Traveling the Oregon Coast

Today we left Portland. I was sad to leave our kind and friendly hosts, Lisa and Greg, but eager to see some new landscapes. We were very lucky during our entire time in Seattle and Portland to see only sunny weather. Our friends joked that we must be carrying the sun with us. I feel like we’re not getting the real picture of the rainy northwest, but I also don’t mind having a three-week sunny vacation.

We drove west from Portland on Route 26, the same road we’d traveled to Timberline yesterday (but in the other direction). It was a pretty drive. We passed through farmland, where people sold salmon jerkey, dried fruits, dried mushrooms, and holiday trees at farmer’s markets. We passed by small, no-name coffee stands, another unique concept to Oregon. We drove in between thick forests. Bright green moss entirely covered some trees, making the branches look like creatures from a fantasy film. On a sadder note, amidst the dense and vast fir forests, we passed by several hillsides razed by logging. Near one of them was a town called Timber. The felled trees and branches fell every which way looked as though a razor had cut through stubble, leaving some forlorn hairs standing. As we emerged from Clatsop state forest, we looked up at an open, golden field and saw a coyote looking down at the road. Behind it, blue mountains covered with thick white grey clouds on the horizon rose up as backdrop.

We arrived at the coast in the town of Cannon Beach, a quaint little community. We drove around looking at the monoliths that emerged from the ocean waters, including one that looked like a haystack (appropriately called Haystack Rock). We drove along the coastal road, looking through tall green firs at the swelling ocean waters a little further out.

Driving down a random road, we traveled through thick, green tropical forest, passed a school tucked away in the natural world, and arrived at a few houses located along the coast. Every so often we passed signs reminding us that we were in a high tsunami risk zone. That was nice to know, but I didn’t know what we were supposed to do should a tsunami suddenly appear.

We stopped at viewpoints along the way to read about the local history and geology and to enjoy the views that appeared one after another. It seemed a little less dramatic to me than the coastline I’d seen south of San Francisco. But instead it appeared to possess a calmer beauty, more self-possessed and soothing.

A bit south of Cannon Beach, at Oswald West State Park, we took a 2.5 mile hike to Cape Falcon. We didn’t make it quite to the end. We were carrying baby and we were afraid of dusk overtaking us. But we did get most of the way through what our Portland friends described to us as their favorite hike. We walked along a path softened by pine needles, the terrain gently sloping, the view of dense forest, creeping moss, fern undergrowth, tinkling streams, a waterfall, and a gorgeous view through the trees of a rounded beach and rocks sticking up near the shore from the ocean waves. The air had the pleasant mixture of fresh forest green with salty ocean scent.

River slept most of the way there, but poopy diapers and hunger caused him to cry for much of the way back. As his cries rang through the woods and a photographer looked at us in silent disapproval, I thought of the biological function of a cry. It’s loud enough not only to alert parents to an infant’s needs, but also to announce to everyone else within earshot – defenseless young human in crisis, please help if you can. The help usually given is disapproving stares at the parents, which guilt them into doing whatever they can to stop the tears. There wasn’t much we could do in this case though, since it was too cold to change his diaper in the woods and stopping to feed him would mean possibly not making it back before dark. So we just had to endure it until we returned and hope that he’d understood.

We returned to the car tired, ravenous, and with headaches. Mark chose a roadside restaurant, The Lighthouse, for dinner. They served great fried halibut and grilled wild salmon in a simple, family friendly interior. Our local waitress told us about her husband who fishes as a hobby and brings back so many crabs fresh from the ocean that she’s sick of them. Each time the neighbors see his boat return, they line up with bags and he hands them out for free. A place where neighbors hand out fresh seafood sounds to me like an attractive place to live.

Our plan was to continue another 26 miles south to Tillamook. We’d look for lodging there and visit the local cheese factories tomorrow morning. Mark commented on how surprisingly empty of traffic the road was. We were tempted by a floating motel we passed along the way, as well as other options with a view of the water. We’ve got a long way to go to San Francisco though and it takes us a while to get going in the morning, so we decided to get as close to the cheese factories as possible.

