Mmmbop! baa doo ba dop... ba doo BOP...

Portland is every twenty-something's dream hometown. No matter how many times I end up in her lovely arms, Portland's endless warmth and candor lull me to comfort. Even after 5 weeks on the road, I was happy to hit this city before heading back to Hawai'i.

9:45 AM, Friday, September 5: touchdown PDX. Katie and I get bacon and waffles at the Original Hotcake and Steak House. Awesome, awesome, awesome. So awesome, in fact, we hit it again the next day after the bachelorette party/bachelor party crashing. Bring your own maple syrup if you need the real thang, but the brown sugar sauce they offer seems just right for the fare, actually.

3:00 PM, same day: MANI-PEDIS!! I am gay for mani-pedis. This particular occasion was also bachelorette pre-gaming, and I've never done anything so overtly girly. We took over the plush back room at Kalista Salon, and the champagne was flowing, the chocolate was passed around, and the "girl talk," oh, my! I've never discussed the intricacies of ... ahem, let's call it bedroom politicking? ... so, ah, luridly? I've reached my social estrogen quota for the year, and I'm still blushing at the memory. Also, it's 2 1/2 weeks later and my pedi is still going strong.

6:00 PM, that evening: dinner at the Mexican place two blocks away, Esparza's Tex Mex. Kitchy decor, excellent wait staff, cheap eats, nothing too special except the fried cactus. Yum, fried cactus. Oh, and tiny, powerful margaritas.

8:00 PM, that night: karaoke mainland-style, at Chopsticks. Yeah, it's the go-up-to-the-mic-in-front-of-everyone variety. I drink three or four gin martinis and have an effing blast. BTW, thanks to Katie for the mind-blowing "MmmBop" rendition.

10:30 PM, even later: assassination time! We blow by Ground Control in downtown Portland and kick our secret agents out for the manhunt. Targets are there: bachelor and revelers. Our secret agents steal their beers and run out to our awaiting getaway vehicle. I would have liked to sneak in a round of alcohol-addled pinball while there, but just couldn't with the mission at stake! Celebratory dozens of Voodoo Doughnuts cap off the wild night. As always, the magic is in the hole.

The rest of the PDX adventure was such a huge blur I can't begin to recount the details. Suffice to say there was an Italian feast for a rehearsal dinner, which was delightful.

And the following night, a beautiful wedding at the Kennedy School in Portland's NE quadrant. Katie and Michael, you've captured the formal/informal thing, absolutely. In the adjoining hotel room, we prepped and primped and playlisted. Good music = good vibes and good lookin' girls.

And of course the dancing, the drinking, the party. (That's the best man lighting up the dancefloor.)

Whew.

Sunday morning was Grandparents' Day, and I spent the brunch hours with my grandfather and aunt in Charbonneau. He regaled me with tales of his new epicurean discoveries: an infamous French-Chinese chef, berry picking in the country, the best time of year for eating in Europe. I was so happy to spend time with them and share a meal together.

Thank you, Portland, for another kick-ass time.

And the road a-winding goes

... from golden gate to roaring cliffside

and the light is softly low 

as our hearts become sweetly untied

I'm back, I'm back, I'm back. I'm back from Boston, Chicago, New York City, more Boston, San Francisco, and Portland, OR.

I missed: 

• loco mocos, 
• Zippy's chili, 
• Waiola's shave ice, 
• the smell of the ocean, 
• slack key guitar and the baritone resonance of Hawaiian vowels in major chord progressions, 
• my car, 
• throwing shakas at drivers that let me merge, and
• speaking Pidgin to other Pidgin-speakers.

I now miss:

• using "Yankees suck" as a greeting,
• 24-hour everything,
• vegan/organic/local/grass-fed/free-range whatever at the corner store,
• Spike's Junkyard Dogs,
• "chowdah" and lobster rolls,
• cheap shit at Marc Jacobs stores,
• second-hand shops,
• girls that dress up for walks in the park,
• drunken jam sessions/pickup basketball games/political debates over BBQ grills, all at 3 AM,
• big museums,
  
• big carousels,
• when the fog rolls in, and
• subways.

(I'm deliberately not mentioning friends here. Both lists would be far too long to read if I typed them all here. You understand.)

Overall, I am reminded to be myself, to celebrate the things about me that are of Hawai'i, and to fortify the things about me that are not. To allow myself to cultivate the parts of me that so closely identify with NYC's pace, with Boston's ethic, with San Francisco's personality and pride.

A note to the continent: I'll see you in May. Make room for me.

Coming soon: notes on my travels, finally