Walking Downtown Portland

It's late afternoon, and Portland is squeezing the last juice out of a fine weekend. We are walking on a long street to the heart of town, the muffled rumble of traffic resounding from the freeways in the near distance. I could mistake it for the thumping rumble of surf back home. I can't get my bearings except to heed the order of the street names. We're heading downhill to the river, which, like the Seine does in Paris, bends around Portland's edges. It's no use to use it for a landmark.

What you see in Portland you also see in other pretty American cities: Shade trees, bike lanes, large homes built in the '20s or earlier, now restored or converted to condos or apartments. Benson Bubblers? Only in Portland. Bubblers are curiously unique and generous creations that date back to 1912, kind of a four-bowled drinking fountain that flows with sweet fresh water continuously from early morning to late at night. I see them very randomly while out walking. I've read there are 52 of them around the city. Fresh water is provided for you without request, effort or payment asked. All you do is bend over and take a long cool drink.

The walk is taking us to the Pearl District where I will find REI. I've heard it's big; I need socks. It is big, and the clerks use little devices to ring the sales and email you a receipt if you wish to have one. Seems pretty simple. I want to buy everything in the store, as usual. I end up with no new socks, but two new tops that are on sale. Not sure how that happened, but it did.

Then, onward along more streets, all very easy to walk as they are narrow, pretty flat. The have interesting buildings that line them now that we are in The Pearl District, a more funky and artistically hip area. On we stride until we reach Powell's City of Books, a ridiculously enormous bookstore. Well, it's two bookstores or at least two buildings four stories high. It's the bookstore of my dreams, of any reader's dreams. You need a map to find your way around. How did this happen? Why has it not happened everywhere? Barnes and Noble as well as other bookstores are going ten toes up, dying sad deaths, but Powell's is robust and vigorous.

As the light fades slowly away, hunger rises, and we dither about trying on the ideas of movie or dinner or both. Dinner wins. Jake's Grill is nearby, a place we'd staked out two nights ago when my shoes were blistering my feet (different pair than tonight). The streets are quiet as it's Sunday, and that magic hour of evening light mixed with the day's last glow is upon us. I keep my eyes open for photography possibilities, but we have ducked into the restaurant before I can really get any shots.

Jake's is in a beautiful historic landmark building built in the early 1900's in the arts and crafts style, each bit of it hand made. It was called The Seward Hotel back in its original iteration, was restored in the 1990's and reopened as The Governor Hotel with Jake's established at that time. It's bones are evident in mica lampshades, heavy wooden beams, high painted tin ceiling in the dining room and the pattern of mosaic tiles on the floor. After dinner, we snoop further into the hotel's grand dining rooms and lobby. There is a glowing mural of the early settler's days along the Columbia and deep old leather easy chairs it would be wonderful to sit down into. The fire is crackling nearby. Surely, God lives in a place like this with fine leather chairs and his feet up for the evening.

We must be off to our hotel. We are weary and our eyes are drooping. The moon is hauling up into the night sky. I listen for the creak of winches pulling it up. Portland is a workingman's town historically. I'd think a moon lift must exist here, invented by some enterprising man with a gleam in his eye back in the town's early days. The gleam is still there, and I've seen it in many an eye in the past few days. Good night, Portland.