PUKING IN PORTLAND

So we drive for 10 hours, see a bit more snow, eat bad Mexican food, and finally arrive in Portland, which is in a mad dash with Williamsburg, NYC to be the hippest place on the continent. Gville tries desperately—and fails miserably—to compare to this mecca of unwashed scenesters. Our kind of place.

We stayed at the Jupiter Hotel, which was a “rock n’ roll hotel” (what?) with a restaurant/venue attached to it, where—yeah, you guessed it—the Electric Six were playing. Juli was scared to take pics inside of the Doug Fir Lounge because she is a coward (and I’m not taking pictures because then she’d never learn, you know?), but if you use your imagination, you can see how cool this place is.



Here’s our great room, where we planned on spending a few hours to sleep and recharge before hitting the city.



Here’s our great room, where we ended up spending 24 hours straight while Juli puked her soul into the toilet.


Seriously, the sounds she made were inhuman, so neither of us got any sleep. I ventured out to find ginger ale and Saltines, but other than that, we hung out here.

So that was Portland! Hip, overcast, and nauseous. It did have a great coffee shop, though, w/ the best coffee of the trip, French Press style. It should be obvious from the picture that I have not partaken of said French Press excrement yet.