We made a weekend run down to Portland, which is just under 200 miles from Seattle. Both going and returning, the drive was prolonged by mysterious Saturday morning and Sunday evening traffic, but we had two warm and sunny days, which (although hot) were perfect for viewing the Pacific Northwestern scenery. We arrived at our relatives' house in the early afternoon on Saturday.
We first ventured off to Huber's (Portland's oldest restaurant) for a late lunch. I say "lunch," but lunch was sort of the side event. The main act was the oh-so-delish Spanish coffees we ordered. They came out with a little razzle dazzle presentation from the server. He slung Bacardi 151 rum into glasses, lit the booze on fire, then proceeded to sling Kaluha, coffee, and finally the cream to complete our drink orders. With warm cocktails in our tummies (and, consequently, smiles on our faces), we then ordered our actual meal. My vegetarian ways prevented me from delving into Huber's specialty turkey dishes, but I did enjoy one mighty fine grilled vegetable sandwich.
After lunch, we drove up to Council Crest, the highest point in Portland. As our car curved around hillsides, I knew we must be traveling updwards because my ears were popping like mad. When we reached the top, we could see Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams, Mt. Hood, and the very distant Mt. Rainier (the last of which is usually very near, visible, and large at home in Seattle). We stood, admiring the mountains and their unique distinctions. Our Portland-local family members indicated that Mt. Hood was seen as the commercial mountain (even it's shape looks perfect and "classic" mountain-ish); St. Helens hadn't had much of a commercial air since 1980 when the volcano erupted, and all the tourist traps were destroyed. Rainier was just plain far away, but you could see it on a cloudless day.
How funny-- even mountains have their own "personalities," if you will.
On Sunday, we went to the Portland Saturday Market. There, we perused the many artisan booths and shared a warm "Elephant Ear." I held my ground and did not make any additional market purchases because I knew we would follow up the Saturday Market with a trip to Powell's bookstore. Powell's touts itself as "the largest independent used and new bookstore in the world," and, in fact, we did need maps to get around all the many rooms and shelves crammed with books. Happily, I walked away with an armload of new reading material.
We didn't drive back to Seattle until the late afternoon. As we cruised north on I-90, buckets of sunshine poured into the car through its glass windshield. We cranked up the air-conditioning for the journey home.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
Boston, MA (July 6, 2008)
It was a beautiful walk through the Boston Common on a hot Sunday morning. Of course, parking in Beacon Hill had been tough. Every street was narrow, and many were one-ways. We happened upon a single open metered spot about a block away on Beacon Street. Thankfully, meters were not monitored on Sundays, so it was one less paid parking experience on our trip (we'd already had quite a few). Passing the "Cheers" bar on foot, we entered the Common and ambled from one end to the other. We passed dogs fetching tennis balls, teenagers skate-boarding, and down at the Common's Frog Pond, saw scads of young children wading in the shallow pool. 
It grew hotter while we were outside, and the sunlight crackled on our skin. I was glad when we stopped for drinks, and an iced tea cooled my insides. The cold drink made the sunshine all the more delightful.
On our way to the airport, we drove along Interstate 90, which ends on the East Coast in Boston. How funny that, later in the day, we drove again by I-90 -- this next time on the opposite West Coast end, when we were safely back in Seattle.
Boston, MA (July 5, 2008)
Gloucester was not a far drive from Boston, and yet the culture and scenery seemed distant from the neighboring metropolis. Aside from the high number of cars, it looked like a peaceful fishing town, happily tucked into a romanticized portrait of New England. The air there was cool and smelled distinctly saltier.
We walked along the harbor, watching locals pass by with their dogs. Encountering a small portion of sandy beach, we even gathered sea shells. We washed them in the lapping waves, and when the ocean washed away layers of dirt, the shells were revealed to be deep purple. They looked to be from some type of mollusk (though I couldn't tell you if they were from clams, oysters, or what).
And of course, it was hard not to sigh when we noticed bottle caps and gum wrappers entwined with the seaweed that had washed ashore.
