Tag: opinion

Going away

How long does it take to fall in love? For me it took less than a day to fall in love with Portland, and about 30 minutes to miss being in Portland.

After a wonderful last day in the city, I woke up early to catch a train that would take me away from Portland until I return—if I return. Excited though I was to disembark in Seattle later that day, as I walked from my bus stop to the Union Station, I felt myself reflecting the gloom in the air. Just as I headed towards the looming building, raindrops began to fall, and Portland flaunted its typical self to me—one last time.

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Mild warmth hit me inside the station. It was a chilly morning, and as I hugged my sweater a little closer to myself, my instinct swung around for coffee. What I saw, instead, was a newsstand full of brochures and “Welcome to Portland” kits. Looking at all the tourist information I’d missed during my visit, I moved closer looking at each brochure. Although I hate standard tourism and typical sightseeing, some of the guide maps interested me. At that moment I realised I hadn’t spent enough time in Portland. Part of me was happy to leave wanting more because, that way, I’d cherish what I did experience. But the other part of me—the part that my heart rules—yearned for me to stay back.

Union Station, news stand

I couldn’t, for Seattle, with its rich reputation and sea line, awaited my presence.

Turning away from the newsstand, I saw what I’d been looking for in the first place. A small shop inside the station run by an Asian couple. Grabbing a cup of their strongest coffee, I sat on a bench. I’d arrived an hour early. About ten other people were in the station at that time, and as the clock overhead ticked on, more drifted in, most of whom walked straight towards coffee. Almost all had eyes for none but their phones, but some of them clustered, discussing their Seattle itineraries. A general hum filled the air around me as stories mingled with fresh brews and the swishing of someone turning over a newspaper. Everyone minded their own business, focussing on their own lives and their own Facebook feeds. When they caught the eye of another person, however, they spread a warm smile. It was the last scene of the city I saw, and it only proved what I’d already learnt about Portland: no matter who you are, where you’re from, or how you present yourself, you’re welcome with assurance of respect and safety.

Union Station 3

As the station master checked our boarding passes, and let us board the train, new thrill spread through my veins. I had booked on Amtrak Cascades, the national railway service of Washington and Oregon. I rekindled my love for a train travel as I approached the gigantic stretch of coaches facing me. Perhaps it’s because I was a foreigner, but everything about the train to me seemed quaint and well-thought of. The little stools at every door of every coach was a simple empathetic gesture towards people who’d need additional effort to climb.

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When I found my seat, I was ecstatic. Not only did I have a place by the window, but I also had the one next to me, as well as the ones in front of me for myself. For someone accustomed to travelling in full-booked trains back at home, those vacant seats felt like a throne. It was as if I deserved all the space around me.

Union Station 2

Relaxing in my seat, I took one last look at the city that had given me the true taste of freedom. As the train pulled out of the station, and the mountains and the valleys flew past me, I knew I’d chosen a great place for my first solo trip.

 

Children grow up

The red Volkswagen Beetle pulled up at the gate. Mary sat reading on the porch, with a black retriever on the floor, his tail curled up and his belly heaving in massive breaths. She didn’t look up at the man who walked towards her.

“Hello Mom,” he paused for her acknowledgement. The dog had lifted his head, curious, but seeing an impassive Mary, remained seated.

“Hello Jason. How’re Carol and the kids?”

“Great! The twins love the new house — plenty of space.” He smiled sitting down next to his mother. “Oh, you got a dog since we moved out. Is it wild?”

“A little,” Mary replied stroking the dog. “But Jerry sure won’t bite the hand that fed him.”

The art of parenting

Sought a son

to achieve high

over and beyond

his age and height

 

hauling him away

forcing, from friends

the mother with hopes

cast him amidst wolves

 

encouraging greatness

discouraging listlessness

she carved a scaredy-cat

out of a sheer underdog.

Up the mountain

On my last day in Portland, I’d walked around Ladd’s Addition all morning. Ready for more adventure, I prepared for another long hike—uphill this time—towards Mount Tabor.

I’d already heard a little bit about the mountain from various conversations. The day before, I’d mused about the cleanliness of the tap water to my host, and she’d nodded in pride. She told me it came from the Mt. Tabor reservoir. Huh, I’d thought without even expecting to visit it, interesting. Portland’s nature is so luscious that I couldn’t help but feel envious. As I began walking towards it, however, I realised one step at a time that Portland deserved all the love it got from nature lovers. Not only was the mountain and the surrounding park adding beauty to existing grandeur, but the path leading to the mountain was also full of feasts for the eyes.

Hawthorne Blvd. was a lengthy street with trees and quirky buildings flanking the sidewalks. For a hike lover like myself, the journey was more thrilling than exerting. I felt as if I’d walk all day without tiring or boring myself. Characteristic to Portland, I came across coloured heads and clothing rebels everywhere I turned. And catering to such a preference-diverse population are stores that made me stop and stare.

From coffee shops with a twist to clothing lines worthy of a movie star, retails in Hawthorne Blvd are nothing short of awe-inducing. Detouring multiple times, I stopped at various stores taking in the feverish atmosphere of people being unapologetic to show off their tastes. Unlike most other places I’ve been to, the people of Portland don’t care what others think of them. Everyone represented themselves as they wanted. And that gave a beautiful hue to the city. That’s what makes Portland so welcoming and cheery—no one judges another because no one is perfect. And they’re happy to flaunt their imperfect bodies and habits. As a solo traveller from a judgemental society, Portland seemed to me the epitome of freedom.

Aside from the enthusiastic folks of the city, nature itself seemed to reflect the people’s mentality. Or perhaps it’s the other way round. Portland’s nature is unparalleled in abundance, with a tendency of giving I saw in its people, too. Just as people opened their arms and spread their smiles, trees, too, cast wide shadows and cooling views. Although the climb towards Mt. Tabor was big, the trees and the people along the way made my way all the more enjoyable.

Walking along I had to stop at the Portland Cider Company. After an internal debate as to whether I should or shouldn’t get drunk while on such an important hike, I entered nevertheless. Not only did I get to taste some amazing apple cider for free, but I also learnt about cider preparation and pairing—all from a great host and conversationalist. I’d done something I’d never dreamt of doing—a daring act from the perspective of my social circle—and it was the do-your-thing attitude of Portland that influenced me to shed my inhibitions. On the way to a high point, I’d paused for a short moment of self-high. Bravo to me.

Mt. Tabor 1

Reaching the end of the street, I was at the Portland reservoir number 6. Before me, behind bars sprawled a mass of water. Standing by one of Portland’s major sources of water, I was transfixed by its size. I walked round the reservoir, and past the tennis courts. There, leading up to reservoir number 5 was a rocky staircase. I took to it, my legs aching from all the walking. Even without realising it, I’d traversed over 20 miles in two days, and the stress was beginning to settle.

But the pull of nature was stronger than the pull of my muscles, and I reached the top just to gloat that I’d made it. As soon as I finished congratulating myself on my feat, I turned around and dropped my jaw. Reservoir 5 was bigger, rounder, and far more beautiful. At that moment, I knew it was all worth it. I no longer felt the pain in my legs, for the ecstasy in my heart was more domineering.

Mt. Tabor 3

The rain started again, plunking on the surface of the water. I remained, breathing deep. When you’re in the presence of the best of nature, you don’t need to force meditation. As I turned away, my heart felt cheery and my steps light. My adventure in Portland had come to its close and I left wishing for more.