Kevin helped me lift my heavy suitcase onto the train. Then as soon as we started moving he asked the infamous question "So who is the guy?" "What guy?" I responded as I looked out the window and saw Mandy and Katie running along the moving train and waving up at me with misty eyes. This was so much like a scene from a movie that for a moment I wished this was about my love life because some sort of passionate love affair would definitely boost the ticket sales of this blockbuster. "There has to be a guy" Kevin prodded. He couldn't fathom the idea of me not getting on a plane to Europe, but instead getting on a train to Portland, if it had nothing to do with a guy. There was a relationship involved though. It was a relationship with a restaurant.
Kevin eventually believed me and lead me to the lounge car where he introduced me to Mary. Kevin and Mary had been on the train since Santa Barbara. Mary and I bonded instantly. She listened to my story and never once asked about a guy being involved. I went downstairs to the cafeteria and purchased a half bottle of white wine. Back upstairs, Kevin was name dropping every CFO, CEO, and Founder of every large corporation in the pacific north west. I was sure that Kevin could have been in a first class seat 30,000 feet above us but I could sense that he had a thing with flying. Mary just simply enjoyed the train. Like me, the idea of spending 19 hours alone on a train was appealing. God only knows how much I needed that time to think about all of this. I had so many important decisions to make, and the train trip would provide me with the opportunity to do some serious thinking.
Not that I was at all alone. There was Kevin, Mary, my seat-mate, Cassie, and the guy with the guitar from Canada. He stayed up past 3am singing and playing his guitar. At one point the entire lounge car was singing “Sweet Home Alabama”. The other passengers kept reminded me how lucky I was to be witnessing the live acoustic show. I guess that sort of thing didn't happen very often on the train.
Cassie was exhausted from traveling and turned in early that night. I filled her in about the concert she had missed when she joined Mary and I for coffee in the morning. I was up at 5:30 am. I had a few important e-mails to send and phone calls to make. At this point, only the fab 5 knew that I wasn’t on a plane to Europe and that I was actually on a train to Oregon. Alecia, Codie, Tara, Mandy and Katie knew where I was and were in charge of diffusing any major freak outs caused my disappearance.
I called Sissy first and then sent text messages to my Mom, Monica, and Dara. It was only a matter of time before the restaurant would get my letter and my whereabouts would be made public. I felt better knowing that my family knew that I was safe. I have never kept anything like this from them before. I have never done anything like this before! I did it because my soul was dying. There was a mere flicker of light left and had I gone back, the light would have died along with my soul. I had to go... now.
Mary’s presence was comforting. We talked about everything from my divorce to her life on the farm and caring for her disabled daughter. We talked about life and opportunities and taking risks. She told me about her husband whom she adored and her sister whom she had just lost. I told her about my family, my loneliness and my desire to go back to school. She was so encouraging and not at all judgemental. I was sad when Mary got off the train in Eugene but so happy to have met her.
Cassie had recently graduated from college and was traveling around California and Oregon by train. She was kind and shy but she knew the rules of the road. She too was headed to Portland and offered to help familiarize me the city when we got off the train. We had a few hours before we reached Portland so we decided to attend the 2:30pm wine and cheese tasting on the train. The tickets were $10.00 each and included samples of three different cheeses paired with local wines from Oregon. I had forgotten to eat anything since the pizza I shared with Mandy and Katie before we got to the train station the night before. I ate all of my cheese before the first glass of wine was poured.
Two women from the sleeper car were at our table. They were questioning Cassie about her travels and I was praying that their questions would stop there. I had a feeling that these women would be shocked by my story and I didn’t really want to get into it with them. Luckily, Cassie’s blue hair and stories of being a street performer distracted them enough that when it was my turn for questioning I simply changed the subject back to the wine.
After the wine tasting, we were nearly to Portland. Cassie was supposed to meet up with a friend but couldn’t get ahold of him. I was secretly kind of happy because that meant that she was sticking with me. We got off the train and were directed to the MAX station. Cassie gave me a quick tutorial on how to read the maps and got us on the yellow line train which took us straight downtown. It was getting dark and Cassie had finally got in contact with her friend. She offered to help me get situated before she went to meet up with him. I think she could sense my fear. Being all alone in a brand new city was not something I was at all used to. I ended up sticking with Cassie that night.
By morning I was alone with my heavy back pack and my over-packed suitcase. I needed to find a spot to call home for a little while. Cassie’s friend Matt offered to host me on his couch but I wanted to be on my own. My plans were to check out the city and confirm whether or not it was a place which I wanted to move to. Santa Cruz has been my home for 29 years so Portland had some big shoes to fill.
