Dispatch: Portland: City by The Sea

Portland, Maine is like a roommate I had in college.  When I was in college, we were both unsophisticated, dirty, sometimes scary people.  But we've both grown a little in the last few years and became more worldly, more open to ideas, more accepting of individuals.

I'm really glad to see Portland's grown up.

Or maybe it's just me?  Maybe Portland's always been this Mecca of Style in the Northeast; a not-so-well-kept secret just north of Boston, with a fantastic culinary community, culture and people.  Portland is all of the good things of Boston, with little of the bad.  Sure, there's crime, but there's crime everywhere.  What you won't see, at least in the places the tourists go, is dirt, grime and bad times.

In typical fashion, I was only going to be in Maine for roughly 24 hours.  Just enough time to get some work done, maybe see a friend or two, and be gone again like vapor.  Since I had just seen my mom on the Cape for Mother's Day, I figured she'd be cool with me going out on the one night I'd have in Portland.  I made some phone calls and set something up.

At 6:30, I was on the Northwest corner of Congress and Free streets, by the restaurant Nosh.  Earlier, my childhood friend Mandy had suggested the place for dinner.

"They serve like, really good burgers and .... like, tempura-fried bacon... are you into that stuff?  I know you've gone all health nut on us in the last few years..."  I explain to her that I may run marathons and triathlons, but I'm not dead.  A fried pork belly sandwich and bacon-dusted fries with a Guinness sounded like just the medicine I needed.

Mandy arrives shortly after I do, as I'm playing with my phone on the corner.  She's with her husband David, a guy about my height, glasses, easy smile.  They're newlyweds, coming up on their first year anniversary, and I'm happy to see they're still in that place where they're still ironing out the wrinkles.

A little passive-aggressive back and forth between the two would be the battle rhythm for the evening.

Nosh is a gastro-pub like any other I've been too.  There's nothing here that sets it apart other than the Ms. Pac-Man game at the front door.  The place is also crowded and it's a "seat yourself" sort of deal.  We wait by the door, waiting for a table to clear.  The place is a hipster joint; skinny jeans and cardigans are the uniform of the day.  A tall, lanky kid who looks like he just wrapped a photo shoot for American Apparel walks by us.

Luckily Mandy and David are the types who have connections in the restaurant biz here in Portland.  David makes eye-contact with a server who he works part-time with at the Armory Lounge and soon we're seated.

The menu is glorified pub fare, with strange Asian twists and turns.  David goes with the Falafal, Mandy with the Tuna Tartar and I get the pork belly sandwich.  We each decide to split an order of the bacon-dusted fries, and tempura-fried bacon with Nutella drizzled all over the top.

The conversation inevitably turns towards marriage.  I ask how they're doing in their first year and I'm greeted by a wall of unified bliss.

"It's great!" Mandy says.

"Never been better," David says.

"We hardly ever fight, it's awesome!"

But being that only a few short years ago, I was in there shoes, I can readily see thru this lie.  There's an unspoken tension between the two that's written all over their body language.  I deduce that David doesn't want to be here, as he's too quick to engage in conversation, and even quicker to disengage and stare elsewhere around the restaurant.  Our food is brought out and he nearly pounds half of his vodka and water.

After dinner and many pleasantries, I head home for the night.  I have an early day the next morning and I have to be up at 4 am for some goddamn reason.  We all hug and shake hands and the look of relief on everyone's face is hard to miss.

But Portland has another side to it, that's vastly different from the posh gastro pubs and sushi bars that make up the water front and East End.

But that's always been the case with Portland; it's a city with competing personalities, a literal economic strata to almost an extreme.  While Portland is a city comprised of young up and comers, there's also it's fair share of thugs, homeless, junkies, and burnouts.  Driving home, I watch as two men walk with a menacing purpose down Commercial St from one bar to another. 

Take a wrong turn on the outer fringes of Portland and you could very well end up in the news.  Out of the popular television show "The Wire" street gangs flourish in tenement housing projects.  Routinely, you hear of police-involved shootings with quasi-legal residences. 

It's roughly 5 am and I'm traveling in-bound off the 295 up Congress St again, but the Portland from the night before is still asleep.  Instead, like out of a bad B-Zombie-Film, homeless men shuffle down from the hill towards the Greyhound Bus Station, half out of their minds.  As I'm the only traffic on the roads at this hour, they each stop in their tracks and slowly turn towards the sound of my car.

I drive a while longer and pull off on the side of the street and wait til my appointment at 6 am.  The sun is starting to come up and there's a grayness about everything.  Off in the distance, I see this lurching, painful-looking figure running towards me.  As I finger my locks, what comes to pass is a middle-aged woman out for a morning run.

Her gait is a cross between a seizure and someone trying to fight off invisible bats.  Her elbows careen wildly from her sides, she's bent over at the waist, towards her right as if she's being kicked, her left knee fires off to the left every third footfall. 

But it looks like she's keeping a 7:30 pace, so ... good for her?

I'm parked at a parking meter, one of the many in downtown Portland, but I don't have any change to feed it, and no store is yet open.  My appointment is about to get underway, so I just leave the car, locked, hoping that Portland still has that fabled "get one free" parking ticket policy.

I'm in meetings with various people for a few hours, and by 1030, I'm walking back out to where I parked, fully expecting a sliver of paper to be waving at me in the breeze from the windshield wiper. 

But nothing, no paper, no fine, no reproachful looks from the onlookers now filling the sidewalks. 

I gotta say, I love this city.