Tag: travel planning

The Washington Park

The moment I landed in Portland, I saw how the clouds shrouded the sky. It was a Saturday morning and rain was forecast for the whole of the following week. Portlanders rejoiced at the news of rain, I heard from my friend, because raging fires in the gorge had brought about smoke into the city. What a wonderful way to start my vacation, I wondered, with fires on one side and rains on the other.

Nevertheless, Portland was promising. My friend had helped me find a place to stay and as he escorted me from the airport to my host’s house, he explained Portland is accustomed to constant rain. Not only does the city get rains throughout the year, but they’re also unpredictable and often short lived. Although it dampened my spirit a little bit, I’d soon come to appreciate, and even enjoy Portland’s weather.

After lunch, my friend and I parted ways as he went home and I to explore. The sky cleared up, bluish hues visible amidst greyish clouds. It was a good sign. It’s a good day for a walk in the park, I mused heading to Washington Park.

Washington Park

As I flipped through the brochure of the park, I evaluated what was worth my time and money. Turns out the entire 410 acre-park was well worth my while. The free park shuttle service took tourists from one attraction to another, and although I’d thought I’d walk the distance, the park was far bigger than I imagined it. Cruising along the roads in the shuttle, I saw trees lining up either side of well-paved roads designed for driving. The Washington park isn’t just a small area with some grass, but instead, a massive collaboration of museums and smaller gardens.

I’d been to plenty of rose gardens in India and despite being bored of roses, I still went to the International Rose Test Garden. Entrance free. When I stepped inside I saw it was bigger than any other garden I’ve been to. It seemed smaller on one side, and as I walked the aisle observing the various types of roses, smiling to myself at the cheeky and often weird names, the garden extended well beyond my expectations. Rows and rows of roses were in bloom, looking up at the passers by teasing to photograph them. Young couples and older tourists alike leaned in to smell the roses and click pictures. All around me were people curious and enchanted by the approaching rose-blend sunset. Walking along a line of roses, I came upon a board I hadn’t expected.

Shakespeare Garden
Sunset in the International Rose Test Garden
Shakespeare Garden

It was a tribute to the greatest playwright the world had ever seen. Much like the Shakespeare Garden in the Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, this one, too, hosts a collection of all the plants the Bard referred to in his works. Unlike the one in the Golden Gate Park, however, this one was larger, and had a more welcoming glow. There sure were more people interested in the garden in Portland than there were in San Francisco.

Without meaning to, I spent a long time in the Rose Test Garden. Although I would’ve liked to see the other sights in the park, I don’t regret my time with the roses. For as I was walking along, the sun began to set. It flaunted the sole positive effect of the fires in the gorge. The smoke clouded the sky so that the sunset became a fiery glow itself. It gave off a stunning view through thorny rose bushes. Shameless in admiring it, I was rooted in silence. When I came out my reverie, I know I had little time for the rest of the park.

Heading out of the rose garden, I walked a short distance to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. I didn’t know what to expect. But what I saw made me feel as if someone inflated a balloon within me. With every step I took towards the centre of the memorial, my heard swelled in inexplicable joy and pride. It was a large round memorial with marble stones lining the way and the names of veterans inscribed on it. It named soldiers who’d died trying to protect the they loved and people they’d never heard of alike. It gave off a sense of responsibility that I as an observer and as a walker in the memorial should assume. With goosebumps all over my skin and a light head, I trotted off about to head back.

Sitting in the shuttle and flipping through the brochure, I saw something called Hoyt Arboretum. A “museum of living trees,” the description read. How could living trees live inside a museum? Perhaps it’s a marketing writer’s way of attracting tourists. But when the shuttle stopped at the information centre of the Arboretum, I decided to check it out anyway. A shack, it was locked with a sign announcing they’d closed for the day. It didn’t seem big, and sure enough I couldn’t see how they’d fit a museum inside such a small space.

