Quick note: I should have mentioned in the last email that after Chicago Tim went east and I went west. It was just a matter of personal preference and neither of us are fans of compromise, which in this case would have just seen us hanging around the middle of the country.
I stayed at East Glacier for quite a few days, partly because accommodation was very cheap and partly because it was a refreshing change of pace. However much I liked the place the fact remained that I had a one month rail pass and a large chuck of the country still to be visited. My next destination was not carefully pondered or ruminated upon. I knew nothing about Portland before coming to the US apart from the fact that they had a basketball team in the NBA. Portland is on the northwest coast, near the border of Oregon and Washington, and just below Seattle. I went there because the train went there and it sounded more serene that Seattle.
From East Glacier the trip to Portland is nine hours by car and 16 hours by train. The train takes a very leisurely view towards getting from one place to another but I don’t mind as it’s very comfortable and saves money on accommodation. The train meanders through the low point of the Rockies, passing through some towns so small that they barely exist at all. The staff at the big hotels come out and wave at the train which is not as onerous a duty as it sounds as there is only one per day. I did get the feeling that it was part of the job rather than an overflowing of natural cordiality. The train leaves Montana by night and when you wake in Oregon the next day the forests are just as thick and the hills just as steep. Oregon is home to enormous pine trees. You can’t escape their presence and the city of Portland almost feels like it’s there on sufferance while the forest decides whether to swallow it up or not.
Portland is a strange mix of subcultures. It’s as if they’ve been watching MTV for 20 years and have randomly attached themselves to one group or another. There are punks, skaters, mountain men, anti globalisationists, hacky sackers and junkies galore. It’s the kind of place that was built when no-one gave a shit what it looked like as long as the damn thing worked. Ugly bridges cross an ugly river connecting suburbia with a mediocre downtown. I liked the let it all hang loose feel of the place but it felt like a better place to live than visit. Portland isn’t used to tourists and takes on the aspect of someone guiltily disturbed while doing something unfashionable.
I spent most of my time in Portland walking around the very leafy suburbs with their very nice and very big houses. The ‘burbs had a soothing effect on me, especially as they were teeming with very friendly cats. I love patting cats and went from one to the other dispensing much appreciated head rubs and chin scratches. I felt sorry for one of them; a short haired ginger Persian. I felt sorry for it simply because of it’s horrible squashed in face. I had to struggle not to be sick when looking at it’s ghastly visage but it was such a friendly cat that I gave it a pat anyway. It was so happy that someone hadn’t simply thrown up on it that in trotted along next to me as I went further along the street to another cat waiting for my magical fingers. This normal tabby reacted to my new friend in quite a normal way. It hissed and indicated that to get any closer would be to risk bodily health. I was just getting into my head rubbing routine on the new cat when I looked back and saw squashed face cat giving me a look of abject sorrow and betrayal before running off. I have rarely witnessed a sadder creature and was relieved that cats don’t understand the concept of suicide.
I suppose every city has something unique to offer, and while Portlad’s offerings aren’t extravagant, I can’t think of anywhere else that you can find them. For a start there is the drinking fountain candelabra. Instead of having just one spout to drink from some bright spark has thought, “No, we can do better than that”, and delivered four spouts arching out from the central stem. I never saw more than one person at a time using them but it’s comforting to know that if four very thirsty people arrive at the same drinking fountain at the same time that they can all quench their thirst simultaneously. Another strange invention graced the only supermarket I went into. The modern supermarket generally features a conveyor belt to move the groceries towards the cashier, but in Portland they prefer a large rotating disc which circles your shopping around the chewing gum. I didn’t really see the advantage in this approach and it seemed to knock cartons of milk over quite regularly.
Portland is a quietly boring and depressing place, something that a high proportion of junkies can be a symptom of. Another clue was the sign on the bridge offering suicidal people a number to call for counselling. It seemed like a last ditch effort and was probably there more to avoid traffic congestion. I think the bushy and quiet nature of Portland hides a secret. I kept observing little signs which when taken on their own appear to be nothing out of the ordinary but when connected they paint a grim picture. There was the abnormally high number of missing pet posters, the unusual plants growing in the gardens, the number of men with goatees and shaved heads, the women in dark clothes and the freshly severed goat’s head in the hostel bathroom. I feel sure there is mischief afoot in Portland. You need only look at the local papers which featured the story of two missing teenage girls who had recently been found buried in a backyard. I had almost forgotten I was in America.
Dave out.
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