Rediscovering the greatest moments of my visit to the US, I came upon this week’s photo challenge: serene. Not only was my entire trip a soul-satisfying experience, but it was also full of positive energy that revitalised me from within. Every day that I set out to explore the city on my own, I found calm all around me. Although it was an official trip, my weekend getaways were worthy of a holiday.
This photo was at the National AIDS Memorial Grove inside the Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. This grove sat hidden in plain sight, a tribute to all lives lost aid-less, because of AIDS. As soon as I entered, an aura of serene beauty and supreme sadness engulfed me. I couldn’t identify the reason or the source, but seeing the memorial, the flowers, and the words of love left me overwhelmed.
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.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
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.
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.
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.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
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.
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.
Oh, Portland! Haven’t been away for more than 30 minutes and I miss you already.
On my last day in Portland, I asked my friend what’s the one place I should visit to complete my trip complete. And without hesitation, he wrote back: Hawthorne Blvd, and Ladd’s Addition. It’s got an interesting floor plan and there’s a rose garden I could look around, he’d said. Although I’d grown a little tired of roses, I looked up the place on my map and the structure of the neighbourhood fascinated me at once. It had a diagonal street pattern, unlike any other street I’d seen anywhere else.
With that image to look forward to, I walked down the street leading to the quaint district of Ladd. I was on Hawthorne Blvd which occupied an entire corner of the square, and so from where I stood I could walk right into the neighbourhood and keep walking until I reached the other end. The weird thing about walking within the Addition was there’s no way to get lost. Although every turn looked the same to me, my friend had assured me I’d end up at a clearing if I just kept to the trail.
It felt, at first, as if walking into an unknown jungle. All around me trees loomed overhead and leaves swept the ground. Then from somewhere in the distance, came the screams of ecstatic children. Unnerving though it all was, I soon went past a school somewhere within the district where I caught a glimpse of children playing in the school ground. Their voices rang out throughout the area. After a while, it became less creepy and more welcoming. The roads all looked neat and well-maintained, but there were almost no vehicles to appreciate the vacant traffic.
The houses reminded me of mansion life in the 1800s. They were large with porches and picket fences, attracting my eyes and inducing my jealousy. No one was out. People preferred a quiet afternoon indoors with their dogs or books. The sun shone bright overhead, illuminating the path ahead of me where autumn’s first victims expected my feet to crunch them.
It was a glorious place to take a walk. However within minutes I realised how much of a pain it must be for visitors to find the right house. It’s too easy to get overwhelmed and confused because every house had a similar design. I was addicted the the serenity of the neighbourhood, as I approached the nearest rose garden. Excited by the what I’d already seen, I was looking forward to what would come. Perhaps there’d be some interesting design in the way they were planted, too, I hoped. As I got closer, I felt my heart racing. Never before had I felt such a mad urge to see flowers. I felt so unlike myself, speed walking down the street. When I reached the garden, however, the expectation that’d welled up within me burst in a flash. Rows upon rows were remains of roses. The entire area reeked with gloom and not a single flower in bloom. In a devastating moment, I observed dying leaves and rose buds cowering as a mild rain dropped on them.
The barren garden
Despite my disappointment, I still felt optimistic. Perhaps, I just arrived at the wrong season, I consoled myself. Perhaps the roses would bloom in spring, I decided walking away.
The more I roamed, the more happier I felt at being there. Portland’s customary rain had stopped for the a moment, and the sun peeked from behind the clouds. Autumn was just round the corner and as pigeons flew from one tree to another, dried leaves flew in their wake. It was a sight I’d never forget. Within minutes I’d forgotten the dying roses, cheering up and gearing up for the what came next.
As I turned a corner, I stood stunned. Facing me was a huge garden of roses, all in bloom and in glory. Roses I’d seen before, roses I’d never seen before, roses in red, roses in white, in yellow, and even in blue—they were everywhere welcoming me.
The blooming garden
All of a sudden I felt a surge of admiration towards nature. The dead roses I’d seen before wasn’t a work of nature but a work of human negligence. And sure enough I came across a sign that confirmed my theory.
Shaking my head in disbelief, and also shaking with laughter at the same time, I moved on. Ladd’s Addition had added immeasurable value to my trip.
