_smoochyquemas PeeT smoochyquemas we sat in the wooden, pew-like seats as kathy called enterprise car rental. their generous policy includes bringing the vehicle to you so we simply headed out to the street and waited. a young man with aviator glasses and a large backpack stood nearby and engaged kathy in conversation while i watched a gardener working at an adjacent restaurant in the drizzle. the lively green of the grass was intoxicating. he removed his glasses and shared his story of where he came from and where he was going, some kind of triumph over the economy, releasing details of his salary and nepotistic achievements as if we were friends of his. perhaps i would have found it odd if my heart was a closed, locked box, but no, it is wide open and empty. go ahead and pour yourself in. there is plenty of room. he was obviously bubbling over with anticipation of a new life and could not contain it. we were all new plants pushing out of the wet spring soil. we were told a 4x4 jeep patriot was coming for us since our plans included a trip to snowy mt. hood. within ten minutes it arrived, a silver one, driven by a young lady originally from virginia. we have long ago learned the simple truth that asking questions is the most concise and valuable way to glean information. she looked, sounded, and carried herself like our niece rachel, which didn't surprise me. life lives us. it is always trying to make itself intimately accessible. so i packed our six pieces of luggage into the back of what would become our wheels for the week and we took advantage of the short ride through the rain-slickened streets from train station to car rental building and discovered as much as we could about why she came to portland, what she thinks about the city, its people, and directions to our first home away from home, the ace hotel. she loved portland and said its pace was mellow and anyone with a desire to work could make it. somehow i think if we would have asked her to breakfast with us she would have come. 120323 ... PeeT right away we noticed four things about maneuvering the streets of portland: one ways, street cars, bus lanes and bicyclists. our first attempt at finding the ace was unsuccessful. we simply undershot sw stark st. however, it afforded us a thorough look at the cleanliness and tidiness of this tight city. when the big A came into view, we pulled up across the way from the fish grotto and living room theatres to check in. i waited while kathy got our keys to room 401, breathing out a sense of relief at the completion of the initial part of this kaleidoscopic journey, breathing in the sparkling potential wonder of what lay ahead. i noticed this hotel is larger and more ambitious than the seatlle and nyc ace and is grounded in both the specifics of place and the zeitgeist. our room referred to the city’s independent spirit and cultural scene with a private street scene bird's eye view and an entire wall comprised of polaroid photos. our "living room" table was made of stacked old books and there was a record player with available vinyl. the shower had two heads facing at odd angles. bed side lights were clip ons. service was limited so we had to schlep our bags. there was a parking lot a few blocks away. best of all, the lobby contained stumptown coffee on one side and clyde common, a european style bistro, on the other. 120324 ... PeeT unpacked and business taken care of, we entered the day, footfalls on sanded oak floors choosing to descend the wooden staircase. a massive, intricate mural drawn by a local artist decorated the wall. each landing contained the number of the floor sculpted into the cap of the main ballister which was just one more clever addition to a long, growing list which punctuated this hotel's boutique uniqueness. at floor 2.5 there was a library-like room with a leather couch, a long wooden table, computers, books, magazines, and a large armoire containing a plethora of drawers. on top of it were four large glass jars straight out of the never ending story. one held erasers, then paper clips, rubber bands, and notepads. this is where we returned to with our cups of stumptown coffee, (kathy had the chemex brew) since the lobby was packed. it became a lovely vantage point to the beauty slowly blooming below us. sigur ros's agaetis byrgun filtering over the in house stereo juxtaposed against the silence of the puddling rain through the floor to ceiling windows created a cinematic sweep of grand luxury. it was also our first real look at the people of portland and its distinctive blend of tourists; those individuals who all seem to be part of our tribe, yet still maintain an intrinsic part of themselves that they display like living pieces of art. when a velvet couch opened up around the large spanish tile-topped table with its terrarium of desert plants in the center, kathy and i filled the vacancy, stopping first to have our second strip of black and white photobooth pictures taken for there was a machine right by the front door. i watched as a young woman who had been sitting in a cushiony vintage blue chair emerged from it, holding a small white dog. i chatted with her. somehow i knew the language of whatever this world i was temporarily inhabiting. these are the people who layer experience upon talent upon wonder upon beauty upon confidence until they reach perfection by accident. or maybe they just come out to play. 120325 ... unhinged (one of the best friends of my entire life lives in portland. sounds like he is right where he should be) 120325 ... PeeT i have three jobs. one of them is performance art and so whenever i'm in a new city i always check out the vintage shoppes to see if i can add a new article of clothing or prop to my ever growing