Perhaps we should have stopped, because we were soon stopped by flashing lights behind us. A cop stopped us for speeding.

“I clocked you going 41 miles in a 30 zone and you passed two 30 mph signs while I had my radar on,” he said. We saw a 40 mph sign about ten feet in front of us, which very shortly thereafter changed to 45. There must have been a short stretch of 30 mph going through a town. The cop drove an unmarked truck and seemed to camp out in that stretch to catch unwary people. I thought it was rather tricky.

“Drive safely and slow down,” he said after giving us a citation. “We need revenue, but not that badly.” Then he turned around and went back to the slow area to trap more people. Funnily, our friend Greg told us we didn’t need to worry about cops in Oregon because the state didn’t have enough money to pay police. I guess they do need the revenue and going after cars with out of state licenses is a good way to collect it.

We found a bed for the night at a Best Western, located near the cheese factory we planned to visit the next morning. With two beds, a large, warm, comfortable space, and the opportunity to dip into a warm whirlpool before sleep, I got some of the best sleep I’ve had in nights, even despite getting up several times to feed River.

Colombia River Valley

Whenever I asked people what to see in Portland, I was unanimously told Multnomah Falls. So our friends Lisa and Greg offered to accompany us there.

We spent the entire day in the Colombia River Valley, just about an hour away from Portland. It took only about a half hour to reach the limits of the city, beyond which further development is not permitted. Then we drove through forest and farmland until we reached the Colombia River.

We climbed up a road to a bluff that overlooked the valley. Wind rips through the gorge, especially in winter, making the river a popular place for windsurfing. They described it as a board attached to your feet and a sail above you. The sail gets caught by the wind, lifting people up to 20 feet in the air. Sounds pretty fun.

We visited a series of fantastic waterfalls. The largest and most famous is the Multnomah falls, where crowds of people lined up to see it, even off-season.

We finished the day in Hood River, a small town filled with coffee shops, sport and art stores. Then we had dinner at our friend’s favorite Portland pizza joint, A Pizza Scholls. “We can’t eat pizza anywhere else,” Lisa complained of the thin crust pizza with truffle oil, “because it just doesn’t compare.” We followed it with cupcakes and truffles from a chocolate shop next door. A nice day full of exercise, nature, exploration and good food in Oregon.

More Portland

On Friday afternoon we met Frederick, a good friend from Siberia who now lives in Portland with his wife. We met for lunch at the Red and Black Café, a vegan café where all the decisions are made as a collective. I had soy yogurt with nuts and granola and an insubstantial Oregonian salad – greens with hazelnuts and apples. At the counter, behind the jars of teas, was a collection cup for the medical expenses of one of the employees. The clientele were young and arty. There was a play area with toys in a corner.

When we needed to change River, we asked about a changing table. They did have one, but if they hadn’t, Frederick said it wouldn’t have been a problem to change River on the table. I told him how the patrons of a Seattle café protested when we changed him (on top of his snowsuit) on our table, after unsuccessfully looking for a changing table. “It’s different here,” he said “People would understand.”

My friend Lisa told me that the attitude in Portland is “live and let live.” Libertarian values are common. People want freedom to do as they please and one doesn’t pay attention to what their neighbors do unless it is causing real harm.

We finished lunch still feeling hungry, so we went to a bakery in a nearby warehouse to get some carbohydrates. That place was vegan as well though. While I like meat, I can do without it if necessary. But I really don’t like going without eggs, milk, cheese and butter. It feels too restrictive and I feel denied.

Frederick was kind enough to show us around Portland. We drove to the northwest, where we saw attractive homes lining a green park area and a vibrant commercial area, filled with art and coffee shops. Frederick told us that many people in Portland have a craft. Whether it’s gardening or bookbinding or ceramics, artisan crafts are a popular way to spend time. It was certainly true of my friends. Lisa and her husband garden, make music, produce silkscreen t-shirts, write, build and create things for the home, and draw. Frederick writes and his wife bakes, binds books, photographs and knits.

