Americans Abroad: Vancouver

As we've been creeping up the coast, we've realized that it was too wet to camp, which has given us more time. So, we bought a guide book and high-tailed it to Vancouver.

A beautiful city. But what I'll remember most is how we laughed every time we heard someone speak. They actually say "Sore-EE". It's hilarious.

Now, Emma with the captions.

Oh, Canada.

Our hotel looked fairly normal from the outside.

Then we got inside. All the doors were different colors, and there were gigantic trees growing in the middle. This should have tipped us off.

Allow me to present the pinkest bathroom in Vancouver. I don't know if this says something about our luck, or our price-range.
That night, Mike found a troop of Mounties.

Then we hit the beach in Kitsilano. It was clean and pretty and we liked it.

The lights, the water. It made us think that Americans were seriously lacking some vital information. I mean, really. Think about swimming in the East River.

I had high hopes for the Granville Island Public Market, even though Mike told me it was going to be like South Street Seaport. It wasn't.
We bought some things and had a picnic by the beach. Food inexplicably not pictured.

Vancouver had lots of bridges.

Also, inspiring garbage-cans.

We wiled away the hours in Stanley Park, a stone's throw from yet another pristine public beach. Also nearby was an enormous salt water swimming pool. We would have grabbed our suits and jumped in, but there was a strike, and no scabs are we. Also, we need a lifeguard. Do we look like strong swimmers to you?

Dinner in Chinatown.

There were piles and piles of food-- noodles, dumplings, wonderfully salty fried tofu. Two thumbs up.

We chose not to include the photograph of Mike giving this sign the finger. There was a long wait to get back into the USA.

Vancouver was a charming diversion. Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming. Next stop, Seattle.


love
E + M

The Oregon Coast: Goonies Never Say Die

We've reached the summit of our trip! The location of the key to One-Eyed Willie. Out of everywhere we've been, everything we've done, it was the best. If it hadn't started raining violently, I could have spent the entire day looking out over those rocks, listening to the waves crash. It was unreal.

I swivel the computer around to Emma for the captions.

Of course, before we made it to Cannon Beach, there was the ill-advised night in Seaside. Our guidebook describes Cannon Beach as the West Coast's answer to Provincetown, and Seaside as its Coney Island. Of course, we didn't read the part until the next day. The book was right, down to the pimply-faced teenagers it promised. Mike was thrilled.

But really, when was the last time you stayed at a hotel with ellipses?

Some people were more excited about Seaside than we were.
Jane and Michael Stern sent us to Norma's for dinner.
We had the chowder. If you looking closely, you will see crabs in the plastic gingham.

Imagine a doubloon in my hand.
Mike was rather beside himself.

I thought that this scarf went nicely with the pirate theme.

Mike wishes you had been there with us. Here, he invites you.

From Cannon Beach, we went to Astoria. Our first stop was at the Welcome Center, where a young man valiantly abstained from laughing at us while drawing a map to the Goonie House. Mike bought a pint glass that says 'Goonies Never Say Die.' The young man didn't laugh at us then, either. I hope Oregon is paying him well.
All the Goonie-hunting made Mike very hungry. Earlier in the day, while he was in the bookstore looking for books on Vancouver, I went to the vintage store and bought him that shirt for $7.50. I also made friends with an eight-year-old named Maddy whose mother owned the store. She was dressed in gold lamé and gave me a sticker of a horse. After eating some hamburgers, we went to see Ratatouille, a suitably food-obsessed movie.

The next morning, we followed our guidebook's advice and went to the slightly seedy-looking Columbian Café. Boy, do we have a smart guidebook.

Our rockabilly waiter started things off right, with a stack of freshly baked bread and these homemade jams-- working clockwise from the top, you are looking at the spicy homemade salsa, cayenne jam, jalapeno jam, and sweet garlic jam. They were all amazing.

But not as amazing as what we were listening to-- while waiting for our breakfast, we eavesdropped on the owner/cook, who pontificated on matters great and small. A little list: his newly acquired 1967 Chevy station wagon, with its stock AM radio and ding-less exterior; how to make duck confit; the beef he had aging next-door, presumably somewhere in the second-run movie theater he also owns. We finally got in on the conversation when the sixty-year-old couple sitting at the bar mentioned that they were on a cross-country motorcycle trip. They had ridden from Florida, and had to make it back to Massachusetts in time to meet their new twin grandchildren.

