Cult of Portland gets a new member member

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Cult of Portland gets a new member
Road tripper always on the lookout for the weird and wonderful feels right at home
I'm watching a man and a woman in medieval garb play Coldplay cover songs on a harp. Is this what people mean when they lobby to keep Portland weird?

I have heard nothing but gushing reviews of the City of Roses from my road trip-loving friends and family. I have been to Portland before but that was over a decade ago and I was too young to appreciate the nuances of a city without a beach.

I now understand. There is a cult of Portland that every local I encounter seems to belong to. As a road tripper in search of the weird and the wonderful, I'm all too happy to become a member.

I arrive as happy hour is in full swing. The courtyard bar at the Hotel Modera is packed as people toast the weekend with champagne flutes and discounted appetizers.

After joining these happy-hourists for dinner I walk north through the office buildings of the downtown core to the Ace Hotel's Clyde Common, a high-ceilinged open space decorated in a minimalist industrial style. I bypass the communal tables in favour of a seat at the bar. I typically prefer beer to cocktails so the bartender offers me the best of both worlds. Like a chef of spirits, he mixes a custom cocktail with rhubarb liqueur, gin, Gewürztraminer reduction, lemon zest, and a surprise twist: Pilsner. It's so tasty I find myself hoping beer cocktails become the next big thing.

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The next morning, after a lazy breakfast al fresco at the Farmers Market on the grounds of Portland State University, I happen upon Morrison Street's Portland Design Collective. With its wide-plank wood floors and lofty ceilings, it's a beautiful home for well-curated vintage pieces and new designs by local talent.

Somehow I manage to tear myself away from the dresses octogenarian Elsie Bartling crafted out of antique fabrics in the '60s, '70s and '80s and head toward the Pearl District. There I stop into Jackpot Records on Southwest 9th Avenue, wander through the aisles of new and used CDs.

A few blocks away on Southwest 13th is Isaac Hers, a clothing shop and tidy little design studio. Behind the racks of funky work-appropriate dresses is the designer's studio with paper patterns hanging on the wall. Even without the designer in house it is a fascinating peek into the often well-shrouded design process.

A quick trip on the light rail across the Willamette River and I find myself on bustling Mississippi Avenue. There I duck into Paxton Gate, an elegant curios store with big game taxidermy, decorative test tubes and exotic butterfly collections.

All this exploring makes me thirsty so I head down a few blocks to Amnesia Brewing, a small warehouse-style micro-brewery with giant garage doors that are raised to let both the sunlight and people stream in.

When it's time for a just-past-midnight snack so I head to Voodoo Doughnuts, an open-24-hours-aday Mecca for pastry lovers. Even at this hour there's a lineup out the door. I wait patiently for a chocolate-covered jelly-filled pastry voodoo doll with a pretzel stick through its heart. It's delicious. And it's clear to me why the shop has the city under its spell.

It's just now that I realize Portland has me under its spell too.

'There is a cult of Portland that every local I encounter seems tobelong to,' writes Kelsey Dundon