We stopped at the Japanese gardens, a quiet area near the rose garden, within a forest of tall, majestic, stately trees. I didn’t like it as much as the Chinese gardens because the China garden was such a pleasant surprise within the urban center. The Japanese garden seemed naturally located within the hilltop wilderness. Nevertheless, it was a pretty and peaceful place, with a rock garden, many Japanese plants and trees, a rock sculpture exhibit, and Japanese architecture and artisanry.

We went to Frederick’s for a cup of tea. He lives in the warehouse district, in a small apartment with windows offering a view in all four directions. Their bed pushes back into the wall and pulls out like a drawer, maximizing space.

Everyone we spoke to said that Portland has been changing and modernizing significantly in the last few years. They said the Pearl district, a wealthy area near downtown, was the first to build up. Then the northwest area that surrounded it followed suit. Frederick thinks the area where he is living will be the next to gentrify, as old warehouses are converted into cafes, shops and apartments.

He and his wife Melody took us to one of the new neighborhood arrivals, a Japanese place called Biwa. The portions were tiny, so I thought we might again leave hungry. But we ordered enough small platters – of chicken, lamb, beef (ah, meat!), shitake mushrooms, eggplant, rice and pork dumplings – that we all left satiated.

From there they took us to a local movie theater. Admission was six dollars, less than I can find in my neighborhood. But my friend Lisa said that was too much, especially if it didn’t include beer or pizza. She said many local theaters include beer and/or pizza in the admission price. Another nice Portland tradition.

We took River to the movie, crossing our fingers he’d behave. He ate and/or slept the entire time, allowing us to watch Persepolis and not disturbing others. The movie, a cartoon film about an Iranian girl, was good, but not as fast-paced as I’d been led to believe by the previews, nor quite as engaging as I’d hoped.

Portland

We didn’t see or do all that much today, but somehow finished up the day tired anyway. My first impressions of Portland are a little vague. I don’t feel like I got a good sense of it. I see it as working class, affordable, with quite a few unique characters and people that are friendly, but don’t come across as quite as happy as those we met in Seattle. Nevertheless, everyone I spoke to so far loves living here.

I started out my day meeting a couple of former classmates for lunch and hearing about their experiences living and working in the city. Neither is from Portland, both seem to be happy living here. Then we drove into the downtown area, where we first stopped at Powell’s books. It’s a city landmark and giant bookstore, with shelves upon shelves of new and used books on every conceivable topic. I walked through the store and was consumed by a desire to read. Seeing so many books just reminded me of how many of them I haven’t read. I longed for long, empty afternoons during which I could read. I’ve had very little time to read since River arrived. The small patches of time I get to myself go quickly to exercise, writing, working, or getting things done. Powells also had an amazing collection of audiobooks and that reminded me that I can listen to books on CD, even if I can’t read the paper versions as much as I’d like.

We strolled through the Chinatown/Old Town area. Apparently, it’s not one of the best areas of town. But for a not-so-good neighborhood, it was much less threatening than the bad parts of other cities. We walked through with a baby stroller. While we did come across some odd characters, we never felt really uncomfortable.

We happened across a Chinese garden and decided to take a look. After paying the $7 per person admission and being instructed to turn off our cell phone, we walked into a surprising oasis of calm and tranquility in the middle of the city. The roar of a waterfall drowned out the sound of traffic. The sweet smell fresh plants pleasantly perfumed the air. The architecture and the furniture seemed genuine, as though we’d entered a small town and quiet secluded garden in China. A small tea shop at the back of the garden sold tea flights, samples of some of the many varieties on offer.

We walked briefly along the waterfront, where a path runs alongside the river, offering views of a giant steel bridge and of the city. It was busy with bikers and joggers, even in the early evening. We saw two women and a young girl there who appeared to be homeless. I felt so sorry for the ragged young girl, that as a child she was denied the security and warmth of a home and stable family.

