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Sunday July 31

I woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed; but why not have another spa? So, I managed to use every towel in the place, seeing as the maid did not come round yesterday, which also means I don’t have to leave a tip.

All I have to do today is drive 40 or so miles into Portland and find the hotel.

There was one last waterfall along the gorge I had yet to see, so back down the Historic Highway, past the two other falls to the Bridal Veil Fall. The weather was a cloudy, and the gorge in deep shadow, so the pictures are not that good. I followed the highway, and it ended up at a lookout high above the valley.

The park service had built a viewing point there which was also a building. It was a 1930’s art deco thing; nothing special, but other tourists were snapping away as though it was the coliseum or something. It was whilst parked here that an asswipe in a pick up truck scraped the rear fender of the Mustang as he reversed out. But I did not discover that until the next morning. Some of the better drivers, ok me, had reversed into the space.

As I had so much time, I thought I would head back to Washington for the last time and pick up I5 at the end of the gorge.

Once again back over the Bridge of the Gods, and then head west again. Route 14 followed the twists and turns of the river, sometimes swooping low to the waters edge, and sometimes maybe 500 feet at the top of the gorge’s cliffs. As I stood admiring the view, two vultures passed within 20 feet of where I was standing; pity I was still getting my camera out of the bag.

Some two hundred years ago, Lewis and Clark ended their journey across America travelling along the gorge. All along the gorge, signs and poster advertise the fact: such a shame then, that the last place in the valley is a typical American modern place. Washougal is all fast food joints, cheap motels and of course, strip malls.

The other side of Washougal is I5, and I headed south, crossing once again over the Columbia River. Once again, the road signs were not clear; it was obvious that I was on the outskirts of Portland, but quite which exit to take was anyone’s guess. Just about the last exit was to the centre of the city. So, I turned off hoping that the hotel would be easy to find. My hotel was on 4th Street, which should be easy to find. Indeed, quite quickly I turned onto 4th, although building numbers were very hard to find.

I realised that I was heading in the wrong direction, and 4th being a one way street going in the wrong direction, I turned left, and left again to head back up 3rd. Several times I turned back onto 4th, only to find I had not gone far enough north. So, driving into the housing area before heading back to the centre on 4th, eventually, the hotel came into view at a major intersection. I parked up, and checked that my reservation was still ok; it was. So, I thought I would walk into the centre to explore. One of the things I had wanted to see in the city was the Saturday market, which does overrun into Sunday as well.

The man behind the desk made the walk into downtown seem easy. At least in America you can tell where the commercial are is, thanks to the skyscrapers. Anyway, I grabbed my camera bag, and set off on foot down 4th.

I headed all the way through the downtown area, and headed right. Instead of the Saturday market, I found the OREGON BEER FESTIVAL. And being after midday, it was open, and folks were walking around drinking. Sweet. Did I mention it was hot? Well, it was in the high 90’s, and cloudless and windless. After the first beer, I realised it would not be too clever to have a whole load of beer.

Across the street from the beer festival, was the market; so I crossed over and had a look round. The market was the usual mix of craft stalls, some better than others, and more food stalls. My to my surprise, there was a guy from Liverpool selling Pasties, Pies, etc as well as proper tea. I could not resist; and no matter what Nana said, hot tea does not cool on a roastingly hot afternoon. I tipped the tea away, and went back to the beer festival. I had three beers, and that was really enough. It was getting towards the end of the afternoon and headed out back into the city.

I took some pictures of the skyscrapers, and thought about getting something to eat. I spied a mural on the back of an old building, I paused to take a picture and realised that it was still open, and they sold food. I went in, and it still had of its period fittings. I had a good stir fry, which did settle my spinning head. The beer and sun really did not mix; it was good to sit in the shade and sip iced tea.

Walking back to the hotel, it was still bloody hot; and by the time I climbed the stairs to my room, I was ready for some old fashioned air conditioning, and a shower. Once the sun sank behind the hill that my room faced, it cooled down in the room, and relaxing was a little easier.

Monday August 1

There had been a minor panic these last few days, apart from the cap problem: I was running out of clothes. Being out in the wild for so long, I just had no chance to get any laundry done. The guy behind the desk of the hotel said there was a laundry in the commercial places the other side of the intersection. As expected, it was an oriental run place; but nothing was too much problem, and it would be done for the following morning. Walking into the downtown area was easy, just head down any of the numbered streets until the big buildings began. The centre of Portland is spread out, with several retail areas. I asked about the availability or an internet café, and told there were several over the main road, Burnside.

Across the road, which divided the city, was Chinatown, or a small version of it. An oriental gateway marked its beginning. Along a short distance was another side street, and down there was the café. Soon, I was catching up with news from home, and sending mail to friends.

Next door was an independent café, and after the computer session, I went there, and had a wonderful salad, which pretty much filled me up for the rest of the day.

Along Burnside there were a couple of really good record shops; I bought a box set of cool 80’s music I had seen in the other Portland. Further along was what is claimed to be the largest book shop in the world, Powell’s World of Books. It is the veritable rabbit warren of corridors and aisles one would expect of a book shop. I just wish the department signs made sense: I spent half an hour trying to find the lilac zone, or something, where the music books were. I gave up, bought a map of Oregon and Crater Lake before heading out back into the heat. For some reason, I thought a cup of coffee would be the right thing to have, when an iced tea or ice cream would have been better. I had also bought a British music magazine, so spent a pleasant hour reading that.

I had seen a cinema on 3rd street; ad decided to see what was on. The only thing that grabbed my attention was The Island: it had Ewan McGregor and Scarlet Johansson, so it should be ok, right? Wrong, it was pants, a sub Matrix rip off thing with more explosions and silly accents. It passed the time, I guess.

Like all cities, Portland has its eccentrics and oddballs. Walking back to the hotel I passed a figure on the other side of the street; it had one Cuban heeled shoe, one Army boot, long curly hair, a raffia hat, a raffia hat, a chiffon black off the shoulder dress, and several days’ growth of beard. Nice bloke. I kept to my side of the street.

That night, I went to the bar attached to the back of the hotel. I struggled with a Philly Cheese steak sandwich; Tricky with the loose cap. It was quiet, talked to a couple of younger guys about music; puzzled why a bar with such a young clientele would be playing the greatest hits of Foreigner.