September 4, 2005

local girls

This morning I awoke to a surprise! My old friend conjunctivitis has come to pay me a visit. I’m not sure what I ever did to pink eye to incur its wrath, but we’ve been friends for a while now. Anyway, sticky-eyes away!

From Portland to the coast on 26 things begin to look more like how I imagine Oregon should look. That is to say that even the rocks are foliated. Down one of the rural hamlet roads I find that some people need to learn how to drive and that herons can be confused. I am already getting tired of this – the monologue is becoming more frequent and rowdy. Surely I’ve not gone mad in a day?

I saw the biggest tree I have ever seen today. It was quite large, but impressed me less than I had anticipated. Then there was Canon Beach. Nice if you like your beach cold and full of tourists. Not that it’s a big deal because the place is immense. Shockingly so, though I’m not sure what I expected really. Unfortunately, while the weather has been nice, the hazy atmosphere seems poised to ruin every last one of my attempts at snapshots. Here I was, thinking that all you had to do was point and shoot along the Oregon coast to produce a masterpiece. Of course, the nature of my trip doesn’t lend itself to producing great pictures. Going to a new place, along the highway, and doing the point-and-shoot next to the car is bound to be ineffectual.

The following beaches and rocks seem to be more of the same and I’m easily bored by it. This is extremely disappointing and could be interpreted as an evil portent of what is to come. After all, there is much left to go.

I’ve managed to make it as far as Newport, approximately 60 miles short of where I had intended, and checked into the Econo Lodge (known for its economy). My eyes are still pink and I am exhausted. I’ll try to take a sunset picture before bed, but first I must eat. Onward to the Apple Poacher Restaurant for some banal salad and extremely cow filled soup. The place seats about fifty and is empty except for two waitresses, a dreadlocked old dude, and a couple of local girls. On the way in waitress no. 1 says “Gloria, you husband’s here!” Gloria saunters over, inspects me for a moment and remarks that I’m not her husband. “Oh,” says no. 1, “he sure does look like him though.”

“What can I do for ‘ya hon?”

“Table for one please.”

I am seated in a booth behind the local girls who immediately ask the waitress if I am looking for a wife. She stays a while to talk to them, they are friends, and the locals used to work here. The waitresses switch roles and no. 1 comes to chat. Through the course of the conversation I learn that all are married, one is separated and both her and her husband have lovers, and the waitresses ex husband is dating the third. He doesn’t say much and is characterised as “the boring type”. Ah, life in a small town.

I’m feeling a little better about the whole thing now. I just have to accept that I’m going to be doing much driving and little staying in one place. Learn to like driving and missing the points of interest. Live for the little stops and time to relax. Newport isn’t so bad – their beach is also ridiculously large. The sea spray comes off the water like fog in a manner I find pleasing and the smell of the sea literally enters your mouth and becomes taste. If I stay here, I think, I could be happy just living in the Econo Lodge and writing for a while. Perhaps I can sleep away my eye affliction.

I have spent nearly an hour and a half freezing near the beach and breaking my back to take a sunset picture I knew was going to be sub par. Why do I do these things?