In the afternoon, we journeyed back into Boston where we passed several hours walking through North End. We ate lunch at the Italian restaurant Strega, where, to my delight, the staff was chatting in Italian to one another. Our server laughed as I stumbled through the pronunciation of my order. Let's just say that gnocchi did not roll off my tongue. He smiled and said it for me -- "no-KEY." Then he waited like a patient teacher while I smiled and repeated, "no-KEY." And, my oh my, gnocchi was melt-in-your-mouth goodness.
After lunch, we visited Paul Revere's house, which was oddly situated among a line of newer (albeit, still old) buildings. From the outside, the only dead giveaway that it was Revere's house was the line of people waiting to get inside. We waited, and the line moved surprisingly fast. Although set up with an eye for amusing the tourists, I really was a little inspired to think of the house's history and former residents. After a long day of silversmithing, Revere had gone home to that very spot. The creaking wooden floors and overhead rafters had seen many a guest since Revere's time, but for a moment, I could imagine what it must have been like back then.
We walked across the brick-paved streets toward the Old North Church -- a building made famous by the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem "Paul Revere's Ride." It was the church where lanterns were hung to indicate that the British were coming ("one if by land, two if by sea"). Apparently Longfellow's history was a tad off as historians do not believe that Revere was the one to hang the lanterns. And, the "two if by sea" line should really have read "two if by river." But even these funny gaffes give it all an interesting backstory, no? It had been another line to get inside a building but was, once again, worth the wait.
We walked along the harbor, watching locals pass by with their dogs. Encountering a small portion of sandy beach, we even gathered sea shells. We washed them in the lapping waves, and when the ocean washed away layers of dirt, the shells were revealed to be deep purple. They looked to be from some type of mollusk (though I couldn't tell you if they were from clams, oysters, or what).
And of course, it was hard not to sigh when we noticed bottle caps and gum wrappers entwined with the seaweed that had washed ashore.
In the afternoon, we journeyed back into Boston where we passed several hours walking through North End. We ate lunch at the Italian restaurant Strega, where, to my delight, the staff was chatting in Italian to one another. Our server laughed as I stumbled through the pronunciation of my order. Let's just say that gnocchi did not roll off my tongue. He smiled and said it for me -- "no-KEY." Then he waited like a patient teacher while I smiled and repeated, "no-KEY." And, my oh my, gnocchi was melt-in-your-mouth goodness.
After lunch, we visited Paul Revere's house, which was oddly situated among a line of newer (albeit, still old) buildings. From the outside, the only dead giveaway that it was Revere's house was the line of people waiting to get inside. We waited, and the line moved surprisingly fast. Although set up with an eye for amusing the tourists, I really was a little inspired to think of the house's history and former residents. After a long day of silversmithing, Revere had gone home to that very spot. The creaking wooden floors and overhead rafters had seen many a guest since Revere's time, but for a moment, I could imagine what it must have been like back then.
We walked across the brick-paved streets toward the Old North Church -- a building made famous by the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem "Paul Revere's Ride." It was the church where lanterns were hung to indicate that the British were coming ("one if by land, two if by sea"). Apparently Longfellow's history was a tad off as historians do not believe that Revere was the one to hang the lanterns. And, the "two if by sea" line should really have read "two if by river." But even these funny gaffes give it all an interesting backstory, no? It had been another line to get inside a building but was, once again, worth the wait.
After our busy afternoon, we went back to our hotel to put our feet up for an hour or so. It was during our second trip into Boston for the day that something interesting happened. We were driving through Cambridge again, following Memorial Drive eastward. The speed limit was 35, but we were perhaps going 30. We'd slowed down to get an extra look at Harvard and the Charles. Then, lo and behold, we notice a police officer, driving behind us with his lights on.
I was puzzled. Was he trying to pull us over? We were breaking no laws. Was he leading a motorcade or something? Or, was he actually trying to pull us over?
We soon pulled over, and the police car did the same. The officer sauntered toward our car as we steeped in our confusion. When he reached us, he leaned his head pown, peered through the window and said in a heavy Bostonian accent, "You folks lost? I could tell you weren't from around here."
After nearly wetting our pants, we sighed and said "yes." (Thankfully, I had a map in my lap to bolster that defense.) He very nicely pointed us in the right direction, making sure to emphasize that we turn on O'Brien Highway (and "do not go in the tunnel") to get to downtown Boston.
Whew.
