PDX

I'm basking in the second day of afterglow from our weekend getaway to Portland.

Shortly after Peter planned a brewery tour bachelor party in Portland for his friend Josh (who eloped in Positano!),  a group of us started planning a weekend trip to Portland for the beer fest.

With six of us going, I looked up rentals on Airbnb and found this lovely yellow heritage house located in the historic Ladd Addition neighbourhood--check out the aerial view of the neighbourhood's cool diagonal pattern.

The home was lovely, spacious, and beautifully decorated. I especially loved the vintage map of Stockholm at the top of the stairs (undoubtedly a nod to the owners' Swedish roots) and prints of Ladd and Portland bridges. The best part about staying in a house together rather than in four separate hotel rooms was the group feel. In the mornings Peter made us his delicious egg breakfast sandwiches and we ate them at the table on the porch.

I would definitely rent a house for a group vacation again. We even talked about doing Portland again next summer.

Saturday afternoon we headed to the Portland Beerfest. We sampled at least a dozen brews (fortunately they were only 4-ounce pours). I had fun learning how to identify the tasting notes and diagramming them in a beer tasting book I bought for the trip.

I have to say I was really impressed with the festival. Initially I had thought it would be a brewery pub crawl, so when I found out it was in a park I was a bit worried that it would have a beer garden vibe. It was so much better than I had expected. There wasn't beer garden vibe at all. Craft beer lovers (some in clever beer t-shirt or costumes) came together to enjoy 4-ounce samples. The organizers also deserve props for the eco-friendly glass tumblers we got with our admission--I'm sure we diverted thousands of disposable cups away from landfills.

Otherwise, we just scratched the surface of Portland. We browsed Powell's Books, ate at food carts, and Anna, Patrick, and Dan braved the 45-minute line so we could sample Voodoo Doughnuts.

I hope to go back again soon.

(top photo mine; Instagram via Anna)

Portland

Tomorrow we're driving to Portland with four of our friends for an extended weekend getaway. Peter and I stayed in Portland in 2009 when we roadtripped down the Oregon Coast to San Francisco, but we were only there for a night so we didn't see much of the city.

We rented a super cute house with a hot tub on Airbnb. I haven't really planned anything otherwise. We'll be checking out the beerfest and I want to browse Powell's Books. I'm also armed with my friends' Josh and Colene's google map of what they consider Portland's best.

Have you been to Portland? What are your recommendations? We haven't yet made any plans for dinner Friday, Saturday, or Sunday nights.

(photo via Design*Sponge)

Les bleuets

bleuet (bluh-(eh)) : blueberry

Summer has set in, which means locally and seasonally available fruit. Peter eats apples daily and that they are not in season is readily apparent in the produce aisle: the apples on offer are either the rump end of the last year's harvest or flown in from New Zealand with a heavy carbon footprint.

A few weeks ago I went out to Westham Island and bought local strawberries from a farm stand. Strawberries' short peak season is drawing to a close, but blueberries are now coming into season. Last weekend's market had the season's first local blueberries for sale.

I have a very particular memory associated with blueberries. This particular childhood memory consists of visiting my Grandpapa in Québec during the summers in the 90s. I don't remember what kind of car her had, but it was an older model from the 70s or 80s and had the option of seating three in the front seat. My Grandpapa lived in the Québec countryside. Grandpapa, dad, my two sisters, two cousins, and I would pile into the car and drive up a gravel country road to our ancestral lands. I remember it was a bumpy ride and occasionally a small rock would ping the side of the car, as happens when driving on gravel roads. My Grandpapa would then lead the way and show us to where the wild blueberry bushes were and we would pick blueberries. Cueillir les bleuets. So many blueberries. This is one of my fondest childhood memories and I recall it whenever I eat plain blueberries.

But when I got to France, les bleuets were not les bleuets. Instead they were called myrtilles.

myrtille (meer-tee(l)) : blueberry

In France, bleuets were a type of flower. Basically indistinguishable to the average person, the blue berries called myrtilles and bleuets are related, but different genera of Vaccinium.

(photo of blueberries by Ashley of Hither & Thither featured on Cup of Jo; flower drawing by Carl Axel Magnus Lindman, public domain via Wikipedia)

Before Midnight

Last week I saw Before Midnight, the third installment in the story of Jesse and Celine. I loved their dialogues in Before Sunrise and Before Sunset. This time the conversation included other characters and one raised equally interesting questions about life and relationships.

There was one line in particular near the end of the film that really struck me. I can't recall it verbatim, but at one point Jesse says this is real life, not a dream world.


I mulled this sentence over after leaving the movie. I feel it succinctly describes what I've been at a loss of word of how to say about my time abroad. I enjoyed my sojourn in France.  In fact, it was a year where I literally lived out a dream to live in France and travel around Europe. But when I got back, I felt a strong urge to deconstruct what I've come to feel is a romanticized myth of France. My intention is not to disparage a country that I again find myself under its spell. But there is seemingly an industry manufacturing dreams of a place where you'll be swept off your feet by a cute Frenchman and live happily ever after on a vineyard. Rather, I sought to come to terms with France as a real place, grittiness included. 

(photo by Cynthia K.)

Wanderlust Wednesday: Cycling in the Netherlands

Imagine you're cycling in the Netherlands. Over bridges spanning canals, by row upon row of colourful tulips, along paths that take you through past windmills.

Peter and I love the Netherlands (actually we're pretty fond of the Benelux countries generally). I've been to Amsterdam twice and the off-kilter canal houses really charm me. Peter's seen more of the Netherlands as his tours to Europe have usually been based out of the Netherlands.

When we were there last summer, I wanted to go on a city bike tour. Ever since, I've been periodically daydreamed about doing a bike trip of the Netherlands.

Have you ever done a trip by bike?

(Photo of Dutch countryside by Martin Kers)