and evolving collection. i asked the stumptown barista if she knew where the closest one was and with eyes diffusing a mixture of passion and passivity she directed us to 10th st. we talk off walking. the rain had stopped, leaving behind swollen clouds and hints of sunshine to come. we found it just as she said and stepped inside, jingling the sleigh bell, finding ourselves alone except for a solitary bearded, bespectacled, and bohemian man; the look we were increasingly noticing. amongst the omniscient plaid, i discovered a bow tie for the show and purchased it. we chatted him up a bit, seeking suggestions for an evening of libations. he informed us of a place called higgins on broadway which we decided to see if we could find since it was walkable. he put the little tie in a blue paper bag with a rope handle much too big for it. i stuffed it in my coat pocket even though it barely fit and we left, souls fed with yet another bite of kindness and generosity. why mention the bag? you'll see. 120326 ... PeeT as we jangled the bell once more and left the vintage shoppe, a belligerent man pacing in front of a government building across the street was shouting out something as to be heard. yet, his tone sounded mentally altered. we ignored him and sauntered with a spring in our step along broadway, passing a hotel whose bellmen were dressed in 17th century royal accruements. there was also an iron sculpture of a large pig appearing as though it were a sentinel. we also saw a large library and a performing arts theatre. when we reached higgins we found it to be of our liking and considered returning later. i have this thing about standing on corners of city streets next to telephone poles with plastered flyers. i just stood there for a moment and felt myself sinking in. like i belonged. we had so much to learn. so we walked back, this time on the other side of the street, discovering new venues, busy people, hustle bustle. that's when i felt in my coat pocket and realized the blue bag with the rope handle containing the bow tie was gone. i checked every pocket. we determined it must have fallen out while we were walking up the other way and figured it was worth a return trip, retracing our steps. i thought of many scenarios of people who may had stumbled upon it, claimed it, and then had a story of a great discovery. instead i found it on the ground like a piece of discarded trash directy across from the pig on watch. obviously he kept it safe while we were gone. "take it and i bite" was the energy he emitted. the costumed bellmen noticed my return with a glance of recognition. when i picked it up, he turned away as if mission had been accomplished. 120327 ... PeeT powell's books, on the corner of burnside and 10th st. right across from the doc marten shoppe, easy walking distance from where we were tucked in at the pearl district came as quite a surprise. i had heard it was one of the world's greatest book stores and the moment we stepped in, i was sucked in, kid to a candy store, eyes spinning, soul racing. there was everything all at once cleverly sectioned in color coded rooms on four levels. the dude at the vintage shoppe, inspired by our portland interest, recommended a book by chuck palahniuk, called, "fugitives and refugees," which i found during my treasure hunt. i also discovered in the mercury, portland's weekly cultural newspaper, that cloud nothings were playing at a venue called holocene. since we hadn't eaten all day, we pulled ourselves away, encountering hipster panhandlers and walked back to the ace hotel for happy hour @clyde common, their in-house tavern. it featured long communal tables and a james beard award-winning bar, starring jeffery morganthaler's barrel-aged cocktails. we lavished in the face to face, voyeuristic energy, wiping harissa from the dripping peasant burger on our lips. fearless in our pursuit to learn portland, we continued to ask questions, this time from our black-framed bespectacled server. he had been to holocene, "a hundred times." even an older gentleman seated next to us who turned out to be from israel, via bulgaria. he eloquently described a few cafes we could try. 120330 ... PeeT with kathy as navigator, following our progress on her iphone's gps, we crossed over the morrison bridge, maneuvering the mishmash of one ways, making mistakes until we finally found holocene. it was barely 9:00 pm and a small crowd of slouchy, smoke-blowing youths were already gathered outside. the signage revealed cloud nothings not starting until 11:00 so we changed our minds and shifted gears, opting to return to powell's for two hours of intense treasure hunting. check out one of the johns.com for the home of jonathon hill who did the art for the powell's intricate map which came in handy. before bringing our first day to an end, we returned to clyde common's communal table for a tequila nightcap and oxtail ravioli. a mother, appearing to be south american and slightly younger than us, sat beside us with her two college-aged sons. she engaged us in the soft light of the fading night. she was from originally from maryland but now lived in salem, oregon and suggested we visit silver falls and bent. one of her sons she had adopted from venezuela. he now lived in the french quarter of new orleans. the conversation was casual and generous and perpetuated a warmth i was feeling for portland already. when they left, we basically closed the place down and ended things by chatting up the pony-tailed, bespectacled manager. she gave us her origin story in the foodie world and encouraged us to visit the bent brick on nw marshall where her husband, who studied under dan barber of blue hill farm, operates as chef. 120401 what's it to you? who go blather from