I started seriously thinking about relocating a few months ago. Monica is always telling me how much she believes that moving away from Santa Cruz would be so great for me. I started to agree with her, especially when a certain situation became unbearably uncomfortable again. Maybe Monica was right.
Before all of this happened, I had planned on visiting Portland in December to check out the community college and look for work. Hospitality is huge up there and I didn’t think finding a job in the industry would prove to be that difficult. Turns out that I was wrong. The unemployment rate in Portland is near the highest in the country and there is some serious competition for restaurant positions. After day three I realized that obtaining a job on this trip was totally unrealistic. I decided to drop the stress and enjoy the rest of my time in Portland. Before long I would be back home dealing with the most stress I have ever endured in my entire life.
I checked into the Mark Spenser Hotel. It was pretty inexpensive for it’s swanky Pearl District location and the room was really nice. It was like a little studio complete with a kitchenette. The two burner stove was such a tease. I hadn’t cooked in days and I so badly wanted to toss some peppers and onions around in some olive oil but cooking in a hotel room was not the reason I came to Portland.
My hotel offered free wine and hors d'oeuvres at 5pm. I got myself showered and dressed and all-by-myself went downstairs and chatted with the kind employees of the hotel as well as some other guests. Pam was a manager I think. She loved my story and encouraged me to share it with Maryanne and John who where checking in guests at the front desk. I picked their brains about life in Portland and they gave me tips on their favorite neighborhoods and the best places to eat. Portland is a foodie city! Earlier in the day I found my way to an area densely populated with Portland’s famous food carts. They covered parking spaces like patchwork offering a tantalizing variety of inexpensive Thai, Vietnamese, Mexican, Greek, and German foods just to name a few.
The food carts have become a huge part of Portland’s food culture. They attract tourist and locals alike. I was early to arrive at “cartopia” as some of the locals call it. Not all of the carts were open for lunch yet but there was a line forming in front of a Thai cart that encouraged me to stop. For six bucks I was served a heaping pile of steaming rice noodles with vegetables, tofu and sweet chili sauce. It was garnished with peanuts and cilantro. I was grateful for the mini fridge in my room because leftovers were inevitable.
Aside from my visit to the food carts I had yet to experience any of Portland’s food scene. I asked John at the front desk if he suggested anywhere close by for dinner. Almost everyone in Portland is either vegan or vegetarian. Neon signs illuminate restaurant windows inviting dinners to choose off of their alternative diet menus. If you don’t offer a vegan menu in Portland you may as well shut down business and move to Kansas where the folks eat meat! John was vegan and only eats out. He said he hadn’t cooked in months. I told him I was going through withdrawals from not cooking for just a few days. I told him about my blog and encouraged him to start a blog of his own titled “Only Eating Out in Portland”. He really liked the idea then suggested I try a hip new place just around the corner called Clyde Common.
I was anxious walking in alone. The bar was packed and so was the dining room. It was around 9pm on a Wednesday night. I hadn’t seen a restaurant that busy in a long time. There was one open stool at the bar very close to service station where the servers pick up their drinks for dining room customers. I knew I would be in the way but didn’t see any other option. The bartender acknowledged me right away and encouraged a few patrons to scoot closer together to make more room for me. The bartender was attentive and poured me a slightly dirty vodka martini as I looked at the menu. The man sitting to my left determined that I was there alone and waited to spark up conversation until after I ordered my fresh figs with shaved Parmesan and mint sauce.
After confirming that it had nothing to do with my love life, I found myself divulging more of my story with this man than I had with other strangers. I noticed the bartender paying extra attention to my end of the bar as I went on about missing out on my dream vacation to Italy, quitting my job, and escaping to Portland, which I later would discover was in an effort in realizing my personal legend.
As the bar crowd thinned, the bartender, Neil, and I had more opportunity to talk. He was super stoked on my story and encouraged me pick up a copy of 'The Alchemist' before I left town. A raging headache, from the one martini that turned into three, woke me up the next morning and I peeled myself out of bed. I went straight to the bookstore and after getting sick in bathroom of the famous Powell's City of Books, I purchased a copy of 'The Alchemist'. By the time I had finished reading the book and was home in Santa Cruz, I realized why Neil was so insistent on me reading it. If by any chance Neil is reading this, thank you.
When I went back to the hotel to gather my things and checkout, I also left a note for John at the front desk...
John, I look forward to reading your blog! Thanks for the hospitality.
Lia
There is a cut-out from a magazine on my vision board at home that reads:
"Embark on a healing, transformational journey".
I think that I did, in Portland. The last picture I took on my trip was of a local newspaper headline. At the time I didn't know why it stood out to me. Now that I am home, it's beginning to make sense...
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| "You can get from there to here, but you have to know the rules of the road." |
