Granola - Don't Flush the Lush
I can now say I've seen even a little more of this world of mine. Following a same-day invite-to-ticket-purchase decision, I became the pleased (and only somewhat financially depleted) owner of a Southwest Airlines e-ticket, destined for Portland International Airport. And within ten days I've landed in the greenest state I've visited yet, speaking both physically and politically; in the airport ladies' room, the commode greets me in eco-friendly attire, who instructs me that in order "to conserve our valued resource of water, please pull up for liquid waste and down for solid waste" on the "germ-resistant handle" (the latter claim being a lie, I'm sure, or else non-eco-friendly lavatories would stock this nifty invention). I humor these hippies, but only because I quickly figure out how to push up on the handle via the bottom of my foot (that's how this handle stays germ-free, I say).
Who else would greet me in Oregon besides a nice little Pakistani immigrant, a new addition to the state's residential population as of today. Like myself, he's waiting for his ride by the pick-up/drop-off side of PDX. Fortunately, mine arrives before he presses with his offer of me becoming his first new roommate in the States (well, presses TOO much, I should say...). Whew. How many times must a girl send out "no" vibes before boys get the message? Do I have to start being verbal with declination???
My goodness, Oregon is beautiful. It's even more lush and green than Alabama, but with mountains! And streams! And cascading waterfalls with residential white-bummed arachnid - yay!
Granola - To Eat
When Scott and I finally cruise into downtown Portland we're both pretty famished, so we practice something I learned from reading "Eat, Pray, Love" - inquire of the locals. Who would knwo the eats better than the people who have already done all the hit-and-miss work, after all? In addition to numerous eating recommendations however, Scott gets a variety of liquor counsel: "The sports bar on 5th is great," one (of a billion) bearded sidewalk activist offers. It was my idea to ask this guy, and once I realize the strength of his body odor (since when is it not green to wear antipersperant?) I instantly regret desiring to know where he likes to eat. "They have good burgers and great beer on the tap." Then our new friend uses this (this being alcohol) as a segue into his cause, "And for just three dollars a day you provide education for a kid in any one of these countries listed - three dollars! That's like a beer a day!" He backhands Scott's chest/arm area. "Thanks man, but I actually don't drink."
We don't take his counsel, but instead find a little Mediterranean spot hidden in a corner. We are greeted by a twenty-something brunette with a headscarf wrapped around her crown - my bet being that's she's convering un-shampooed hair - and wearing a black spaghetti-strap jersey dress with matching bra straps peeking out. Tacky and trashy anywhere else, but for some reason I decide this Oregonian can pull it off.
Ok, so the Hummus Special isn't as yummy as I (or the Dry Erased "Yummy!" scribbing on the menu board) had thought it would be. Seasoned lamb cubes encased in a sphere of hummus with a homemade pita sounded worthy of my high hopes, but my skepticism was brooding the moment our food got to the table before we had even filled our drink cups. I've only had lamb one other time, and I guess "Hush Hush Mediterranean Cafe" just should not be compared to Jean George's; the wife beater-clad cook just can't compete with Donald Trump's kitchen crew. "Do you like the lamb?" the only quasi-showered cashier/now waitress asks. I nod, but Scott checks me after she leaves. "Do you really? and I quickly shake my head 'no.' Curious, Scott forks up a taste and smiles. "Get used to it, this is what the mission is like..."
Call me a foodie, but normally a bad meal has the potential to ruin my day. Much in the same way I feel the last bit has to be the best part of the meal (isn't that why they invented dessert, anyway?). It has to be something worthy to linger until you pop that strip of Orbit. But oddly enough, I don't mind it this time. I feel like I'm getting a more authentic Mediterranean "experience" through the meal. In fact, each bit is a bit of an...adventure. Really? Fat kid me is ok after a less-than-scrumptious plate?
For once, yes.
Hmm...on to the arboretum! I don't know what this is, but I figure it has something to do with trees, going off context clues of similar words (i.e., Arbor Day). Here, after strolling past T-shirt and biker short-clad locals, I hug my first tree. And I must say, I feel some sort of peculiar connection to it as I do, almost as if...it's hugging back. And don't judge me before you try it. While walking back to our car, an older couple slows down theirs and stops to ask for directions. After giving the best directions he can, Scott is - once again - offered a drink. "Thanks young man," the fifty-plus driver says. "I owe you a beer," and drives off. What is this place? Since when is brewery an acceptable provincial currency?
Granola - At the Coast
I'm reading my scriptures at the kitchen table the next morning when a well-postured pre-schooler comes strolling past me, staring, but with a pleasant smile nonetheless. After he shimmies himself up to the cereal cabinet and lugs a gallon of milk back to the table where I'm seated, he pleasantly rattles off each of his family member's first and middle names. ANd I listen, attentively, until he pauses, perplexed, and looks up at me for help. "Do you need me to pour the milk?" I offer. He nods yes. Ok, so this one is kinda cute. Maybe kids aren't so smelly and sticky after all...
The coast is even better than the woodsy Portland area. I can feel salt and mist blowing on my face, but it's not quite humid. I see thick fog, but it's not dreary. My nostrils are filled with fresh seafood, but it's not smelly. And I especially like the chilly weather. I imagine there are oodles more of loveliness when it's snowy on the docks.
And if I were your personal correspond for Travel + Leisure, I would have to be like all the rest and recommend Moe's. If the long lines don't tip you off on it's yummy debajos, I certainly will. Scott quickly orders their renowned clam chowder, and I order...carefully. One meal "for the experience" is enough for a three-day rendezvous. And my constant "Just one more minute" pleas to our waitress was worth it- parmesan-crusted Alaskan cod sandwich. Yum :) I figure we were close to Alaska, so this was the most true-to-life taste I was going to get to the native Alaskan fishies. This one more than made up for the plate of Serta I had the day prior ( sorry for the gruesome reference, but I'm a bit upset they didn't just come clean and put "Mutton Special" on the menu). And what goes with whale-watching like popcorn goes with cinema, but Tillamook ice cream. I didn't think anything could taste better than BYU Creamery chocolate, but I was wrong. Very wrong.
Granola - In my Carry-on Home
My little pre-mission getaway concluded with a tour of the Portland International Airport - because I was there from 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. My flight was delayed not once, but twice. I try to smile really big and get a food voucher out of Southwest, but the customer service attendant is neithe rmale nor old (the demographics whom I usually have the best luck with) so no dice. But I do have lots of time to think, to write in my journal, and to catch up on my Book of Mormon reading (all with the background music of a Dean Martin imposter tickling the ivories, mind you), and I do eventually inherit some airplane-shaped graham cracker cookies on the Salt Lake-bound flight, so all was not lost. My brother's loaned tinted-windowed Cadillac was still waiting for me in the economy lot (although I had partially expected one of his rims to be stolen by now) and I made it home safely. It was my first time arriving at an airport without having someone waiting for me, and I must say, it only compounded my current loneliness from all day at PDX. But no worries, I was awakened the next morning by my six and nine-years-old temporary siblings fighting upstairs over Life cereal, and no one can feel alone with Rock Canyon Elementary students in the house, I promise. This easing back into normal life after a trip is always a little difficult, and my ego typically puts up at least minor resistance to the non-carefree routine of the daily grind. But oddly enough, this time I just feel refreshed (think...post-nap) and more ready to finish my mission departure prep :)
