The Portland Not-Exactly-Express: Day 6/7 - What Day Is It?

Thirty fucking hours. I'm sorry but there's no other way to accurately qualify the feeling of getting off a train after having been stuck on there for...wait for it...thirty fucking hours. The only thing that makes it easier is knowing that some people got on in Chicago and had been on there for over two days. And even that is only a marginal bit of consolation. However, after the explicitly said period of time I did step off the train and into Portland and things instantly got better. It was cool but not cold, clear and in the mid 40's. It felt like a cleaner city, compared to Chicago's somewhat dingy feel. The roads even seemed to make sense so that I didn't get lost on my way to the guesthouse where I'm staying - another find using my phone's internet connection while on the train. I even managed to pick a place that is not only clean, comfortable, and reasonably priced but is also convenient located to the downtown area and the free-zone of Portland's public transportation. That's right; Portland's network or trolleys and trams has an extensive free area in the heart of the downtown area...that I have yet to take advantage of. I knew about the free-zone before hand, I just didn't realize how close the guesthouse was to the stops.


Once in Portland and once I got checked to the guesthouse I promptly went right to sleep. Despite the fact I seem to have at least temporarily cured my inability to sleep while traveling, it doesn't mean it's restful or satisfying. OK, I didn't promptly take a nap, I actually promptly took a shower and then promptly took a nap. Having stewed in my own juices for 30 hours left me feeling...unfresh. After a couple hours, that I had to fight hard from turning into a couple more, I set out on the town to find me some tender vittles. A culinary phenomenon that seems to have become something distinctly Portlandian is groups of street food trucks, known as pods, situated around various intersections - especially public parking lots. One such pod was just over half a mile from the guesthouse at the corner of 10th and Alder. I had initially picked this pod because of a Chinese truck that was rumored to serve exceptionally authentic and tasty chicken and rice - a simple yet complex traditional Chinese dish. Unfortunately that truck had either closed early for the day, or for the holidays entirely - as many other trucks would be. Despite the setback I ended up indulging in a handful of extremely delicious dishes from a few trucks. First up was chorizo (Portuguese/South American sausage) and chips from Euro Trash. This was sliced chorizo and super light and crispy "chips" (they were like baked pita bread if pita were made from tempura batter) in a delicious aioli sauce. They had a wide variety of eclectically fused dishes such as the prawn baguette, and their own take on fish and chips that consisted of Spanish anchovies. The next truck I hit was The Frying Scotsman, manned by a no-shit Scot, where I had straight up fish (cod) and chips. They had a variety of choices of fish, including to too-exotic-for-the-dish salmon, bit I kept it simple and the Scot behind the counter kept it tasty. While not as good as those I had in Iceland, they came a safe second. It was fish and chips, simple but satisfying. The final truck was a Chinese one that probably had a fitting name, but seeing that it was in Chinese I couldn't possibly tell you what it was. At said cart I had steamed pork buns. Steamed buns are equal part dumpling and pastry - hot and fresh they're closer to dumplings but as they cool they take on an almost biscuit quality. The pork filling was mysteriously seasoned with a thousand years of spices that all came together to make a yummy, fist-sized delicacy. This all sounds like a lot of food, and it was, but it all ended up making an encore after a later stop.

Once my appetite had been sated on some truck yum-yums I headed back to the guesthouse. Actually I headed in the opposite direction of the guesthouse. While I might not have gotten lost when I first got here, I definitely did after I had been here a while. A half-mile detour later, to a place just over a half mile away, I was back. The two hour time change from Devils Lake (and three from home) and the fact that it was dark by 5 left me a bit perplexed - I was plenty tired, but the early hour and the earlier nap meant sleep was a really bad idea. Instead I hit the map and discovered I was only a 15 minute walk from one of the big reasons I came to Portland - the Rogue brewery ale house and brew pub. Rogue just happens to be the brewer of my all-time favorite beer, the Rogue Dead Guy. Excited and with a purpose I hit the streets once more and quickly found happiness. Despite the fact that only a handful can be found in stores, and only two or three can be found in bars back home, Rogue has a couple dozen different beers that they brew and their public house offers them all. While I didn't hit all of them, I did take a sampling of a handful of different ones I had never seen or tried and was in beer heaven. The bartender, after talking about train trips and traveling, even inducted me into the Rogue Nation. This means that if I ever find myself back in Oregon, or Sapporo, Japan, I get discounts on Rougey goodnees.