I went around the building and saw walking trails extending on all sides, leading deeper into the park. On my right was The Oak Trail. I followed that path, not sure what I’d find. With nothing but oak trees on either side of me, I walked on. The trail seemed safe and paved. But the entire area was deserted. Confused but also thrilled that I’d ventured into one of my wildest desires, I retraced my way back to the information centre. Going the other way around it, I found a different trail extending in front of me—the Redwood Trail. Walking down the trail, I began to understand. Hoyt Arboretum was a collection of tree-spotting trails that could get any hiker high.

I almost laughed out loud in joy as I skipped my way through the trail. I stopped caring about taking pictures—I was too busy breathing in the scent of natural goodness. Walking around the different trails, I realised there were over 15 different trails that veined throughout the park. Half a day doesn’t do justice to the Arboretum. It needs the attention and dedication of an entire day, I wondered as I wandered towards the train station. I didn’t cover much ground, but as I look back now, I’m glad I went to the Arboretum even for a short while. I didn’t get all of it, but I did get a taste of it that would last me a lifetime.

Known, but not enough

Seattle is a beautiful city for many reasons. Most people, however, think and know only about the Space Needle. I was no different. I, as any tourist visiting the city for the first time, had the big needle as a major pin in my agenda. But it was only when I got to Seattle that I realised there’s more to the city than just its most advertised monument. I walked along the waterfront park and went up the Pike Place Market. From a vantage point at the market, I caught a glimpse of this underrated beauty of Seattle. The Great Wheel is known well enough, but it often has to peek to garner attention.

Ferris Wheel, Seattle Waterfront

From the bay to port

My last day in Pleasanton, I went out for dinner with friends. I should’ve stayed back packing, instead. I don’t regret the dinner, though, because I had some of the best Italian food I had ever had. I did, however, return to my hotel late and spent another couple of hours preparing for the next leg of my trip to the US: Portland.

At 9:30 the next morning, I would fly to the great Oregon city. And I stayed awake until 12:30 am making sure I had everything I needed. Then I was just too excited to sleep. When I reached the Oakland International Airport well ahead of time (I get anxious if I’m late), I realised I didn’t know what to do. It was my first time in the US and I was about to fly a domestic airlines, which I had no idea works how. Nevertheless, I stepped right into the information counter of Alaska Air, the airlines I was flying. Expecting a decent reply, I asked the gentleman what to do. He took a look at my online checkin confirmation and boarding pass, and asked me to head right over to the security checks. Huh? I remember feeling. It was hard to believe that that was all I had to do—ask.

Goodbye Bay Area
Touchdown Portland

Although the lack of airport complexity surprised me, I was even more astonished at how easy things had become when I asked for help. In retrospect, if I hadn’t asked for information, I would’ve walked in circles like a lost child at the airport. Sure, I would’ve found my way some way or the other, but it would’ve been a more daunting experience. As a first time solo traveller, that was my first lesson: Ask, and people will help.

And so I asked again. This time, at the queue for security checks. As I headed for gate 10, I realised I had to join the only queue there was—regardless of gate number. I asked another passenger—in an incredulous voice—if there were no other queues. He shook his head in frustration, “Nope. It’s the only queue. Oakland’s a small airport, you know…” he trailed off with a vague shrug between resenting and understanding.

Smiling to myself, I joined the end of the queue. I had over an hour before boarding began and so I resorted to people watching—my favourite low-energy-exerting sport. A couple of women discussed an event they were attending, wondering if their clothes were appropriate. One of them mentioned she wore the light jacket to hide a hole in her t-shirt. They smiled at me, and I at them. After all, I know only too well the art of patch working my clothes. A little ahead of us stood another woman waving a bottle of water around asking if anyone would like some. It was still early in the day and as is the common scene, high-schoolers sipped sodas and coffees while scrolling through their mobile screens.

The lined moved and so did I.

Cleared, I headed to the waiting area and looked around more. Airports always fascinate me—massive winged beasts come and go, and no one even bats an eye. I, however, can’t take my eyes off them. When it was boarding time, it struck me how small the aircraft was. But when I found my seat, it was still a snug fit. The gentleman who sat next to me, slept through the entire hour of the flight, while I amused myself at the clouds below. We ascended and it struck me how beautiful the bay area is. San Francisco city came into view and as it went out of my view, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness. California had been nice. I don’t know if I’d ever return, but I knew at that moment—hovering in the air above the city—that it had changed my perspective of life forever.

