Waking in Portland, Oregon: Tuesday

I was having dinner with Ronald Reagan. Me and a half dozen of my mates, none of whom I ever actually knew. We were joshing him about his conservative political beliefs, and he was taking it all in good spirits. Turned out he was having difficulty communicating with his twenty-one year-old son, and was very receptive to my sage advice, that he should “find the common ground” and talk about what his son was interested in. I asked if his son had opposite political views, but Ronald Reagan said no, he was equally conservative. It ended up with one of my mates getting into something of a brawl with Reagan under a blanket, before the Secret Service intervened.

An odd dream, no? Then I had another about being with this crabby old-time movie actress, some kind of Gloria Swanson or Bette Davis, but that’s all I can remember. Woke up in this luxurious B&B in Beaverton, actually, a neighbor of Portland, where Ellie had booked us on the Internet. From the name, “Rose Cottage,” I had imagined something very different—a little old Victorian with rickety stairs and tiny rooms. Not a bit of it. This Rose Cottage is newly built, entirely modern, with a king-sized bed in the bedroom; a living room with a large, flat-screen television, a refrigerator and sink, and comfortable chairs; a separate bathroom and a Jacuzzi tub for two in an alcove off the bedroom; as well as a “potty porch”---as the lady said—for George, with “poopy bags” provided.

Such luxury! But now, the day…

We started out in Yachats, where we found a perfectly good breakfast joint with—at first—a single harried waitress and a high-school age bus boy struggling to cater to a large number of customers. They were joined soon, however, by a couple of others and wait proved a lot less long than we had feared. Scrambled eggs and bacon, with an English muffin on the side. Good coffee… and on the road, following our last night’s waiter’s tip to take the 34 East from Waldport instead of the 20 from Newport.



I’m running out of superlatives. The 34 was a simply delightful drive, following the path of a winding river through forested hillsides and green meadowlands...



... with nothing of the high drama of more awesome landscapes but simple, breathtaking beauty all the way. It reminded me greatly of the Teifi Valley in Wales, much beloved by my mother—a salmon river that led us on our yearly trek to my grandmother’s house for our summer holidays.



All this, and a flood of sunlight glittering off the surface of the water through the mottled green of the trees.


We could not stop taking photographs, too many of them snapped through the car window, because we could not stop for every glorious vista.

(The gallant Prius, now at 49.3 mpg overall.) 

(The handsome George, on navigation duty.)

Leaving the valley, we drove through the town of Corvallis and on into the Northern Willamette wine area...



... stopping at a couple of lovely wineries for tastes before taking the advice of a fellow-taster and heading up to a small town called Carlton where a number of the best area wineries are clustered, offering the opportunity to get a good overview of the production. Stopping to buy a sandwich lunch at a local deli, we found a pleasant enough vineyard for a picnic and afterwards visited the neighboring “Wine Studio” which features the work of a number of outstanding vintner’s. We enjoyed our visit there, including an enlightening conversation with Andrew Rich, who was busy with a huge array of bottles, glasses, vials and test tubes in the guest area experimenting with different blends. We learned a lot about how wines are essentially constructed out of a number of different building materials to produce the desired effect.

Back on the road to Portland, we made one final side trip to an antiques mall in Sherwood. Since the early 1970s, until recently, when the stuff has become simply too expensive, we have been collecting American art pottery from the early years of the 20th century—and not simply too expensive, but increasingly hard to find. What we used to pick up at garage sales and swap meets for a few dollars now sells for hundreds, if not thousands, and most of it has been snapped up by collectors like ourselves. The “treasure hunt” aspect that we so enjoyed has pretty much disappeared, at a time when everyone knows what everything is “worth”—or puts an “in-case” price on it, just to be sure. We were surprised to find quite a stash of the pottery at this antiques mall—we rarely see it any more—but at prices we would not seriously entertain.

On to Portland. Great directions from our B&B host, Sally, who greeted us at the door and offered an elaborate tour of our domain. She also recommended a restaurant with outdoor tables where George could accompany us for another alfresco dinner. Overlooking the greens of a stately golf course...

... it proved to be a more than pleasant place to dine, and the evening was capped for us, in the darkening evening, with the passage of a flight of geese overhead—dozens of them, honking happily, against the background of a sky illuminated by a brilliant half moon. No picture, I’m afraid. Not fast enough. You’ll have to make do with words inadequate to the beauty of the experience... and this picture of George and Ellie in the moonlight, sans geese.