Apparently Portland has a bustling yachting scene as evidenced by last Sunday's "Sail For the Cure" event at the harbor. The well-heeled and blue-blazered elderly white folk were out en masse raising capital and presumably throwing back a few Manhattans to boot. The yacht club, as I discovered, is conveniently located near both the Portland Country Club and the airport...thus a visitor could have an action-packed day without having to drive through the undignified parts of town. Meanwhile, a mild bike ride away in the ethnic ghettos the Food not Bombs crew was performing their rabble rousing ritual.
Discovery #2 of the week: the East Burn Tavern's Tuesday $2 pint extravaganza...best deal in town, and you can watch BMX championships on the TVs gratis. Even better, a few doors down at the local wing joint the Sodbusters were playing their weekly set of old-timey classics and clever covers. Somehow the whole lot of us (including an older chap professing a fanatical zeal for the Dead Kennedy's Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables album) ended up paying witness to the pseudo-African rhythm collective called Toubab Krewe...a delightfully percussive end to the evening, save for a fruitless search to find a mythical empanada cart.
Having enough urbaneering we ventured out to the Columbia Gorge for some waterfall viewing and (for the slightly more spunky) cliff diving. It also served as the swan song for my trusty North Face daypack, which has been through Hell and back three or four times and is now crusty from several strata of sweat salt. The ideal whether brought out a delightful mix of Japanese tourists hustling about less they miss out on anything, PBR-swilling college students, and yoga fanatics looking for sacred spaces and karma cleansing. Not enough water for yachties, unfortunately.
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