Later that evening (once we'd finally made it into town), we went down to the piers by the New England Aquarium. Lights shone on the ocean water in elongated glistening strips, and ships rested at their docks. It might have looked like a calming and magical scene, but the hordes of people reminded us that we were still in a massive city. We ate a light supper on a deck overlooking the water and listened to the seagulls squall.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Boston, MA (July 4, 2008)
When we deboarded our red-eye flight from Seattle, Washington to Boston, Massachusetts, I was still bleary-eyed. I'd perhaps gotten 6 hours of sleep in total, which would not have been so bad if I'd been at home in my nice soft bed. But 6 hours of sleep on a plane, sitting up in a stiff vinyl chair, was hardly ideal. Still, I was excited by the thought that we'd made the journey from one coast to another. We trudged into Logan International Airport and waited for a shuttle to take us to our rental car.
When we finally stepped into the Bostonian outdoors, I had to laugh. The sky was overcast and drizzling -- as though we were... in Seattle. 'I must have a tag-along rain cloud,' I told myself. Of course, immediately the landscape signaled that we were far from our Pacific Northwestern home. Vegetation still covered the hills (though it was unlike the pine trees of Seattle), but gone were any mountain ranges.
After a brief nap and a large cup of coffee, we were off to explore! We were staying in the northern suburb of Woburn and, thus, drove south to head back to the city. We zigzagged through the streets of Cambridge where we saw several of its famous universities (Tufts, Harvard, MIT, and such). I'd recalled seeing Harvard when I was last in Boston 7 or 8 years ago, but gazing on it again made me smile. It's the iconic elite American university. For a girl who grew up in Texas and Kansas, I still half-expected to see a golden staircase leading up to the school's front doors. And, in actuality, it is a beautiful campus, well-manicured with many historic buildings. But on the outside, it was just a series of buildings -- not resembling the Mt. Olympus version of Harvard which most of us have in our heads.
Fourth of July traffic did not pose a major problem as it was only early afternoon. Still, I'd venture to say there were more people than usual for a Friday afternoon. We parked in Cambridge, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and began traipsing all over town on foot. Walking up and down the Charles River, we could see scads of people gathering for the Boston Pops concert and fireworks display that would commence in the next 6-8 hours. Families set up tents and beach towels under trees and on the sidewalk lining the river. Hot dog and slushee stands sprung up along Memorial Drive, eager to serve the gathering crowds. We followed the street curves, passing coffee shops frequented by MIT students. We stood alongside the river to look out at Boston while the sun slowly burned through the clouds.
When we finally stepped into the Bostonian outdoors, I had to laugh. The sky was overcast and drizzling -- as though we were... in Seattle. 'I must have a tag-along rain cloud,' I told myself. Of course, immediately the landscape signaled that we were far from our Pacific Northwestern home. Vegetation still covered the hills (though it was unlike the pine trees of Seattle), but gone were any mountain ranges.
After a brief nap and a large cup of coffee, we were off to explore! We were staying in the northern suburb of Woburn and, thus, drove south to head back to the city. We zigzagged through the streets of Cambridge where we saw several of its famous universities (Tufts, Harvard, MIT, and such). I'd recalled seeing Harvard when I was last in Boston 7 or 8 years ago, but gazing on it again made me smile. It's the iconic elite American university. For a girl who grew up in Texas and Kansas, I still half-expected to see a golden staircase leading up to the school's front doors. And, in actuality, it is a beautiful campus, well-manicured with many historic buildings. But on the outside, it was just a series of buildings -- not resembling the Mt. Olympus version of Harvard which most of us have in our heads.
Fourth of July traffic did not pose a major problem as it was only early afternoon. Still, I'd venture to say there were more people than usual for a Friday afternoon. We parked in Cambridge, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and began traipsing all over town on foot. Walking up and down the Charles River, we could see scads of people gathering for the Boston Pops concert and fireworks display that would commence in the next 6-8 hours. Families set up tents and beach towels under trees and on the sidewalk lining the river. Hot dog and slushee stands sprung up along Memorial Drive, eager to serve the gathering crowds. We followed the street curves, passing coffee shops frequented by MIT students. We stood alongside the river to look out at Boston while the sun slowly burned through the clouds.
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