And with that, I turned forward.

Portland, ahoy! The adventure had just begun.

A lesson in pride

After a long walk around the infamous Lake Merritt, I wrote to a friend saying I was in town. When she replied that she needed another hour to get ready and walk up to where I was, I decided to walk to her place, instead. It was only then that I realised she lived on the other side of the lake, another half a mile away. Not wanting to go around the lake again—the sun had come out stronger than I expected—I took a path through the streets observing the buildings flanking the sidewalks.

Oakland was quiet even for a Sunday. Having experienced flabbergasting activity in the streets of San Francisco, Oakland was such a contrast. Walking down empty streets I realised that Oakland was more of a residential town. It helps that Oakland has far fewer attractions than San Francisco. Tourists don’t spend five days sightseeing Oakland. Although there’s plenty to see and do in Oakland—not much interests typical tourists. I was glad I was atypical that way. Spending hours on Oakland streets was great for me.

After a cinnamon coffee and a lengthy catching-up conversation, my friend suggested we hit the Oakland Pride Festival. It was the day after my visit to Castro and so I was all in for another such experience. What I wasn’t sure of, however, was the meaning of pride festivals.

Oakland Pride Franklin Street

It was mid September, and according to my friend, Oakland always has its pride festival in September or October, unlike the rest of the US does in June. I listened in polite silence. What she said meant nothing to me. I had no idea what a pride festival was, how it’d be, or what people would do there.

I was curious, though.

Perhaps that’s why she suggested it in the first place. She knew I wanted to learn and understand and visiting the festival would be a good way to start. And so we walked a little more. The festival took up two entire streets and traffic was re-routed. Even as we walked towards the end of a long line, we heard music and singing ring through the air. The queue moved fast enough and before long we had our own pride bracelets. Everywhere we turned were people sporting multicoloured clothes, waving flags, calling out hellos to each other, and drowning bottles of water and soda—it was a warm day.

I made a quick observation: Oakland has a massive LGBTQ community. The moment we walked in, high-energy music and excited voices hit us that it was hard not to join in. It wasn’t crowded, though, for which I am thankful. The pride festival of San Francisco, according to my friend, attracted thousands of people every year. Oakland contented with a few hundreds. There were stalls on every side and people walking from one to another buying pride merchandise or just saying hello to each other. Everything imaginable was shaded rainbow—bow ties, flags, t-shirts, scarves, jewellery, fancy costumes, and even eye masks. It was a congregation of all things bright and colourful. Pride festivals are for the allies and the LGBTQ community to flaunt their existence at the same time. Not only is it a way of declaring their rights, but also a celebration of it.

It wasn’t all happiness and laughter, though. Pride festivals bring out so many emotions, I learnt from my friend. Most LGBTQ people have a rough time coming out to the world. Parents shun children, and society gives ill treats them every where they go. This was even more dire during the 60s and 70s. That’s when pride festivals took root. That’s when all these people whom society disregarded came together to share their stories and to encourage each other to stay strong. Nowadays, though, pride festivals have transitioned as a more lighter gathering. Nevertheless, the price scene still invites everyone who’s been hurt or hurting and embraces them with encouragement. After all, everyone should be proud of who they are.

Oakland Pride was a lesson I’d cherish forever.

Rounding them up

Rounds represent completion, encapsulation, and to an extent, closure. And that’s why this week’s photo prompt reminded me of cookies—round cookies baked to a crisp perfection, gooey on the middle and crunchy on the edges. As I heaved a huge sigh just thinking about cookies and the closure they offer, I remembered something else that had the same effect on me in San Francisco: It was the experience of looking down at the city from a vantage point. I was at the de Young Museum observatory, observing the false silence if the city below me. Looking down from one side, I saw tiny grass patches, water bodies, and walkways around the museum for visitors to enjoy. And from up above, I tried my best to round them all in one picture.

rounded