T+9: The Not-So-Blue Portland Blues

PORTLAND, OR:  We are now on our 4^th day in Portland, and our moods are mixed, mixed, mixed.  Wes, who had been quite tolerant of the situation we find ourselves in, woke up this morning agitated and ready to go.  We wonder what do.  Should we rent a car and go to the mountains, away from the heat and into the cool beauty?  How would we get all our gear to a car rental place and back?  Should we get a better place to stay?  We are at the Hawthorne Hostel and it is pleasant enough, though it was difficult sleeping the first two nights because of the heat and noise.  Last night we moved into the dorm where, ironically, enough, both of us slept like rocks.

We have been exploring Portland.  It is a very nice, somewhat surprising city.  Some surprises reflect more on us as Detroiters than anything else.  Case in point, in the funky, hipster neighborhood of Hawthorne, where we are staying, there are three---count ‘em-- three---excellent grocery stores within walking distance of the hostel.   They are stuffed full of beautiful, fresh produce. 

I am almost embarrassed to say that I made Wes go look at the Fred Meyer store that I chanced into on our way to the hostel.  We were hot and thirsty, and I popped into this store for something cool to drink.  I wandered around, like some third world refugee, amazed at the range and excellence of the products, and the beauty and cleanliness of the store.  It is full pitiful for two full-grown adults to be oohing and aahing their way around a grocery store, but that is exactly what we did.

We notice Portland folks are much more rule adherent than we are.  If there are no cars coming at a crosswalk, Wes and I cross the street.  We have often left compliant Portlanders staring at us, as we blatantly crossed the street without the light.  At the hostel, we take responsibility for our comfort, and move our base of operations into the cool basement meeting room, only to realize later, that we were supposed to ask permission to use this area.   We are aware in many subtle and not so subtle ways that Detroit’s pioneer ways make us seem like scoff-laws in this more tempered and managed environment. 

We people watch incessantly and are surprised by the number of homeless individuals soliciting on the streets.   90 percent of these panhandlers are young, European- American males.   In every part of town, though certainly more numerous in the Hawthorne District, we see young men, often with companion animals and instruments, soliciting donations from passersby.   Wes stopped and asked two young men, bewhiskered and crusty, why there are so many homeless young people in this city.  These young men said they had been hopping trains, but that Portland was the end of the line and many folks got off here.  They weren’t sure they were staying. 

A fairly big number of mumblers and screechers make their way up and down the streets.   The disinvestment in mental health care is as fully apparent here as it is in Detroit, though the demography is different.  

In general, Portland strikes us as a very youthful city.  We wonder where their seniors, the middle aged, and children are.  We have not yet travelled more than 3 or 4 miles from downtown, and assume that families and elders might be seen in the more far-flung neighborhoods, but it is strange to us to see so many young folks.

It is true, as our friend Gail said, Portland is the epicenter of the piercing and tattoo culture. Inking is ubiquitous, pegged ears, commonplace.  We wonder if we are prejudiced when we find male fashion and bearing here a bit too geeky/nerdy for our Detroit muscle car and street cred eyes. 

But boy oh boy, is this a place for Wes’ coffee addiction.  We wander from one incredible coffee house to another, and are in fact, enjoying a beauty called Palio in a leafy arts and crafts neighborhood just off Hawthorne, as I write this blog.

This is also a wonderland of gardens.  Many people have given up on their lawns and established beautiful flower or food or shrub-scapes.  The trees are big and in the neighborhoods we have explored, there are many wonderful old houses.  Both Wes and I really like what we see, but for reasons we don't understand, it just doesn’t resonate for us. 

Is it the lack of an edge?  Is it that people are courteous here, but not particularly friendly---unlike Detroit, where folks are friendly, but not particularly courteous?   Is it that there are so many choices, so many options, for food and drink and shopping, that a sense of privilege is part of the package? 

Is it that we don’t sense the ferment and self-conscious path-choosing that makes up conversation after conversation in our delightful and dysfunctional city?  It seems the struggle for identity here is an individual quest expressed in body art and fashion.  As always, I pick up the local newspapers and rags, but don’t see many signs of collective action or identity.  Or perhaps I don’t recognize their form.

Or do we miss the presence of African Americans and African American culture?   While we perceive that this town has very many Latinos and Asian Americans, somehow, it doesn’t feel like their place, although we recognize we might not have the eyes to see it. 

All in all, we like Portland as a place to visit, but don’t feel any pull to stay here. We hear the call of the road louder each day.  When- oh- when will the bikes arrive?  We are ready to be in a more wild place.   This place might be a little too civilized for us Wyoming/Detroit pioneers.