These are a few of my favourite things

Portland is a city every traveller must visit. It’s the kind of city that makes even the most compulsive nomad to linger and perhaps stay awhile. Within five days of being there, I couldn’t help but entertain the idea of moving there myself. Not that I would, but I fantasise. Aside from rich cultural heritage and jealousy-inducing nature, there’s so much about Portland to cherish.

Variety

The Red Light, a clothing store in Portland.

Portland is famous for its chill attitude. It’s like the new cool kid on the block that everyone wants to be friends with. When in Portland, you wear what you want, you look what you like, and you believe what you want to believe in. No matter how strange or how quirky your preferences and lifestyle are, Portlanders won’t judge. The cheeky folk they are, they smile and embrace the fusion that different people bring to their city.

Walkers first

On the way to Mt. Tabor, Portland

Streets of Portland

I love walking. The biggest problem with a lot of places is the lack of respect and consideration for those who travel on foot. Where I live, for instance, cars and motorcycles are so frequent and so many that it’s often scary to step onto the street for fear of a speeding motorist knocking you down. In Portland, however, I saw designated sidewalks. Of course, the same is true of many other places in America, but Portland goes a step further. I had so many vehicles stop to let through me walk by. For the first time in my life I felt respected on the street. I flet like royalty.

Rights for bicyclists

Cup & Bar, a coffee shop in Portland — Cup & Bar, a coffee shop with a place to hang bicycles.

Portland loves bicycles as much as America loves its coffee. Everywhere I went, there were special concessions for bicyclists. Buses and trains had separate stands for riders travelling with their bikes, while brochures and route maps encouraged people to bring along their bikes. I even saw bike stands in a local coffee shop. On the street, right next to the pedestrian walkway were large bicycle lanes. From the little of America I’d seen, I realised the bike lanes in Portland are wider than the ones in Pleasanton, San Francisco, and Seattle.

Inclusion

Tempeh sandwich and vegan pasta, Portland

During my five days in Portland, I didn’t feel alien for one moment. Everything about the people made me feel welcome and comfortable. For someone so new to the first world, I adjusted and felt at home right away. And it wasn’t just me either. So many people from so many varying parts of the world lived in Portland united by the love for the city. It showed, too, in every street corner and in every shop I stepped into. From scrumptious meat to decadent vegan desserts, the city has something for every taste. People go out of their way to make each other feel comfortable and less self-conscious.

Water
An unfamiliar experience about the US was drinkable tap water. Although some of my American colleagues prefer bottled water, after some initial inertia, I knew the tap was fine. The taste, however, differed ever so little. Throughout my stay in California, it didn’t bother me at all. Then I went to Portland. When I took the first sip of tap water there, I was too surprised for words. Tap water in Portland was so tasty that it felt plain, refreshing, and clean. Unlike the tap water in California which tasted like purified water, Portland’s water tasted like natural water. I later learnt that Mt. Tabor reservoirs are the major water resources for the city. That’s also why Portland boats the best of beer and coffee breweries.

Local love

Eggurt, a local product

Made in PDX, Portland

It’s impossible not to notice how proud Portlanders are of their local culture. Everywhere I went there was a local-made product. From arts and crafts, to clothing, produce, beer, and coffee, “Made in Portland” is a phrase you can’t miss.

All that said,

When there’s so much goodness in one place, there’s bound to be some problems too. Portland’s biggest crisis is housing. From what I heard from a local tour guide, a lot of Californians have moved to Portland in the past few years bringing with them inflating house prices and increasing homelessness. Although it wasn’t visible, the city folk do harbour a certain distaste toward Californian migrants. Regardless, Portland remains as welcoming and as attractive as ever. It’s a place I would return just for the sake of it.

Travelling thoughts

The past year gave me a lot of new experiences. I had to step out of my comfort zone and find new zones I’m comfortable with. A major part of it came from my trip to the US. It was an official trip that taught me more than official stuff.

Even before the actual travel, every bit of preparation was a new journey by itself. From filling up the visa application, biometrics, and visa interview, to planning, packing, clothing, and embarking the boeing, every moment felt special.

From the moment I landed, everything I looked at awed me. Having lived all my life in a third world country, I can’t explain my wonderment at walking through wide roads, observing paved sidewalks, reserved bicycle paths, and moving traffic. India is famous for its clogged streets—not only do we have unmoving vehicles honking in impatience but we also inhale the smoke from out-dated vehicles that should’ve lost their licenses 20 years ago. With the absence of everything I’d become used to at home, my trip abroad showed me the other side of the world. It showed me an alternate reality I couldn’t have imagined.

As a bonus, the trip included my first solo adventure. For the first time in my life, I chose my destinations, decoded city codes, made purchases, and arranged accommodation. The experience revealed a side of myself I didn’t know I had. I learnt to plan, to organise, and to communicate with other people to get my work done. It taught me survival skills and negotiating skills.

