Oregon and Washington

There are people, like my mum, who love tumultuous weather; to them it’s all part of Mother Nature’s symphony. The overture often starts as a soft pitter-patter, but develops into something far more raucous once the wind picks up. As a naturally occurring soprano, it’s almost impossible to ignore her piercing whistles, especially when she finds a tunnel of trees to rush through. The only force that can subdue her is thunder, which, when it cracks, will drop the pitch several octaves and demonstrate a little rumbling order. Linguistically, this all sounds rather romantic, albeit a little melancholic, but in reality it’s terrible - especially if your home is ten foot square with metal walls. Your best chance at emotional survival is setting those freedom bands in motion and heading to a city, where entertainment comes in all shapes, colours and properly insulated constructions.

Through a curtain of beaded raindrops, it was hard to distinguish Portland from any other American metropolis, but with a little patience and some evaporation, its personality did begin to blossom.

We started Downtown, where we found all the usual suspects: Starbucks, McDonalds and Subway. After a short stroll we happened upon Voodoo Doughnuts - a national institution with strong ties to the diabetic community. The menu stretches almost as long as the queue and features items such as: ‘Bacon Maple Doughnut Bar’ and the ‘Tex Ass Challenge Doughnut’ which is six times larger than a regular one. (Shockingly, they will refund any customer that can devour this monstrosity it in less than 80 seconds. All I can say is that I hope they have a defibrillator on site, or a disclaimer at the very least.)

Our search for something more salubrious took us out of the city and into the suburbs where we found lots of cute cafe, pretty boutiques and hip bars. Unfortunately the neighbourhoods weren't within walking distance of one another, and so after we had driven to a few, we decided to park up and spend the rest of the day on a picnic blanket at Volunteer Park.

On our second day there, a curious local approached us, eager to see what lay beyond the Delica’s green facade. As ever, Lucan was more than happy to oblige, and even bumped him up to the premium tour package, offering building tips and travel recommendations. Keen to know more, Elliott invited us over for the dinner, spoiling us with a beautifully executed meal inspired by the messiah of good food: Ottolenghi. The feast actually came courtesy of his lovely housemate Jake, to whom we were very grateful. The only thing that surpassed the food was the company, and as promised, if either of you ever make it up to Canada, dinner is on us!

With the impending procurement of my Canadian working holiday, we decided to leave Portland and head for Port Angeles, where we could finally board a ferry back to Canada. Six months in the van had been a world of fun, but our achy limbs and exhausted minds were in desperate need of unfurling. Five days later we arrived, sadly my visa didn’t. And it still hadn’t ten days after that. For six months we had been at the mercy of the Canadian visa department; camping within a 3 mile radius of reliable internet and waking up at 6.30am every morning to ensure that we were online in time. On April 13th, I became one of the lucky 5,000 to secure a place in the quota, cinching it in less than two minutes (which is all it took for the annual allowance to fill). We were hoping that the suspension would end there, but six weeks later, and I’m just one email short of serenity. Fortunately we didn’t have to wait in the States until it came through (as we originally thought) and so we’ve spent the last month at Lucan’s parents house on Vancouver Island.

And so I guess this is the part where I write an epilogue: my final words on 7056 hours of unadulterated fun. Quantifying a trip like ours sounds a little something like this:

• Drove 35,675 kilometres.

• Rationed a single mattress for 294 days.

• Took seventy-four showers, but paid for just five.

• Explored thirty-six American states and four Canadian provinces.

• Visited twenty-eight National Parks.

• Paid three times for parking.

• Didn’t get robbed once - even in Baltimore!

Non of this would have been possible without my beautiful boyfriend, to whom I will be eternally grateful for the memories. We owe serendipity for our first encounter, wanderlust for the roads since taken, and love for the journey that lies ahead. Let’s just hope, cupid is down for the ride.