7 - Portland

Portland - Hillsdale
One reason I considered traveling for as long as a year is because I had planned to house-sit in various places throughout the world. Having side-jobbed as a house-sitter for more than 30 years, this travel hack is logical and comfortable for me. Although now I realize this may not be as easy as I thought it would, since most (other) travelers prefer to plan, and I lean toward just showing up. Note to self — work on that...

I joined a few online services which match owners and sitters; think Match.com without the promise of love, between humans at least. The opportunities – tit for tat, equally benefitting both parties without an exchange of money — vary in length of time from a weekend to multiple months, and in responsibilities from taking care of a house and often a pet or three, each encompassing its own definition.

My first and current position is in Portland, Oregon, in a community called Hillsdale, located southwest of downtown and 15 minutes by bus. No furry animals to care for — just outdoor birds to feed, plants to water, and trash bins to haul.

The town is thoughtfully named with never-ending slopes which are steep enough to rival the "10" setting on any treadmill. My house is at the top of a few of them, which is a three-quarter mile walk up, quite literally. In most cases, the great exercise is motivation enough to make the trek down to town and ultimately back up, and when that doesn't work, there is a Baskin-Robbins, Starbucks, and a few bars at the bottom which makes it all worthwhile, depending on my carrot requirement at the time.
I am spending some time in downtown Portland, wandering aimlessly, supporting food carts, and meeting colorful characters – like self-identified "Al Pacino" who professed his love to me in the 7-11 parking lot — but I need to do more. I look forward to reporting back once I finish wrapping up my previous life and planning my next steps.

Portland – Breaking News: Portland Blizzard 2014

A house-sitter’s nightmare. Frozen pipes. No water. That’s what I woke up to yesterday, first assuming the water situation was a household glitch the owners forgot to tell me about or there was construction work in the area. I soon realized the extent of it. The wind howled all night, but it wasn't until morning when I learned the cause.
I opened cabinets to bring warm air to the piped walls, turned on faucets to entice water out, and made sure the heat was high enough. I called two plumbers to find out whether I was handling it appropriately and after a few helpful hints, they both came to the same conclusion: a day late and a dollar short. The horses already left the barn. There was nothing I could do at this point except wait for a thaw and pray. Now it is day two and I’m still a-waiting and a-praying….

This house doesn’t have local television, only streaming, so I wasn’t aware of the climate change. I have a computer, but with my home page as Yahoo! I’ll find out Kim Kardashian changed her hair color back to brunette before I learn about the 2014 Portland Blizzard. Embarrassingly, it never occurred to me to google “Portland Weather.”

Since I don’t know the town, I have no way of gauging what might happen next. In Boulder, locals know to heed hints like easterly winds transporting cow smell west which informs us about an upslope wind and a subsequent change in barometer. And I don't know many people who wouldn't double-down on sunshine's appearance to make it all better within the next day or two. During my conversation with a native Portland plumber, I learned a predicted low of 27 degrees and snow of one to four inches is rare in town. In Boulder, we call it “autumn.”

Without much control over the situation, I walked down the hills to town yesterday, during frigid temperatures but before blowing snow, to pick up food for my sequestration. Coffee, wine, soup, chips, and chocolate – check, check, check, check, check. Throw in a gallon of water and I’m set for a few days.

Now it’s the evening of day two. The snow is still falling, and the pipes are still frozen. My water supply is running low, and I have been scooping buckets from the pool to flush the toilet. And worst of all, my chocolate stash is gone. Thankfully, I have shelter, heat, and Portlandia on Netflix. I asked for adventure…

Portland – BlizzardGate – Day 4 Liquid Water
Running water. Taken for granted. What a treat for me after three days of frozen pipes — thankfully, with no grand finale of a burst. This morning, the thermostat finally inched over freezing, icicles began dripping to a beat, and our resident birds came back for a meet and greet at the feeder.

Yesterday, the city was in a frenzy. The co-op, where I shop, was closing early and the shelves were emptying quickly. One employee told me Safeway ran out of milk. And my previous cynicism became unfounded, as roads were incredibly treacherous, causing accidents throughout the city; something I couldn't witness from my perspective on foot, on top of hills, and on my Yahoo! home page on my computer.

