to figure out Tube routes and fares can be pretty daunting, let me tell you (lesson two: other cities do it better, Austin). Lucky for me, London knows what it’s doing and makes it super easy. Success number one was buying my ticket and making to the platform going in the correct direction. I felt like a genius, well on my way to conquering the great city (lesson three: self-reliance feels amazing).

Coming out of the Tube, up to the busy streets above, I was completely disoriented and didn’t know which direction my hostel was. But hyper self-conscious of appearing to be a bumbling tourist, I just picked a direction and started walking like I knew where I was going (lesson four: I might be a bit narcissistic [no surprise, I did start a blog]). A couple blocks in, I realized I was going the wrong way. So just as purposefully, I swung my giant wheelie suitcase around (I hadn’t bought my trusty backpack at that point) and marched off the other way. I wanted people to think I lived in London and was just returning home from a trip abroad, heading back to my flat (lesson five: I'm an idiot). About five minutes after that, I was still lost and not sure I was heading in the right direction, so I swallowed my pride, gave up all hope of being seen as a local, and flagged down the nearest local-looking lady I came across to ask for directions.

I still remember how kind and friendly she was (lesson six: most people really are nice if you give them the chance). She was, in fact, from London, but nevertheless didn’t know where my street was. She said, “Hang on; let me check the A to Zed.” Huh? I had no idea what she was talking about, but she pulled out a city map from her purse (one I would see again and again during my time in London), looked up my street, and seemed genuinely excited for me to learn that it was just a couple blocks away, in the direction I was already heading. Success number two! I made a mental note to buy one of those handy maps and continued on my way.

I few minutes later I had lugged my beast of a suitcase up a bunch of narrow stairs and dumped it on my hostel bed (lesson seven: get a freaking backpack already), next to my new roommate Naomi. We exchanged a bit of introductory chitchat and then she insisted on taking me to the nearest Tesco for my first grocery-shopping trip in London (lesson eight: you bag your own groceries in the UK). I felt like a local just a few hours into my adventure!

I know, it all sounds so simple and mundane in the recounting, but the excitement of every single moment is indescribable. It’s a feeling of empowerment and giddy anticipation and communal trusting in the kindness of strangers that can only fully be understood in the experience of dropping away from all comfort and familiarity and going it alone. In case I haven’t made it clear yet, I highly recommend it!

Solo Travels, Part 1: The Stigma

Hello, again! I just want to say really quickly how much I appreciate you kind folks for indulging me and reading my posts. 

Now for the topic of the day—traveling alone. Daunting to many, luxurious to some, but somehow still stigmatic to others. I thought I’d write just one post on what I’ve learned from my solo travels, but then I realized I’d need to address the stigma first, because unless that’s out of the way, some people won’t actually read anything else. When I write about the joy of waking up whenever I want, wandering to whatever café I want for coffee and pastries and planning my adventures for the day, they’ll just think, “But it’s so sad, so pathetic, to travel by yourself. I could never do that.” It’s not! It’s totally not! And you totally could!

So this will be a two-part post, starting with the negative impressions. From what I can gather, the stigma of traveling alone mostly comes from a sense of shame, based on imagined reactions from other people. Shame at telling your friends or family or coworkers that you couldn’t find someone to go on a trip with you. Or that it means (or that people will think it means) you don’t have someone special in your life to share the experience with. That traveling alone somehow equates to being a lonely person, someone adrift without loved ones.

I think it’s an extension of the shame that keeps some people from going to the movies or dinner alone.  But going to the movies alone is one of life’s great joys! And in general I completely disagree with the premise that a person alone is necessarily a lonely person. There are a bajillion reasons for someone to be out in the world, doing exciting or fun or mundane things alone, none of which have to stem from a lack of people to do those things with.

Some people want to take trips that their friends and family have no interest in. Sure, maybe they could guilt a best friend or a boyfriend or girlfriend into coming along, but then they’re stuck with a downer of a travel buddy. Much better to not compromise on an adventure that is keeping you awake at night with excitement than to bring someone along who will grump about it the whole time, just to avoid a perceived societal stigma.

Some people make more money than their friends, but not so much more that they can pay for two people to take a trip. So they choose to go somewhere they’ve always wanted to go, on their own. I think it is much, much sadder to not do something you’ve always wanted to do because you’re afraid of what people will think, than to be a big girl or boy and live your life on the terms that suit you.

And then other people simply want to take a trip by themselves, for countless reasons. Maybe they want to relax and clear their minds. Maybe they want to go somewhere that feels special and private. Or maybe they want to push their boundaries and see if they can make it alone in a city where no one speaks their language. For some people, traveling alone is challenge enough and they want to prove to themselves that they can do it. And why not?

In general, I think it can be very dangerous to make your decisions based on how you fear other people will interpret them. If flying solo sounds worthwhile to you, why hold yourself back because of what you think someone might say? You’re probably just being paranoid anyway! Folks have their own lives to deal with; they don’t have time to judge you. So go live by your own (kind, thoughtful) rules.

I’ll write a follow-up post about all the fun I’ve had and lessons I’ve learned traveling by myself, so stay tuned. :-)