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Posts Tagged ‘Portland’

Here, miles from Japan
I stand as if warmed by the
Spring sunshine of home.

Visiting the Portland Japanese Garden was the closest I’ve been to Japan since I rode the bullet train from Tokyo to Hiroshima five years ago. Back then, I was cognizant of the duplicitous nature of Japanese culture, but at the time I was much more focused on and in awe of the vending machines selling everything from underwear to electronics to beer, the heated toilet seats, the Harajuku girls giggling in talking photo booth, the trains that seemed to fly. When viewed through this urban futuristic prism, Japan is utterly alien. During that same trip, I passed through Kyoto, so yeah, all the appropriate confusion descended upon me later. How can a country be so zany and so zen at the same time?

If only I had spent more time in Kyoto, I might have achieved inner peace.

Fortunately, my visit to the Portland Japanese Garden provided me with all the hindsight I needed.

Why Portland?
Portland is the sister city of Sapporo, Japan. Other than that Portland is nothing like Japan. Except maybe weird fashion?

Motifs of a Japanese Garden

All Japanese Gardens incorporate water, stone, and plants. In the Portland Japanese Garden, every plant, every stone, and the water placement lives and breathes with purpose. In the Natural Garden (one of the five styles of gardens there), the waterfall symbolizes the stages of life. It runs fast and strong at the top, in the infancy of its life, and toward the bottom the flow of water calms to reflect the peace of old age.

Zig-zagged paths ward off evil. Evil travels in a straight line, quite literally taking the easy way out.

The beauty is in the blank spaces. Where there exists clutter, there lacks focus. A Japanese room might emulate the idea of the garden. Japanese rooms are very simple, very clean. If there are any decorations, it might be a single flower. When there is one flower in an otherwise blank room, your focus can only be on that flower, and only then can you see all the infinite possibilities of beauty inherent in that one thing. (I warned you this culture was pretty zen!)

Oh, and those super enlightened Japanese know that imperfection is a virtue, which is why they wouldn’t fix this crack in the wall:

To age gracefully is to acknowledge that there is a beginning, middle, and end to life. An emphasis on seasons is a hallmark of a Japanese Garden and in the Portland Japanese Garden, this idea is exemplified in the Flat Garden. There, a planted cherry tree represents spring; a maple tree illustrates autumn.

Why you should go?

The Portland Japanese Garden has five directions. Front, back, left, right, and center. Here, you will find your center and leave feeling as though you finally understand that other side to Japan. Here, miles away from Japan

AND LOOK! They are having a Free Admission Day on February 20!

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“You should move to Portland!”

So exclaims my best friend and Portland’s newest resident, Kelly, while we feast upon happy hour bites and strawberry pomegranate margaritas, at Portland City Grill. We are thirty stories up and enveloped in a dreamy panoramic pink sunset, decorating snow-capped Mount Hood, the city below, and miles beyond.

“No, no I don’t think so.” And then what I say next is nothing to feel proud of. I probably should say something like “I just didn’t feel that spark, you know… the spark when you realize a person and a place are completely compatible.” Or maybe I should say, “I just can’t see a future with PDX” But what I say is “I’m really attracted to cities with ambition. And I really can’t get over all of the people dressed in pajamas, lounging about.” Honest truth, or East Coast Contempt?I then immediately try to backtrack upon my hasty, unfair judgment of the City of Roses, acknowledging all the industry we had witnessed or learned about the night before, like KEENS and Nike and Vestas Wind Systems. Clearly there is ambition in Portland, but the face of Portland is the omnipresent hipster, sitting on a sidewalk, strumming on a guitar. GET UP AND DO SOMETHING I have the urge to yell. (OH GOD AM I A SUIT?)

“But, you love the ‘90s! Portland is the so-called dream of the ‘90s!” rebutts my well-meaning friend, referencing Portlandia, a television show I wanted to avoid prior to my visit for the same reason I think NOBODY should watch It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and think that’s how we all act. (Just some of us).

I do love the ‘90s. I love plaid, Starbucks, Kurt Cobain. I love economic surplus and instant messaging and Bill Clinton playing a saxophone. I love neon colors and old sitcoms and their laugh tracks. I love Zack Morris’ cell phone and boy bands and seeing Titanic in the movie theater five times. But I grew up, and, it seems, became firmly entrenched in some kind of urban Northeast mentality.

The old adage we are what we eat never really made sense to me. I’m a living breathing twenty-something woman, not a burrito. But my visit to Portland confirmed my long-standing suspicion that we are where we live.

Killing time between engagements the previous day, Kelly and I stopped in a boutique shop. “Hello!” the girl behind the counter immediately exclaimed. “How was your day? What did you do?” I immediately felt uncomfortable. Why does Zooey Deschanel’s little sister want to know what I did today, I’m thinking to myself. Thankfully I have the most wonderful friends who make up for my social inadequacies in every way. “We just grabbed some lunch at the food trucks,” Kelly said.

“Oh, what kind of food did you get?”

I had to fight an overwhelming urge to give our new friend a lecture on talking to strangers so openly. Doesn’t she know about bad guys? Does she think that by talking to us, we will become friends? What is the meaning of all of this friendliness?!

It didn’t stop there. People everywhere asked every question of us. “How long are you here for?” “What do you do?” “How are you liking Portland?” “How long are you here for?” And finally, “Enjoy this weather! You couldn’t have come at a better time!”

Conclusion: Hello, my name is Amanda and I am a Philadelphian and also a tough, suspicious bitch.

I really couldn’t have come to Portland at a better time. Maybe Portland isn’t the city for me, but I really need to leave Philadelphia.

ADDENDUM: Portland may or may not be the dream of the ’90s, but it definitely is the dream that Amazon.com and/or e-readers might not render exinct real life books after all. Behold: Powell’s (www.powells.com), a whole city block full of books, books, and more books. If you, too, are terrified at the prospect that your children may not know what a book is, go to Powell’s. It’s heaven on earth, and a real life respite from the barrelling train of Kindles doom that threatens to overtake us all.


I found this beautiful copy of Jane Eyre, an edition published in 1946, at Powell’s, which shelves used and new books together. Look at that illustration! How can we let these die?

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