Oregon's gorgeous. Whereas California reminded me a bit of Spain (dry scrubland in burnt orange; I can understand why the Spanish felt so at home there), Oregon's hillsides were covered in tall conifers which gave it a stately feel. So much more refined than the brash sun 'n' sand of California.
Portland is a lovely little town. There seemed to be some kind of festival going on when I was there, as every public space possible had been turned into some kind of stage for bands of all kinds - I saw a 35 piece jazz band at one point - and sound systems were blasting out music from all corners. The main square was packed with sand sculptures that passers-by were invited to judge. There was a genuinely affable buzz around the place.
Just off the main square I had a strange encounter with an over-friendly ATM at the Washington Mutual Bank. No, seriously. It went something like this.
>Hi there! Stick your card in the slot and we can get started!
<card inserted>
>What can I do for you today? Cash, balance, statement?
<cash>
>I'm sorry, I'm all out of paper right now. Do you want to continue without a receipt?
[Options] Yes, that'll be fine / No, I'll try again later
I was so confused I hit the no button by mistake and had to start all over again. It's quite one thing to have counter staff telling you to have a nice day, but machines? It's going a bit far, isn't it? At one point I thought it was going to ask me out on a date it was cosying up so much.
I hiked up a hill to get to Washington Park at the edges of the city, where the hostel staff had told me there were lovely grounds. It was beautiful weather and I lay down on the grass by a stunning rose garden and read the paper. A group of school kids were rehearsing a play on an impromptu stage at the bottom of the slope where I was relaxing. It was a wonderful way to while away the afternoon, but eventually I got up and walked back into town to see what else Portland had to offer. I intended to go to the far side of the centre and see a market that sounded a bit like Camden, but I passed a stadium that was advertising a game that afternoon. I'd never heard of either of the teams, so I asked at the ticket booth what the game was, thinking it might be quite interesting to see a proper baseball or American football game. 'No, it's soccer,' the man told me. My eyes lit up. Even better! A game I understood! And it was only a couple of dollars! The game didn't start for a couple of hours, so I tried to decide what to do. I could either go to the market and miss the game, or go to the game and grab some food now. Or I could go back to the hostel and do my laundry. I was pretty tired (another overnight), and the idea of hauling my ass to the market didn't really appeal when I could see Camden any time I wanted when I got home, and I couldn't find anywhere cheap to eat around the stadium. So I, um, went and did my laundry. Look, it needed doing. You'd have done the same, I'm sure.
I loved Portland, I really did. It was panning out that the towns I was only spending a day in were the sweetest ones, but I was booking accommodation ahead and while my plans were flexible to a certain extent, I couldn't really alter them at that kind of short notice (getting round in time would be tight enough as it was). If I ever go back to America I'll head off to San Diego, Portland/Washington State, and maybe also a potter around New England. But with a bloody car.
