18 Nov.

The four-hour trip to Portland was painless, though to travel with Greyhound is not to travel freely. That’s not to say the coaches aren’t handy, but you’re restricted to their scheduling, stop-off points and non-scenic, interstate routes. Mind you, thanks to Tacoma being one of the cities we passed through, I can’t imagine we missed much.

We didn’t arrive in Portland until it was dark but decided to walk to the hostel in an effort to get our bearings. The city seems quirky, cool and just as wet as Seattle, albeit more unassuming. In addition, there’s no sales tax in Oregon. Cashback.

Full days in the States: Three. Times drunk: Three.

Our digs, HI Portland Northwest Hostel, are nice, though Steve’s sheets are so covered in spunk there’s a chance he’ll fall pregnant. We fear for “Paul” and “Francis,” who are sharing our room.

After dumping our bags, we set out for pasta but ended up having a skinful in Underdogs, a sports bar on 21st (which is sadly now closed). I met a United fan, who was confident about Saturday’s game away at Swansea.

Pizza and beer: the nightcap of kings.

Cold, wet weather. No sales tax. Ending a Friday night on the lash with a takeaway. Our immersion into American culture could take some time.


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