Portland, Ore., USA, day 1

Let me tell you some things that don’t mix: Alaska Airlines. Seattle Airport. Me with PMS. Screaming children. Douchebags who take up the whole arm rest and lean into my space. Another flight from Seattle to Portland in a tiny plane. People who cut in line at the rental car place. Finding out I’m in the wrong line at the rental car place. Being put on the waiting list for a car after already being in line for an hour, and confirming that they had already charged my credit card because it was a Priceline deal. Realizing that I’m probably the lowest of all priorities, because let’s just face it, how do I expect to get any kind of service when “I saved 70%!” and I’m in line with a bunch of motherfuckin’ Hertz GOLD members?

That was when I made a decision. I had been booked in the women’s dorm room at the Portland Hostel, but I was so tired that I was like, FUCK THAT NOISE, so I called and upgraded to a private room.

Now let me tell you some things that do mix: a maroon Nissan Altima that you start by pushing a button, the Hawthorne District’s beautiful flowering neighborhood streets, Powell’s Books, Fred Meyer, Buffalo Exchange, lots and lots and lots of delicious-looking food establishments, and my own private room for two whole nights. It has a balcony and everything.

the honeymoon suite

Check out this romantic 70s woodcut hanging over the bed.


Let’s look at a close-up. This could not be anymore 70s, even if it were actually James Taylor and Carly Simon in this picture, as it appears to be. (Well, the lady looks more like one of the sisters from Eight is Enough or like a young Megan Mullally if she had frizzy 70s hair.)
honeymooners closeup

At first, I was like, “This is so awesome! It’s like the honeymoon suite of the hostel!” Then I was like, EWWWWWWWWWWWW, IT’S LIKE THE HONEYMOON SUITE OF THE HOSTEL. I wonder how many Germans have done it on this bed. And how many Australians. I’ll bet it’s a lot. Those Germans and Australians are always traveling somewhere and having lots of sex with all of us dumb Americans.

My first meal in Portland was from a foodcart called “The Cultured Caveman,” which I gathered was all about the Paleo Diet or some shit. The salad was kinda like just a bunch of stuff pulled out of the strainer after a big juicing session and doused in lemon juice, but the chicken strips were the downright bomb.

bomb chicken strips

Getting used to the whole shared bathroom phenomenon. Thankfully, scarves are in fashion, so I can transport any embarrassing items with ease. This is my new infinity scarf, aka, “The Tampon Hider.”

tampon hider

I met an awesome Austrian chick named Sara. She has been traveling by herself all through Asia, Australia, and New Zealand for the past eight months. We were going to go out to the pub last night, but unfortunately she is only 20 YEARS OLD. I was like, WHAT? When I was 20, the only places I had ever been were South Dakota and San Diego.

Anyway, that’s what I’ve learned about Portland in the first 16 hours. I’m sure there will be more once I actually get out and rent a bike, drink a microbrew, and buy my new wool poncho from the Pendleton Outlet.


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