Insomniac Folklore Tour: Portland

July 12th

I have been to Portland before, but it was only for an afternoon, when I flew in there to catch the train to Washington. I remember thinking it was grungy, and becoming paranoid when I thought a guy was following me, but it had a nice hostel and a pretty rose garden. Thus, I was happy to be returning there with a native who loves it with all his heart, to give the City of Roses a second chance.

Upon another day in Portland, I still hold that it’s grungy. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. People we call hipsters are for-real in this city: they wear thick-framed glasses and flannel and dreadlock their hair and pierce themselves and carry guitar cases on their backs, but they do it as a part of everyday life, not as a badge of (false) anticonformism. 

Tyler first took us to a burrito stand where a man wrapped up our lunches with meaty bare hands. Nearby, a couple homeless guys held up a sign that said, “Hit a punk in the junk for a buck” and yelled, “Help sterilize the homeless and cleanse the human race!” The smell of burritos and marijuana filled my nose, and the “punk’s” conversation mingled with the sound of a concertina as a young woman danced up to the stand next to us, instrument cradled between her hands. 

Portland is a city of cigarette ashes and river-mud and unwashed hair and art and exuberance and a snobbery that hovers over its inhabitants like the clouds on the skyscrapers. They can’t imagine that anywhere could possibly be better, and although this makes me inclined to think to the contrary, I do understand how this city could get in your blood, could go down deep to your core and take your soul prisoner. It’s fascinating, gritty, full of life and art and passion and culture.

If nothing else, I love Portland because it is home to Powell’s Books. This four-story new-and-used store covers a solid city block. We spent an hour in there, and I could have spent all day. Knowing that I didn’t have to carry the books I bought on my back for the rest of the trip, I bought two hardcovers after perusing through thousands upon thousands of volumes stacked up high on floor-to-ceiling shelves.

Another interesting quirk of the city is Voodoo Doughnuts. Although we visited the less popular location, we still got the full effect: a couple had a Voodoo wedding while we stood in line (a man with a staff, a red jacket, and chocolate smeared on his face performed the ceremony), and then I ate the classic maple bar topped with bacon.

We returned to our home base and practiced with the Oregon edition of the band— tomorrow night we have a concert at a bar in downtown. Portland, here we come!

~Lisa Shafter