In the evening, we ate a delicious, healthy, homemade dinner and chatted some more with our friends. So far, I’ve enjoyed the time spent in my friends’ coy and funky house than I have the city itself. But tomorrow we’ll have a local friend in the car with us who can hopefully guide us to the main attractions. So far, I find it a nice enough place, but haven’t fallen in love with it.

Mount St. Helens

Today’s adventure was a drive from Seattle to Portland, stopping along the way at Mount St. Helens. I was only a child when Mount St. Helens blew in 1980, but I remember it happening, as well as how excited I was when someone gave me a vial of volcanic ash from the mountain. So it was great to see the majestic peak decades later, when the growth has reappeared and it is only the before and after photos in the visitor’s center that really capture the horror and magnitude.

We took I-5 south from Seattle. I expected a dull, wide grey freeway. But the scenery was surprisingly beautiful, often lined with trees, with views of farmland, cows, forested hills and mountains. True to what John told us, the traffic moved slowly, going 65 miles per hour, even in the fast lane. We saw several bumper stickers of people with unique characters, such as “I don’t have an attitude problem, you’re just an asshole.” Or “It’s your hell – burn in it,” from a Wiccan driver with a young boy in a carseat.

When we reached Mount St. Helens, about two hours from Seattle, we stopped in the nearby town of Castle Rock. We thought we might find something to eat there. But instead we found a sad, dilapidated little community. We later found out that several of the houses there were carried away by the river flush with volcanic debris. One woman described seeing her house picked up by the river, carried upright, then crushed as it went under a bridge and came out the other side in pieces. It makes me wonder what keeps people there. One young woman told me, “It’s because we love this place.”

The visitor’s center showed a short film about the volcano as well as a helpful display. Nearby was a one mile trail along a lake created by the eruption and we walked that, enjoying beautiful views of the snowy peak across the water.

We then drove up toward the volcano, receiving increasingly beautiful views as we became closer. Much of the land is owned by either the National Park or by Weyehauser logging company. Entire hillsides had been stripped of trees and Weyerhauser replanted them with Douglas and noble firs, resulting in whole swathes of green trees of exactly the same size. At the viewpoints, we looked down at rivers with banks still coated with grey volcanic silt. We could only go up so far because the road was closed partway up due to snow. It would be nice to return in summer and climb the mountain itself. But we enjoyed the beautiful drive.

In the evening we arrived in Portland, where we are staying with an old and dear friend, Lisa. She and her husband live in a small, cozy house. The walls are painted mustard, rust, green and brown comfortingly warm and bright at the same time. We chatted about life in Portland, a city they have “fallen in love with,” to such an extent they would not leave to pursue professional opportunities elsewhere.

They told us about the strong bicycle culture, about the incredible recreational activities nearby, about the affordability and the niceness of the local people. The downsides seem to be below average schools (they described this as a result of the low tax, low government services culture) and not a lot of higher education opportunities. They themselves lead a quality of life that I admire and envy. They are home every day by five, grow vegetables in their garden, eat farm fresh eggs, use all natural products, and eat very healthy foods. They have a balance and evidence a contentment with life that I think is ideal.

Tomorrow we’ll explore this place for ourselves.

Almost on the Road

Tomorrow we leave for a 3.5 week trip. Our itinerary includes Seattle, a drive down the West Coast through Portland and San Francisco, Morelia and Guadalajara Mexico, and Chicago. It’s my first big trip since returning from Bolivia last September. And it’s our first experience flying with River. We’re attempting to inaugurate him into world adventures and are crossing our fingers that he accepts it with enthusiasm.

I’m so excited to get on the airplane, to see the new scenery, to sleep in various hotels, to try new restaurants and cuisine every day, to reunite with old friends and to meet new people, to speak Spanish and to learn. Nine weeks and six days after childbirth, I’m ready to hit the road and to resume my travels.