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Tuesday August 2

First thing this morning, I picked up the laundry. Ah, panic over; all was neatly folded and wrapped in plastic and brown paper.

I walked back into to downtown area. I stopped off at the post office at the University to send some of my purchases back to England. Downtown, I went to a camera shop to have a cd rom made of the digital pictures in my camera; also decided to get some printed, to save battery power when looking back at where I had been earlier in the trip.

So, what to do for the rest of the day? I did want to visit the Japanese Garden; but it was too far out to walk, so I thought I would do that on my way out of the city; as I did not want to drive too much. I thought I would get on a tram, and see where the line went. The tram went out west into the suburbs; at one point it went past a sizable baseball stadium. From the tram we could look down onto the field; a game was just starting. I thought if there was nothing else to do, I would go back there.

Further along the line, it headed into a tunnel; at the other end there was a station; Washington Park. I realised it was in this area where the Japanese Garden was. I got off, and tried to get my bearings. Looking at the map on the wall of the station, I thought I could find my way through the park. Washington Park is in fact an area that just had not been developed, it is hilly, and wooded; trails had been marked out that crisscrossed it.

It was hot, and I had no water; but I was not worried, it promised to be a walk of just over a mile. The trail just petered out, having crossed some more marked and unmarked trails. I set off in what I though was the right direction. Luckily, I got it 180 degrees wrong. Did I say lucky? After walking down through a thick wood, I came to a road, and headed to where I though the garden lay. I came to a guy having a smoke on his Harley parked on the side of the road; I asked him if I was going the right way. He told me I had gone in a large circle, and was right near the entrance to the zoo, almost back at the tram station.

The garden was a mile and half down the road; I tightened my back pack, and set off again. It was an easy walk, if you dodged the traffic. Maybe walking beside the road was not such a good idea. Outside the garden, thankfully there was a refreshment stall. I grabbed an iced tea and a bottle of water along with some fruit; I felt better straight away.

The Japanese Garden was wonderful; I don’t know how authentic it is, but I loved it. It was quiet, perfect for some quiet contemplation, and wonderful plants and walkways with bridges over ponds and waterfalls.

I sat under a tree for a while, watching people. For some reason, there were a number of oriental people there. Imagine travelling halfway across the world to look at something you could see everyday?

Near the centre of the garden, there was a spectacular Zen garden; all raked stones and neatly cut grass shapes.

Back outside the garden, I stopped off for more water, and a look around the rose garden. A fellow visitor told me there was no way could I miss the garden. Well, as nice as roses are, I can see them here in England; I wandered around what I thought was an appropriate amount of time. And then waited for the shuttle bus to take me back to the tram station; and then back into the centre of the city.

A pen pal of mice from the city insisted that I visit a pizza place of 4th: on the way back to the hotel, I called in for a slice of pepperoni. I mean, it was alright: for pizza it was good, but not the earth-shattering experience I had been expecting. And as for the caramel corn place she also said to go to: there is no place in the civilised world for sweet popcorn; it’s as simple as that.

I tried to decipher the bus timetables and routes: but it was clearly designed to confuse. There must have been a dozen different bus stops at the bottom of 3rd, but any of the buses could have been the right one. I ended up walking all the way back to the hotel; it was not as humid as other evenings, thankfully.

That night I got a taxi; and said to the driver take me to a good place to eat. He dropped me off outside Henry’s; a converted brewery. I sat just outside, in view of the TV showing sport; Or the American version. I tried the local brew, and had something called Kung Pow Chicken; a stir fry of some kind. The night was warm, the sky clear, and the beer cold; which was all I asked for really.

Wednesday August 3

So; last day in Portland and what to do with it? I decided to go to the coffee shop at the university and give it some thought. I watched a tram cross the square, and wondered where the line ended. It seemed to be an area called Rivertown or something. But, instead of catching the tram, I decided to walk it. It was turning out to be another scorching day, but hopefully, the riverside should be cooler.

It took about 20 minutes to walk to the riverside; down wide avenues, between open plan offices and expensive hotels. The tram line ended up at a Marriot Hotel, under the shade of an impressive double bridge which must have carried a major traffic artery across the river.

At the hotel, a wide promenade began, which took the pedestrian into the heart of the city beside the river. At times it went past expensive condos, and at others past touristy shops. All the while I walked along, joggers and runners went past me. I was beginning to hobble thanks to a blister that was beginning to form. At a marina, a floating restaurant was loading up with supplies for another busy day. Near the centre, a paddle steamer awaited at a dock; it offered lunchtime buffet cruises.

A jet boat performed pirouettes for its scared passengers and whizzed under the bridges. It looked fun: I hear there are similar boats that do river trips in the south of the state. It was way too early to eat myself stupid: although a crowd was beginning to form. Under trees, drunks and homeless people sheltered in the shade, and under the shade of a bridge, a photographer was doing a fashion shoot.

My plan was to walk to the Burnside Bridge, and do some internet stuff again; and that is where I headed. Just past the bridge, I tuned into the city, passing what looked a little like the French Quarter in New Orleans; an old commercial district I guess. The café was closed until early evening, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not find another. I went to a seafood place in a mall, I thought it looked nice form the outside; it turned out to be a buffet place. But the food was good, and not too expensive. I resisted the temptation to go up to fill the plate a second time, and so left feeling comfortable.

As I remembered to take my address book with me, I bought some cards, and then retired to a coffee shop to write on them; and luckily, there was a post box right outside.

That night, I thought I might go back to Henry’s. I called for a cab, and went to wait in the hotel lobby. Now, having a British accent meant that when locals found out where I came from: they thought initially I was Australian or South African, they asked two questions:

1. Was I near the bombings in London?

2. What is the attitude in England?

Well, being 120 miles away from London the answer was of course, ‘no.’ And I left so soon after the bombings, I knew as much as they did. I mention this because the taxi driver asked them. I said that I was sure that most British people realised that the bombers were misguided. He then said something stupid. He said that Islam is the devil’s religion. He said this probably because Pat Robinson had said so. I pointed out that in fact Christianity, Judaism and Islam all worshipped the same God. He was having none of it. He said that Christianity would never wage war in God’s name. Oh, what about the Crusades then, I asked. Thankfully, it was a short trip, just 5 minutes. Any longer and I think he would have killed me. And he could not find Henry’s.

He parked outside Jake’s Crawfish, a really good seafood restaurant that was queued up silly last night. I looked in, and there was a seat at the bar; so I went in, and sat down. Service was brilliant, and the food better. I had salmon stuffed with Dungeness crab and bay shrimp. I found out it was their signature dish.

It was without doubt the best seafood I have ever had. After, I asked if they had any whiskeys. They had a stunning collection. Sitting next to me was a young guy Cameron from Chicago, just out of college, and moving to the city. I asked if he would like to join me. He did. And again; and again; and until the bar closed. We drunk them out of several vintages, and moved on to some rare bourbon. I left the bar happy; and poorer.