Travelogue

Ecola State Park

You know how (in the olden days) people used to bore others with interminable slide shows of their vacations? Well. This is like that, only with far fewer pics. (Also, I’m delightful.) (I know—that’s what they thought, too…)

The spouse and I took a roadtrip this week. I love roadtrips. There’s no schedule but your own and there’s wiggle room. 9:15? 9:30? 10 o’clock? It’s all FINE!

The car becomes a mobile home base. You can bring EVERYTHING. I packed light. Except for snacks and my pillow, which may have seemed gratuitous, but were not. What I did not take was my laptop or a book. Possibly a first for any multi-day journey. I wanted to be present.

Oregon was a 3 1/2 hour trek. We talked for a while, then listened to music. He has endless song lists and I don’t like half of his music (maybe more, I mean, I cannot with Elvis or Johnny Cash or sad grunge bands) so finally, we made a song list for me that’s a subset of his library. It’s an excellent list. Shakira, Meghan Trainor, Heart, Pat Benatar, Lady Gaga, Eddie Rabbitt, 38 Special, Calloway, ABBA.

I’m confounded that I know the words to so many songs when I barely remember what I did yesterday. Somehow, the lyrics are etched into me. I sang my heart out, and tried not to worry about the destination.

Hotels are always an unknown. You never know until you get there if it’s going to be decent, despite the reviews.

I found it online. It’s a pet friendly place. Which set off alarms. I love all animals (it’s in my bio!), but I do not want to stay in a room full of pet hair. It’s insidious and I have allergies. Also, gross. Cleanliness is at the top of my list. It’s a weird thing, isn’t it? Hotels? Like, how many strangers have slept there? Flossed their teeth over that sink (or while pacing around the room)? Done god knows what in the bed or bathroom? Shudder.

We arrived, the building set beside a gigantic bridge on the Columbia River. Happily, the room was immaculate. We wiped it down anyway (covid fucked us up), but haphazardly, as an extra precaution, not like we were cleaning an operating theater.

There were crisp white linens (beware of dark bedspreads—they hide stains!) and a window seat with binoculars, with which to view sea lions and passing cargo ships. I didn’t think I cared about watching passing ships, but it is surprisingly fun.

I was deeply pleased.

We went to get lunch in town. Another place we’d found online. Astoria Coffee House. It was eclectic with several vegan choices. (A boon.) Counter service. We sat in a booth in the bar. He chose tempeh tacos, I ordered a tempeh wrap (tempeh is a vegan staple and it’s delicious). The food was fantastic.

There’s a tiny restaurant adjacent to the coffee house that charges whatever you can afford. Which is the very spirit of community. I handed money to the man behind the counter and said, “For whoever needs it.” He put his hands together and bowed, saying, “We appreciate you.” As we walked away, my husband said, “Show off.”

I had plans to meet that afternoon with a friend I hadn’t seen in 2 years. (Hi, Laurie!) He dropped me off at her house, while he went to the beach. We talked for 3 hours. She showed me her quilting lair and garden, and we went for a neighborhood stroll. It was exceedingly lovely.

Hubs picked me up; we returned to the hotel and explored the grounds. There were still a couple hours of daylight remaining. Summer rocks.

I read the hotel literature—amenities, policies, ship logs, maps—propped up against pillows on the bed while he fell asleep.

He was out early the next morning to see low tide, while I slept in. (A king tide…not just low, but exceptionally low, revealing a glistening treasure trove of seastars, anemones, and barnacles.) When he got back to the room (bearing a fruit bowl from the hotel buffet for me), I got dressed and he and I went to another beach. Low tide was over, but it was breathtaking. Chilly, misty. We wandered among monolithic rocks in wonder. The Oregon coast is stunning. Cold, but stunning.

We stopped for pizza, followed by a spontaneous visit to a museum. Flavel House, a 19th century home preserved with period furniture, clothes, appliances, and portraits. It is definitely haunted. Hubs kept telling inappropriate jokes and making me laugh. He started playing with this little toy cup contraption with a ball on a string. I hissed, “You’re not supposed to touch anything!” “This is allowed!” he protested. “There’s a sign that says so!” (If you’re familiar with The Simpsons, you’ve heard the Marge grumble. Yeah. That was me.)

The docent (a man) told him that Mary Boelling married George Flavel when she was only 14. (I have no idea why that factoid was top of mind.) My husband responded, “I know. That’s horrifying.” Hahahaha. (It is, though.) The docent left him alone after that.

Quite nice, even by modern standards. Also haunted.

The next stop was the Maritime Museum, which was closed. Boo. BUT, there were outdoor exhibits, including a lightship (a mobile lighthouse!) and a separate navigational buoy (a floating lighthouse!) which were splendid. I drew them.

Is there anything more symbolic?

Afterwards, we stopped at an indie bookstore, and I bought a copy of Whistler by Ann Patchett. Then back to the hotel, where I sketched the building and the bridge beside it.

The omnipresent bridge. An engineering marvel.

We went back to the room, watched half of a mediocre movie, and fell asleep.

Our typical routine is that he gets up very early (godawful early) and tries to leave quietly so he doesn’t wake me. But I’d slept fitfully and was already awake. I grabbed my phone on the nightstand and texted him, “What are you doing?” I could see the back of his baseball jacket at the door. He poked his head back in the room. I told him I’d go with him to see low tide. (There is generally no chance of an early outing for me. I value sleep more than gold.)

The beach was littered with color and life. I pulled out my sketchbook and pen. A woman asked my husband if we were “doing a study” as I was busily drawing and he was taking photos. He explained that I was an artist and she told him that she needed to see my work. She walked over, leaning on a cane, and said, “I knew it would be great.” I thanked her. Her face was beaming.

What I was drawing when I talked to the sweet lady.

There’s a unique sort of person who appreciates cold beaches. Almost everyone prefers tropical weather and lounging by the ocean drinking Mai Tais. Chilly, wild, windswept places are for hardy souls. There’s a solidarity in that.

We went back to the room and packed. We rolled out of the parking lot just after 10am. About 48 hours from when we’d left home. A whirlwind of adventure and presence.

A reset.

Barnacles, which fascinate me. I drew them, but it’s chaotic, so I’m giving you this photo instead.

One last bonus pic. My husband took this (unbeknownst to me at the time) while I was scribbling the last sketch in this essay—the cute orange sea star and friends.