Rainy, Liberal and I need a drink: A First Day in the City of Roses

We arrived (slowly) in Portland yesterday afternoon by Amtrak after 8 hours trundling through the landscapes of the pacific northwest. Our train trip was an alcohol-marinated soap opera we weren't anticipating: a troupe of college-aged guys joined us mid-morning at Everett, and commenced their Bud consumption immediately to celebrate their buddy's last days of singleness. We really didn't anticipate that a handful of middle-aged cougars from around the train would line up to party with the boys in the Bistro train attached to ours. The woman in front of us who had assisted her very elderly mother aboard in her wheelchair disappeared 30 minutes in and returned from the bachelor party slurring her words, falling over herself and completely unable to think straight. It was cringe-worthy. Amtrak conductors came over the speaker every hour or so to remind all that this was a "family journey" and that profanity and drinking personal alcohol was not allowed - but that certainly didn't put a lid on it.

It sounds like the trip was bad, but it was fine, really. I think we both really enjoyed the train - it was slow, peaceful (for the most part) and devoid of the usual stress of airline travel. I felt that it gave the sense that we'd actually travelled somewhere, taken some time to journey to another place, while S&P points out that on the train you get to see the lush greenery and tucked away cottages that are hidden to the everyday vehicle commuter's eye. We slept, read, ate fabulous vietnamese salad rolls (prepared by S&P, natch) and emerged in Portland full, and ready to have a little distance from the frat boys' bachelor party led by Captain America himself.



It must be said: I love Portland. I've been once before with my Dad on one of our memorable road trips. The Art Museum is amazing, the streets are tidy and walkable, the food is great, the coffee culture is vibrant, there are musicians, hippies, students and homeless people everywhere (and sometimes all-in-one). It's like an optimistic Liberal utopia. However, a 1.3 mi uphill walk in a downpour was a generally disspiriting greeting, even for Vancouverites.

Once we arrived at the hotel, our walk was forgotten. the Hotel Modera is a rebuild of what looks to have been a budget business hotel, into a small, upscale and very fashionable boutique style. We were really impressed by the look and feel immediately upon entry, and the front desk staff were great - we both noted later that they had something the larger chain hotels didn't seem to have. They recognized that we were here for fun, and didn't condescend us because we weren't the customary staid business travelers. I can't say how many times in the first hour I proclaimed upon a piece of furniture how much I wished I had a version of it in my new condo. That's a good sign, methinks.

We were both waterlogged, unexpectedly stuffed, and a bit tired, so dinner was "happy hour" in the hotel lounge. S&P will break it down for you in a later post, but it was hip, happening, tasty, and light on the pocketbook. Apparently so was I because she got me drunk on one powerful cocktail. I was useless thereafter. Rich (Dad of S&P), mission accomplished!