The man behind the desk at the tourist center handed me the brochure on Portland's Japanese Garden and assured me, "It's beautiful! You'll totally love Portland, with its restaurants, breweries, gardens, mountains, the river, lofts, bohemian areas. You'll never want to leave."
I was attending a workshop in Portland, Oregon, a city I had never before visited. After class on my first day there, I left the Fox Tower where my class was being held, eager to see the sights. I walked through Pioneer Courthouse Square, the main public spot for concerts, where the annual sand sculpture contest was taking place. A shipwreck, an antique Volkswagen van, skateboarders on a half-pipe, and a train full of kids - all carefully constructed from sand - were lined up in rows. Groups of women in fashionable clothes strode by, chatting about work. Couples hand in hand sipped coffee and laughed at shared jokes. I passed a man sitting alone at a small table in front of a pastry shop whose face seemed to be covered with blue curlicues. I looked again. Tattoos wound across his forehead, down his nose, and around his chin. Yikes!
I walked down the city's main drag, Broadway, passing art galleries, delis, the Good Dog Bad Dog hot dog and sausage establishment, the Coffee People coffee shop, and shops with shoes, Irish porcelain and linen, antiques, glasses and mugs. The buildings varied from creamy yellow Art Deco to blinding white skyscrapers with mirrored windows reflecting the sunlight and the tree branches. The streetcar honked and clattered by. At the cross streets, large oval glass lamps hung from tall black iron posts. Huge pots of pink pansies and purple geraniums hung everywhere. A bronze statue entitled "Expose Yourself to Art" depicted a windblown woman with her dress blowing up around her face. A large tubular brass fountain resembling the spirals of a French horn forced sprays of water into the air. There was no sign of trash in the gutters. Way off in the distance, Mt. Hood's white peak was crisp against the blue sky.
I kept walking out of the downtown area onto Burnside Avenue. Ten blocks up I entered Powell's City of Books, touted as the largest independent seller of used and new books in the world. Wow! Row upon row of books for me to peruse at my leisure. This was my idea of heaven. I happily browsed for hours through the literature section, then looked over the travel and art books.
I was attending a workshop in Portland, Oregon, a city I had never before visited. After class on my first day there, I left the Fox Tower where my class was being held, eager to see the sights. I walked through Pioneer Courthouse Square, the main public spot for concerts, where the annual sand sculpture contest was taking place. A shipwreck, an antique Volkswagen van, skateboarders on a half-pipe, and a train full of kids - all carefully constructed from sand - were lined up in rows. Groups of women in fashionable clothes strode by, chatting about work. Couples hand in hand sipped coffee and laughed at shared jokes. I passed a man sitting alone at a small table in front of a pastry shop whose face seemed to be covered with blue curlicues. I looked again. Tattoos wound across his forehead, down his nose, and around his chin. Yikes!
I walked down the city's main drag, Broadway, passing art galleries, delis, the Good Dog Bad Dog hot dog and sausage establishment, the Coffee People coffee shop, and shops with shoes, Irish porcelain and linen, antiques, glasses and mugs. The buildings varied from creamy yellow Art Deco to blinding white skyscrapers with mirrored windows reflecting the sunlight and the tree branches. The streetcar honked and clattered by. At the cross streets, large oval glass lamps hung from tall black iron posts. Huge pots of pink pansies and purple geraniums hung everywhere. A bronze statue entitled "Expose Yourself to Art" depicted a windblown woman with her dress blowing up around her face. A large tubular brass fountain resembling the spirals of a French horn forced sprays of water into the air. There was no sign of trash in the gutters. Way off in the distance, Mt. Hood's white peak was crisp against the blue sky.
I kept walking out of the downtown area onto Burnside Avenue. Ten blocks up I entered Powell's City of Books, touted as the largest independent seller of used and new books in the world. Wow! Row upon row of books for me to peruse at my leisure. This was my idea of heaven. I happily browsed for hours through the literature section, then looked over the travel and art books.
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