Portlandia

Portland is my kind of city. To start, it isn't just bike-friendly. Oh no--it has something approaching bike worship going on. The residents of this cozy little part of the Northwestern US take great pride in motoring around sans motor, with bike lanes in every direction and a surplus of signage (a la Amsterdam) directing you here and there on your two wheels. There is even a cycle path alongside a major freeway: Why should gas-guzzlers be the only ones able to escape the city life and head to the mountains on a whim?

But truly, escaping is not something top of mind for Portland's inhabitants. There is a palpable sense of enjoyment permeating the air, a Portlandia joie de vivre if you will, that is easy to acknowledge and even easier to get swept up in. Life here is quirky and simple and exactly what Portlanders want. You know this not because everyone is rushing in with glowing testimonials, but because they actually don't have to say a word. The smiles, the eye contact, the friendly hellos tumbling from the mouths of strangers, the way every single person behind the counter of coffee shop after bookstore after restaurant wants to strike up a conversation with you without being prodded to do so. It is all quite endearing and inviting, even folksy but without crossing over into Sarah Palin hockey-mom territory.

And then there's the food. Oh, the food. This morning I stopped by the Waffle Window with my friend Joey and ate something called a Bananarumba, which can only be described as sugar-baked heaven on a plate. Fresh bananas, house made caramel, a pile of whipped cream, and sweet crunchy pecan thingies strewn haphazardly over the top of a warm, sugar-crisped waffle, served up quick and with a smile. It was enough to make me believe that every building erected from this day forward should have a Waffle Window carved into its facade. Genius, I tell you. During this visit I have also dabbled in some fried cheese curds (whoa), a "salt slab" (a literal 8" x 10" slab of airy, chewy, crusty fresh bread sprinkled with salt and spread with butter), and ice cream. Yes, in the chill of a Northwest winter I cannot seem to get enough of the cold stuff. Where? Salt and Straw. Why? Let's just say a split scoop of sea salt with caramel ribbon plus rich, creamy olive oil ice cream--don't knock it till you try it--stacked in a waffle cone made approximately five minutes ago. OMG. Let's also say that I might have to repeat that order again later to someone who can actually deliver me the goods once more.

As for that Northwestern winter, to my surprise I have been handling it all in stride. I know that I grew up in Buffalo, but with nearly two decades of warm-weather living causing my blood to be thinner than the sheen of sweat that normally covers my forehead on a daily basis in Hawaii, I sort of feared going back into the cold again. Armed with beanies, sweatshirts and a scarf that has become part of my anatomy, I have survived the chill so far, even enjoyed it. There is something stimulating about the cold air that I have heretofore not acknowledged. It's different than what I am used to, sure, yet I don't mind any of it. Of course, there are coffee shops on every corner with mustachioed hipster baristas ready to warm you up with some locally-roasted java just in case the gray skies and nip in the Portland air get to be a bit much. Truthfully, I am still not sure what a hipster is but I think I may have seen a few, though I can say with a certainty that I have seen some impressive displays of facial hair around town.

Sitting at Stumptown Coffee while typing this, I glance up in time to notice something strange happening outside the large plate glass window at the front of the store. It has started to snow! I want to panic a little, but then I remember: This is Bridgetown in winter. I have a bike, reasonably warm clothing and caffeine pulsing through my veins. Simple, yet more than enough to enjoy another day of cruising around Portland.










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