I loaded myself up with some food and a two-and-a-half-gallon water jug and headed up the hills. On the way, I decided I likely needed more, and bought another gallon at the gas station. Thankfully, on my way up, up, and up, I walked by a wonderful family out to sled at a friend's house, who offered to help me carry my groceries. This saved me. Three and a half pounds of water (and almost that much in chocolate) is a lot to carry, even on a warm day with clear, level sidewalks.

After I returned home, I received another form of Portland hospitality: The owner's son and his dad drove from the other side of the city and on icy roads to bring me space heaters, five gallons of water, and material to plug a vent hole in the garage door which prevented the shut-off valve from doing its job. These acts of kindness truly meant a lot to me as it secured my survival kit, put two great people in my path, and gave me the extra nudge I needed to weather the weather.

A shower, a load of laundry and one run of the dishwasher erased the entire memory.
These three days without access to faucet water gave me a lot of time to think about the givens, the unprepared-fors, the what-ifs, the make-dos, the if-onlys, and the oh-wells.

Portland – Waterfront NEED

Portland – Leaving Portland – Bitter and Sweet
"Don't cry because you are leaving, smile because you were there." Anonymous
I'll be leaving Portland in a few days. It seems like forever ago I arrived in town to house-sit almost five weeks before, after my stint in Seattle and Vancouver, after which I returned my rental car at the airport, jumped on the red MAX rail to downtown and then boarded a bus for Hillsdale.

After I stepped off the bus into the main intersection of town, a curious man asked me about my backpack. I told him it contained a year's worth of life. He seemed intrigued, answered he didn't travel much and walked away, not sure of what to make of me. It was at that point I realized this plan which had directed my every move and had become my air for the past five months was a journey which will sometimes only make sense to me.

It began to rain, and I headed first to a gas station to get my bearings. I took the directions as I normally do — with one ear on it and the other ear in cahoots with my mind to distract from any forthcoming information — and left the gas station feeling confident because regardless of his words, his tone suggested the street I was looking for was right around the corner.
Headed toward where I thought I should be going, I realized something was up when I hit women's names (in this case "Bertha") where my numbered street should be. Confused and sloppy wet at this point, I ducked into a nail salon to find out how to get to my house. Since the owner and staff weren't aware of my street — which baffles me because it turned out to be a block behind their shop — I asked some women who were pedicuring. Because I had so much fun talking to them, I set down my pack and traded stories for almost an hour. I then accepted a ride from one of them, which I appreciated in the, then pouring, rain. It was also nice to have someone with me during my shocking introduction to the vertical hills which would become my motivation on a good day and a "really?" on fewer, other days.

I enjoyed my time in Portland. I experienced enough to get a varied taste of the town — and while I didn't cross off everything from my list, I know what to anticipate and order from the menu of must dos and can't misses on my next visit.

Highlights include hanging out in Hillsdale — moving from the library to the bakery to Starbucks when I felt like I had outworn my welcome at each; bussing it to downtown, pulling the string at a different stop each day, and wandering aimlessly, only to look at a map later, at home, to figure out where I had been; going to sleep with a delicious, rhythmic rainstorm almost every night; developing a fulfilling social life made up of short-lived interactions through words, looks and laughs which satisfied my need for connection away from my home support systems; eating street food because it's easier than enduring its silent taunting when passing it up; street-hiking four miles through the Hawthorne District, from 50th Street through the Hawthorne Bridge to the downtown waterfront, stopping at every hipster thrift store along the way; wandering through some numbered neighborhood hill climbs; and the peaceful entertainment of watching our resident blue jay and hummingbirds play in front of the picture window.

Regrets (a.k.a. things to look forward to on my next visit) include not renting a Zipcar to explore areas outside of the Tri-Met map such as the Oregon Coast and the birthplaces of wine and (Tillamook) cheese; not traipsing through Forest Park; not wandering through the rose and Asian gardens; and not taking enough photographs to justify a third of my college degree.

One more self-shame — not allowing myself as much gastronomical pleasure as I salivate over due to a not-so-frilly budget focused on the basics of transportation, accommodations, and sustenance. And, in a related regret, not crossing paths (yet) with Anthony Bourdain, who will likely take me along with no reservations to all his international hotspots. This trip has only begun....

Next stop, San Francisco, en route to Sydney, Australia....