Portland- Day 2

All along the highway were beautiful white flowers and low lying ferns.  Behind, we could see wide swathes of deforested land.  While neither of us are exactly environmental activists, the scene was sobering and we decide that we need a smoke break to cheer us up.  


We cruise into Seaside and the temperature has dropped a cool 30 degrees.  The sun is no where to be seen and its drizzling gently.  The town itself is full of kitschy shops and most importantly 23 candy stores.  Yessssssss....


The beach is gorgeous and the sand is soft and grey.  M was smart and left her regular shoes in the car.  I promptly plop my sock encased foot in the sand.  No worries.  They're minisocks.  

Midway between the boardwalk and the shoreline, some hobogangsters sitting on a cardboard slab.  They are clad in south of the border ponchos and several of them have goatbeards.  Bongo drums beat and an acoustic guitar is being strummed lazily.  Paper bags and makeshift bongs litter their platform.  M insisted that we keep a 400 foot distance for fear that they may recruit us into their sing-a-long/drive by shooting.

Walked to the water's edge- it was overcast and at the horizon, the water was undiscernible from the grey washed expanse of sky.  M is clearly distressed by the green-yellow scum substance that is washing up on the beach.  (We later discover that they are called diatomes, an algae like plant.)  It is harmless but M still makes a flying, awkward leap to the clear the scum only to land gracefully in the water and exclaim, "Sonofabitch!!  Cold!"  I inform her that you can suffer from hypothermia after 30 minutes in this water and determine that we should stay in for 27 minutes.  We actually make it to 3.  (There are some bikini-clad teenagers who are actually body surfing in this frigid water.  Ridiculous.)  The water is clear and swirling.  I had forgotten that ocean water isn't like lakes.  Its cold and clean and very likely to drag you out to sea and murder you if you aren't careful.  In this moment, I am ready to leave home and live this close to something that could surprise me and sweep me away.

This moment passes only after nearly stepping on a beached jellyfish.  It looks like a combination of gummy candy and congealed gravy.  We poke at it with my shoe and are simultaneously disgusted.  I recall reading in National Geographic that a jellyfish can still inflict painful stings if its dead.  Note to self: Watch where you walk.

We amble back to the boardwalk and rinse our feet at a washing station with water that could strip the skin off our feet.  We turn and share a homantic moment staring at the water.  We agree that we could easily spend hours upon days at the water and never get tired of the rushing and lulling sound of the ocean.  But, for clarification, M could not live in one of the houses on the outcroppings over the water.  Apparently, there is the very real possibility that she could slide off the rocks and plunge into the cold depths of the sea.