We thought that we couldn't love the place any more. Then the food arrived. I got a breakfast burrito, and promptly swooned. It was heavenly.
Likewise, Mike's eggs were otherworldly. Please note the blue cheese on the potatoes.
Bellies full, we hopped on the bridge to Washington.

It was a very long bridge, and seemed to lead straight into the mountains, or the clouds, or both. This is what Oregon is like.

Aloha, Washington.

Next stop, Canada. We brought our passports for a reason.

love
E + M

Stop and Smell the Tamales: Portland #2

As we sit here in a beach-side motel in white trash infested Seaside, OR (more on this tomorrow), we reflect on our time in Portland. The donuts, the hotel with a porn shop, the crazy people. We loved every minute of it. Portland is as great as you'd expect. Rough around the edges, but throughly interesting and filled with stuff to do.

Here's Emma with the captions.

The Tegan and Sara show was at the Bagdad Theater, a few blocks from our dear Apizza Scholls. You-- or rather, I-- have to love a show that ends before 10 o'clock.

After playing their new record in its entirety, the rather simian-looking twins invited the crowd to get closer. We were sitting in the balcony, and thereby avoided being crushed by the amorous lesbians. Again, thank you to Rodrigo for hooking us up with tickets.

After a lovely post-show dinner at Tabla (no pictures-- we were being tasteful), we high-tailed it over to Powell's for the Harry Potter block party.

Don't we all love Harry, really? Another Portland teenager was wearing a t-shirt that said, "Voldemort can't stop the rock." They are awfully crafty up here.

Waiting on line was not really an option-- it was already past our bedtime. We went back in the morning.

Kristina took us to the farmer's market. It was raining a little, but that didn't stop us. We are tough.
Like most things in Portland, the artichokes were big and green and gorgeous.

The longest line was at the tamale stand, so I knew where I had to be.
We were good tourists and went to the park to look at roses.

There were lots of things to look at, as you can see.

For example, Portland's Best Rose.

Sometimes even captions do not suffice-- imagine walking into a perfume bottle. In a good way. Although Portland seemed a little, ahem, grimy, we left thinking that it smelled like roses. The Pacific Northwest really has the rest of the country beat in terms of natural beauty. Even though the city itself was more rough and tumble than I generally like, in spots it was just lovely. Many thanks to Kristina for forcing us to think outside the donuts, and to smell the flowers.

Next stop, Goonie territory.

love
E + M

Shimmy Shimmy Ya: Portland #1

We've arrived in one of the most anticipated cities of the trip, Portland. I'm in love with this place.

As loyal readers know, elk are indeed made in Oregon.

Our hotel is off the chain. Everything is white and made of plastic. Here are some features of the hotel: indie rock club, bar, tattoo shop, a porn shop, a restaurant, and, although we haven't seen it, a rock climbing gym. I'm a little confused as to how we got here, but the room is definitely the nicest thus far on the trip.

I forgot to mention that the doors are also chalkboards. Here, we made you a visual aid.

Our first stop was Powell's. If you squint and look to the left, you will see Mike.

We liked Powell's even before we walked in the door-- they had one of Mike's books in the window.

Another reason to like Powell's-- they have good taste.

Another person with good taste is Anthony Bourdain. He sent us to Voodoo Donut. Of course, he didn't tell us to go twice. We figured that out on our own. Above, this little piggy was eating a maple bar. It also comes with strips of bacon. I thought my foray into the dark side of pork in Napa was enough for the month.

The girl behind us in line was much, much smarter than us. She asked meekly if there were any day-olds, and was presented with a bucket three times as big as Mike's head. She forked over a whopping five dollars for the donuts and the bucket, and went on her merry way.

Mike got an Old Dirty Bastard: chocolate frosted with oreos and peanut butter.

Kristina found us.

She took this nice picture with her totally awesome 1970s Polaroid. She's so nice that she let us keep it.

Michael, behind Michael's. I am proud to say that we did not eat there. You see, we have some self-restraint, after all.


Anthony Bourdain also sent us to Apizza Scholls. During the half-hour wait for a table, we met Mike and Patty Greenfield, longtime Portland residents. Their thirty-year-old son had a iPhone, too. Mike and Patty referred to Mr. Bourdain as 'Tony.' They were our people.

The pizza did not disappoint.

Portland at night, mid-bridge.


Tonight we're heading to the Tegan and Sara show, thanks to Mr. Rodrigo Perez, who pulled some strings and got us on the list. It just so happens that the concert is directly across the street from one of the Powell's outposts. Do you know what happens tonight at 12:01am? We do.

much love
E + M