The stench of coffee wafted through my nose as my feet navigated its way around my colossally chaotic bedroom. My duffel bag sitting empty on my bed waiting for the clothes that were thrown recklessly on the floor to magically pack itself in the bag. “You do know that if you live in Seattle you’re basically under obligation to go to Portland, right?” These words circulating my mind all the while I tried to pack. You’d think hearing it after fifteen months I’d refuse to go out of spite but to be honest I was actually excited to drag my friends, Hanna and Veronique, for a weekend trip to the City of Roses.
Why was I so excited to visit the quirky, laggard city of Portland you ask? My answer to you, is because the last I had stepped foot out of Washington was in August and it was November already. In other words, I needed to get away.
Also, because, even though Portland doesn’t have a renowned iconic landmark such as the Space Needle in Seattle or the Eiffel Tower in Paris, it does have many other notable features. For instance, a variety of farmers and other weekend markets, Voodoo Doughnuts and Powell’s Books.
As predicted, that is where we ventured off to on our first day. The farmer’s market we found by the South Park Blocks was fun and interactive in the fact that almost every stall allowed us to taste what they were offering. We purposely ate a light breakfast and then filled the rest of our stomachs by making our way through the market.
So, this totally seems off topic, but I promise you it’s not. Something that both my mom and my dad agree on (and trust me, the fact that they agree on this is a big deal) is that no matter where you are or what you’re doing you have to be present. You have to live in the moment. There will be other times to take a picture on snapchat or update your story on Instagram, but you will never have a moment like that again.
But also, what kid listens to their parents all of the time? Not me, apparently. Because while my friends and I were at the market, all I could think about was how Powell’s Books was waiting for me to open its doors and breath in the smell of vanilla from withered works and the concoction of chemicals in novice novels.
Powell’s Books, just a twenty-minute walk from where we were, was established in 1971 and from then until now has accumulated over two million volumes. Of course, with these many books, there’s got to be some structure. Which is why, upon entering this landmark, we found yourself looking at a map of the store which has been divided into nine colour-coded rooms with over 3500 different sections.
We spent two hours in that bookstore. The only reason why we left was because our parking permit was expiring. I spent most of the time in the fiction and young adult section. There was also a really cool journal section that I found myself moving towards like a moth to a flame (I’ve been really into journaling these days). One of the best sections in the whole store was the Rare Book Room. After acquiring your visitors pass (which deftly limits the number of people in that room) you make your way into the room holding first edition works worth thousands of dollars. Being in there I had managed to find a 1943 Mary Poppins book worth $200. Hanna had found a ginormous Star Wars book and Veronique stumbled across a collection of Mickey Mouse works.
Our plan after finding a new parking spot was to grab a doughnut at the most recommended doughnut store in Portland; Voodoo Doughnuts. However, like some wise man once said, “life is what happens to us while we are making other plans”. Ok, I’m being a bit dramatic here. The line was just ridiculously long, it being a super famous store and everything. Consequently, we changed our course and ended up at another market. It was pretty ordinary. Except, and I just have to write this because it was hilarious and totally relevant to current US politics, for this one stall where this woman was selling printed t-shirts with witty sayings on them. There was one that caught my eye and it was a quote from the late comedian George Carlin. It said, “That’s why they call it the American Dream, because you have to be asleep to believe it.” I’ll just leave it there. Imagine an ellipsis. Let your mind wander.
Anyway, we walked past the doughnut shop once more-don’t judge it was on the way to the car, it’s not like we were desperate for doughnuts or anything- and saw that the line had downsized significantly.
Think pink boxes, glitter walls, glass-stained windows like in a church, idiosyncratic doughnut names and voodoo priests. Their slogan is “the magic is in the hole” and the owners refer to the cooking oil used as “voodoo oil”. You can see where I’m getting at. This is no rainbow and sprinkles doughnut shop. Voodoo Doughnuts is a store that tests the limits of status quo and dares others to do the same.
Our second day we called ‘the nature day’. Not very inventive but we didn’t care because our itinerary consisted of a waterfall that you could see from the highway and a beach with a rock close to its shore. These attractions were in two separate directions from each other.
We started off with Multnomah Falls. To be honest, getting there was a pain. Not the whole drive there, though. Just the last fifteen minutes after passing a digital street sign notifying us the exit was closed because the parking lot was full. Trying to make other plans, we ended up in a deserted parking lot waiting for a shuttle that never came because no one seemed to mention that it only operates during the summer season. Plan C (which was going to a different parking lot for a different shuttle) required us to drive past the exit which fortunately for us was actually open. Like I said, a total pain. Although when I saw that waterfall, it made it all worth it.
Multnomah Falls, a two-tiered, 611-foot-tall waterfall looked very much like water running out of faucet. Thin and unwaveringly straight. Sure, it made my neck cramp from looking up all the way to the top, but I couldn’t help but take in every inch of its magnificence. Stepping toward the railing for a photo, tiny droplets of water splattered onto my face. Conversations were slightly shouted in order to be heard over the gushing water which diminished the nature atmosphere quite considerably.
Not like at Cannon Beach, though. After driving two and half hours toward the Oregon Coast, the sun was already beginning to set. Walking toward the beach, I could feel the wind tugging my hair back and pinching my exposed skin from the bitter cold. Spanning four miles along the coast meant that those less than thirty people had plenty of space to walk without intruding on other people’s business. The main attraction, Haystack Rock, could be seen from the road and over the trees. Which surprised me to the say the least. When I looked at pictures, I assumed that monolith was the height of two giraffes. At most. Instead, it is actually the height of a little more than 14 giraffes- seventy-two meters to be exact. The houses looked like they came out of Hannah Montana; Malibu mansions. Hearing the waves crashing on the shore, I felt, like Jane Austen says, “completely and perfectly incandescently happy.” Happy enough to last me till my next adventure.