How I spent my autumn vacation, part 1
Nov. 2nd, 2001 03:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaFriday, October 26
The alarm rings at 3:30am, because Misha and I need to be at the airport at 4:30 for our 6:30 flight. Actually, it turns out that we should've been at the airport before 4:30, because by 6:00 we're still waiting in the security line, and have to be brought to the front along with everyone else who had no idea it would take so long. Then, at the gate, we're both taken aside at random for a closer screening: our bags opened and hand-searched, our bodies hand-scanned.
Fortunately, that's the only hassle with the whole trip. Our flights are uneventful, and our luggage meets us in Portland. So does my ex-boyfriend Jeff. (Those of you who went to alt.polycon 7 in Seattle may or may not remember him: tall skinny guy, very quiet, occasionally posts to alt.poly as "Needle.") We have lunch at some weird hippie cafe, a choice necessitated by Jeff's inability to eat gluten or garlic or any of several other things I am currently forgetting. Then we go to the house where Jeff lives part-time with my dear friend Wynona. Many hugs ensue. I am mortified to discover that I've been so horribly far out of contact that Wynona's dearest companion, her dog Rachel, died in May and I didn't even know.
Jeff is loaning us his car for this portion of the trip. We drive out to our motel and nap for a few hours. Then we meet Wynona and Jeff at a restaurant called Ichidai for the first of many sybaritic vacation meals. It's a sushi bar, and we order lots of sushi, but we also order toro sashimi in ponzu sauce and a strange dish involving enormous oysters baked in the shell with some sort of delectable creamy sauce. Speculation about what the creamy sauce is made of is hampered by our suspicions that it includes unfamiliar Japanese ingredients.
We follow dinner with a trip to Inner City Hot Springs, a small, beautiful, and intensely peaceful spa in a residential part of northeast Portland. Misha and I spend most of our time in the hot tubs on the outdoor deck; Wynona and Jeff switch back and forth between hot tubs and sauna. The remaining stresses of travelling float away. Then we go on to the Rimsky-Korsakoffee House for dessert, because it is my birthday and There Must Be Cake. Actually, there is chocolate pot de creme. (It would indeed be unwise to attempt to take Rimsky's pot de creme away from me and replace it with cake, even on my birthday.) Finally, we visit the Barley Mill Pub, although at this point all any of us can manage is a 10-oz glass of beer. Black Butte Porter is my friend, and I had forgotten just how true and important that is.
In fact, the theme of this vacation might be said to be "___ is my friend, and I had forgotten how true and important that is."
Further development of this theme in subsequent posts, as time permits.
The alarm rings at 3:30am, because Misha and I need to be at the airport at 4:30 for our 6:30 flight. Actually, it turns out that we should've been at the airport before 4:30, because by 6:00 we're still waiting in the security line, and have to be brought to the front along with everyone else who had no idea it would take so long. Then, at the gate, we're both taken aside at random for a closer screening: our bags opened and hand-searched, our bodies hand-scanned.
Fortunately, that's the only hassle with the whole trip. Our flights are uneventful, and our luggage meets us in Portland. So does my ex-boyfriend Jeff. (Those of you who went to alt.polycon 7 in Seattle may or may not remember him: tall skinny guy, very quiet, occasionally posts to alt.poly as "Needle.") We have lunch at some weird hippie cafe, a choice necessitated by Jeff's inability to eat gluten or garlic or any of several other things I am currently forgetting. Then we go to the house where Jeff lives part-time with my dear friend Wynona. Many hugs ensue. I am mortified to discover that I've been so horribly far out of contact that Wynona's dearest companion, her dog Rachel, died in May and I didn't even know.
Jeff is loaning us his car for this portion of the trip. We drive out to our motel and nap for a few hours. Then we meet Wynona and Jeff at a restaurant called Ichidai for the first of many sybaritic vacation meals. It's a sushi bar, and we order lots of sushi, but we also order toro sashimi in ponzu sauce and a strange dish involving enormous oysters baked in the shell with some sort of delectable creamy sauce. Speculation about what the creamy sauce is made of is hampered by our suspicions that it includes unfamiliar Japanese ingredients.
We follow dinner with a trip to Inner City Hot Springs, a small, beautiful, and intensely peaceful spa in a residential part of northeast Portland. Misha and I spend most of our time in the hot tubs on the outdoor deck; Wynona and Jeff switch back and forth between hot tubs and sauna. The remaining stresses of travelling float away. Then we go on to the Rimsky-Korsakoffee House for dessert, because it is my birthday and There Must Be Cake. Actually, there is chocolate pot de creme. (It would indeed be unwise to attempt to take Rimsky's pot de creme away from me and replace it with cake, even on my birthday.) Finally, we visit the Barley Mill Pub, although at this point all any of us can manage is a 10-oz glass of beer. Black Butte Porter is my friend, and I had forgotten just how true and important that is.
In fact, the theme of this vacation might be said to be "___ is my friend, and I had forgotten how true and important that is."
Further development of this theme in subsequent posts, as time permits.
