Along the way we got to see a bit of non-urban Washington, making a stop in the bustling burg of Centralia. We didn't stay long.
After a couple hours worth of driving through the rain, we were greeted at the gates of Portland, Oregon, known as the Rose City. It was still cold and rainy.
We stayed at the Westin in Portland as well. As is generally the case in comparing Portland to Seattle, it was pretty much the same, only a bit smaller and less hectic. The smell was still there, as was the double-headed shower.
This is a view of the hotel from the parking garage one block over, which provided relatively inexpensive parking and refuge from the elements.
Downtown Portland seemed a little sleepy on a Saturday afternoon, but there were some interesting stores to look at.
As we walked up into the North End / Chinatown district, we spotted some landmark locations like the Portland Outdoor Store.
Food trucks are nothing particularly new but I thought this was cool.
As we kept going north it seemed strange how many morally questionable establishments we started to pass, and some that defy any real explanation.
One of the so-called female impersonators joined us at Hobo's, a lounge where we sat down for a bit. That's "her" in the red dress at the bar.
The area feels nice despite showing many signs of decay, including this non-building.
Also some establishments that look like they've seen better days (and many that have seen their last days).
There's evidence that public hygiene is something that still needs to be stressed among some of the locals.
And of course, the hipsters.
We had dinner at Old Town Pizza, which claims to be the most haunted pizza parlor in all of Portland. It's in the old lobby of the building that was once the Merchant Hotel (the ordering window is supposedly the old hotel front desk), a place of not-so-great repute when Portland was better known as a port of call for merchant sailors. The story goes that a young prostitute named Nina (pronounced "Nigh-nah") who was pressed into becoming a police informant and was murdered in the hotel at some unknown point in time. She supposedly still haunts the place. All that was haunting us were empty stomachs until we tried their pizza, which is actually really good – made with local, organic ingredients.
But the haunted pizza was just a prelude to the evening's entertainment, the "Shanghai Tour" of Portland's underground. Beneath the buildings of the Old Town they built a series of interconnected tunnels connecting building basements to each other and connecting them to the waterfront. They were intended for transportation of goods and in some cases, sewage, but they quickly became havens within which opium and prostitution thrived. Not only that, they were used by the dreaded "Shanghai-ers", thugs who would kidnap unsuspecting sailors from the opium dens and bordellos, lock them up in holding cells, and sell them to ship captains who would press them into service for no pay. It was a type of servitude practiced in many places during the late 19th and into the early 20th centuries, but only in Portland, we learned, did these unscrupulous individuals practice in such a way that men could be offered "24 hours a day, 7 days a week" as our tour guide put it. Oh, and also they kidnapped women and forced them into prostitution.
This door was the first stop on the Shangai Tunnel Tour, which is organized and led by a group of volunteer enthusiasts who have been spending about the past 30 years digging out the old tunnels that had mostly been buried or destroyed over decades of building retrofits and public works projects. The first sight to behold on the tour was this door, the type of which (they assured us) is rare, because it is designed specifically to prevent anything (or anyone) from getting out.
The gentleman leading the tour, Michael, told us that he has been exploring the tunnels since he was seven years old. He told a vivid story of how he began by walking through the dark tunnels connecting to the waterfront with only a book of matches to light the way. Our tour started with a descent through a sidewalk panel down a steep, short stairwell into the basement of Hobo's.
They seem to be a little mixed between presenting the tunnels as a matter of archaeological/historical interest and playing up the aspect of them being haunted, as the Travel Channel recently did a feature (which I saw) ranking the tunnels as the 10th most haunted place in North America. The tour script was peppered with descriptions of how visitors frequently felt hands tugging on their clothes or voices whispering to them. All I heard was the loud karaoke coming from the bar above one of the rooms (Journey, naturally) and the only creepy thing I felt was when I accidentally brushed my head against a cold water pipe that was covered in condensation. Eww.
The tunnels are actually somewhat impressive, but are now mostly empty. They had a few props like this "warning system" of rope and tin cans that supposedly alerted patrons of the nearby opium den that Shanghaiers were on their way.
This was the opium den, which was oddly located just adjacent to a Shanghaiers' holding room.
Also nearby was a recreation of a tiny holding cell in which they would put kidnapped women in order to "break" them before selling them into prostitution elsewhere. At least the chair looks nice.
Possibly the most fun part was when they demonstrated the "deadfall," a trap door through which unsuspecting drunk bar patrons would fall into the underground and the hands of the Shanghaiers. This was fun for us to watch but not as much fun for the unfortunate karaoke enthusiast who had been enjoying himself until that point.
After the haunting it was time for some voodoo. Of course I'm talking about Voodoo Donuts, a landmark located nearby amidst the strip clubs and rock joints (the evening did become rather lively by the time we were done with the tour about 10pm). The juxtaposition of the punk rock decor with the sale of sweet, colorful pastries was delicious in itself.
The reassuring gaze of Isaac Hayes also helped to put everyone at ease.
The next day we went down towards the waterfront of the Willamet River, a neighborhood that is in transition, as evidenced by this building.
Our destination, before we left town, was to see the famous Portland Saturday Market. We were there on a Sunday but yes, it's open then, too.
The market is near Skidmore Fountain, one of Portland's oldest landmarks. It's a fountain.
Across from the fountain is this fragment of an arcade. I'm not sure what the story behind it is. If you know, please tell me, because it looks pretty cool.
Portland, like Boston (and unlike Seattle), has a continuous system of waterfront parks that are great for walking, running and biking. At least they look like they would be. We simply drove past them on our way out – because we still had a long day of driving left.
Once again, soon after leaving the city, things got very rustic very fast.
For lunch, we stopped in Eugene, Oregon, home of the University of Oregon (Go Ducks!) and another small urban oasis in an otherwise very rural state. Very small. The place we stopped, which seemed like the place to go, was the Public Market, a building that had been renovated into a retail center for swanky shops and a gourmet food court.
Eugene offers some interesting local products.
As well as some nice cultural(?) events.
And then there's this guy.
Eugene is the very picture of sustainability.
Eugene is known as "Track Town" due to the great distance runners who came out of the University of Oregon, most notably Steve Prefontaine. Their running program continues to be dominant. We drove by and caught a little glimpse of the track.
Back on the road through Oregon, it remained cloudy.
Until all at once, the sun began to emerge ...
Meaning only one thing: California! Our first stop in the Bear Republic was the fittingly named alpine resort town of Weed.
A little further on, for dinner, we made a stop in Corning. We were lured off the highway for signs leading to The Olive Pit. If you thought that was anything like the Olive Garden, you would be wrong. It is, instead, a store that sells more types of olives than I would care to name, along with olive oil and other sundries (such as sundried tomatoes).
We couldn't eat there (they're currently working on a restaurant that isn't yet open), but they recommended a nice Mexican place called Casa Ramos, which was just the thing to have before a long car drive.
We rolled into San Francisco around midnight, a little tired but having thoroughly enjoyed our journey. But while my compatriots were now home, my journey would continue on ...
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