Not only did I discover my own boldness, but I also discovered I could socialise without feeling bad about myself. Having always shunned away from social interactions, I saw myself initiating conversations, instead—with Uber drivers, restaurant waiters, event caterers, hotel receptionists, kitchen staff, fellow backpackers, and even an 88 year old grandma who headed to the Portland Museum sporting rain boots, a raincoat, and a confident stride. I laughed more than I had all year because intense pleasure seeped through my veins cleansing my soul.

Portland light rail system

Madison Street, Oakland

Pioneer Square, Seattle

As much as the grandeur of the US of A thrilled me, its subtle faults also stood out. Homelessness, unemployment, drugs, gun violence, homophobia, Islamophobia, inequality, and the over-indulgence of food, all shoved their ugly faces at me. Despite the wonderful people I met, despite the glorious sunrises and sunsets, and regardless of the advanced public transportation systems, I realised that first world countries have their pitfalls too. No matter which part of the earth humans live in, humans will be humans nevertheless. We do good to each other, but we also harm each other. For every thankful moment, there was also a moment I could’ve lived without.

Webster Street, Oakland

Fruitvale Bart Station, California

My greatest takeaway from 2017 is the lessons from my trip. Most of the world’s population looks up to the US and to other western countries, expecting them to guide from experience. However, during my time there, I figured the US is as clueless as the rest of the world. Sure, they have nice cars, bigger roads, more money, and less population but when it comes to everyday life matters like equal pay, gender biases, and tipping at restaurants, the first world isn’t too far ahead of third world countries. Yes, the US is a wonderful country, the people of the west are kind and welcoming. Their embrace is warm, their laughter is contagious, and their thoughts are genuine. But even there, unhappiness and dissatisfaction prevails. Alas, no place is perfect.

And with that realisation I headed back home, knowing that the best way to live is to make yourself happy in spite of your physical surroundings. It’s not easy. But hey, if a place gets too dull, you can always get away. One solo trip is all you need to catch the bug forever.

Coffee love

Coffee is an emotion. It’s what wakes you up and keeps you up all day. From where I am, typical coffee is a milk-laden sugar-infused chicory-blended concoction no one can live without. Although I don’t take my coffee that way, I do know its value in Indian homes. Coffee for Indians is what tea is for British. We’re snobby about our proportions and always willing for more. Having lived through all the drama that revolves around coffee, I felt prepared for what I’d experience in the US. At least I thought so.

On my first day in the US, my colleague showed me around, introducing me to the concept that is the K cup. I’d heard about and read about K cups before, but it was the first time I saw how it looked and learned how it worked. As my colleague picked up a fresh cup, flipped the machine open, inserted the cup and pressed the lid shut, I looked in wonderment at the amount of plastic waste that a one cup of coffee entails. I knew from a long-lost article that K cups aren’t recyclable, and wondered how much wastage that created. I could use up to five cups a day, and I was just one of the many hundreds at work. The math of how it’d magnify stumped me into silence.

Although at that moment I felt I should give up coffee altogether, when I saw the fresh black essence drip from the machine into my coffee cup, I felt little guilt. I felt more elated. Eight ounces of steaming black liquid waited for me to gulp down. Cupping the cup in my hands, I inhaled the scent of well-roasted beans wafting through the tall cup right into my nostrils. From there it travelled to my left and right brain spreading wakefulness all over my being. I sipped. Warmth rushed down my throat plummeting to fill up my empty stomach.

I ran about high in energy and joy. I’d experienced the real kick of coffee. I’d read about it before and I’d raised eyebrows at articles that claimed coffee disrupts sleep. None of the coffee I’d had so far had the such an invigorating effect on me. It wasn’t until I tasted the drip coffee that I understood the real power of it. It didn’t take me long to get addicted.

In Seattle I fell in love with fresh brewed coffee. My host’s medium-roasted coffee felt rich and yet less toasty in my throat. Portland gave me the taste of the bitter and sour Colombian coffee. Both were far different from the dark-roasted K cups I’d had in Pleasanton, and they were both comforting. I’ve no idea how many cups of coffee or kinds of coffee I tried while in the US. The only thing I do know, however, is that every cup delivered its promise. Every time I needed something to lift my spirits, coffee came to my rescue.

Giving some cheek

During my visit to Portland, I spent an entire morning walking around Ladd’s Addition. My friend had recommended it when I’d asked for something unique to see in and around the city. He’d told me the rose gardens are an unmissable sight. And so, taking his word for it, I stopped at the Ladd. While one part of the garden blossomed, another part lay forgotten and barren. It came as a shock to me, but then I saw this notice laughing out loud. Not only was it a wonderful walk, but it also showed me the cheeky side of Portlanders.

Cheeky message in Ladd's Addition, Portland

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.