I spent six days recently in Portland and Seattle. These are cities I’m very fond of. Apparently, though, my choice of destinations was controversial.
The president’s eldest son gave an interview to Newsmax on Aug. 21. He offered ideas for his father’s next use of military troops on American soil, following L.A. and D.C.
He said: “Maybe we should roll out the tour to Portland, Seattle, the other craphole cities of the country.”
Portland? Seattle? It’s like he saw my itinerary!
And I have to say, it was a little worrisome that Aug. 21 happened to be the day I landed in Portland. Coincidence? You tell me.
The airport’s new terminal is really something, by the way. It has 49 skylights, more than 70 trees in planters, more than 5,000 shrubs and a latticed ceiling high overhead made from Douglas fir. It’s the most beautiful airport terminal I’ve ever seen.
I stood there gaping, a dumb grin on my face. The terminal feels kind of like a forest, albeit one you can roll luggage through.
It didn’t hurt the experience that for the relaxation of travelers, the terminal has two stadium-seating areas — each with a flight of stairs. I responded as regular readers would expect: by climbing them.
From the airport, light rail took me near my hotel in the city’s Pearl District. Over the next few days, light rail, streetcars, buses and plain old walking got me where I needed to go.
Largely where I needed to go was to bookstores, record stores, coffee shops and restaurants. As a repeat visitor to Portland — this was my seventh time there — most of the sights have been seen. I just concentrated on what I like.
That includes Powell’s, the four-level, square-block bookstore that calls itself “The City of Books.” Any bibliophile would find Powell’s a worthwhile destination in itself, with the rest of Portland a bonus.
Right across the street from Powell’s is something new since my last visit: a Shake Shack. You may recall that Shake Shack is my favorite restaurant chain. And now it’s also across from my favorite bookstore? Somebody pinch me.
(Ouch! Come on, it’s just an expression!)
I wasn’t going to give up a meal to eat a burger there, but one evening I got a Shake Shack frozen custard. I ate it outdoors at one of the picnic tables, directly facing Powell’s, as if I were contemplating the glories of Byzantium.
Now, about Portland’s reputation. It’s hard to consider any place with a 21st century transit network, a state university, wine bars, coffee shops, a river, an outdoor ethos and arguably the nation’s best bookstore as a craphole.
To be fair, Portland took a reputational hit from protests in 2020, just as L.A. did in 2025. And in the work-from-home era, downtown has less foot traffic, a couple of locals told me.
(Photo by David Allen, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin/SCNG)
Yet Portland seemed much as it had on previous visits, full of life, positive energy and fun spots to hang out.
It’s true, of course, that Portland’s public spaces include people you avert your gaze from in embarrassment. They are agitated and disturbed. They express disjointed thoughts. They shout incoherently about phantoms that exist only in their minds.
Basically, it’s like a Redlands or Riverside school board meeting. And hey, normal people go to those!
Weather-wise, my visit was poorly timed. The high temperature my second day was 102, a record for that date. The next day hit 100. That frozen custard was welcome.
The temps in Seattle, the mid-80s, were more reasonable. Continuing my solo tour of West Coast crapholes, I traveled there next from Portland’s Union Station via Amtrak. It’s a 3 1/2-hour ride, and recommended.
An Amtrak employee checked tickets before boarding. Because I would be meeting a friend who grew up in Pomona, I was wearing a Pomona T-shirt.
“Pomona, eh?” the Amtrak guy said. “That’s where I’m from. Well, San Bernardino.”
Amazed, I continued on toward the train, once again musing that the Inland Empire is everywhere.
Seattle is another repeat destination for me. I was there two days this time, with no particular aim in mind. Had dinner with my friend, went to a couple of bookstores, ate some good meals, relaxed at coffee shops.
I got around by bus and light rail and on foot. It’s a hilly city, with many steep streets. My last day, my fitness tracker showed I’d climbed the equivalent of 37 flights of stairs, only about half of which were actual stairs. The rest came from walking uphill.
Because I’d seen the Seattle Mariners twice before, that ballpark was checked off my list already. Still, the team was playing both days of my visit, hosting the San Diego Padres.
The first game started an hour after I’d checked into my hotel. I didn’t feel ready. This meant I missed Cal Raleigh hitting home runs 48 and 49. I considered going to the next day’s night game, but I wasn’t motivated. The Big Dumper, who was, hit No. 50.
One reason for my lack of motivation was that I’d blown some money that afternoon. That was from visiting the Museum of Pop Culture without researching it first to see what I was letting myself in for.
It proved to be both the most expensive museum I’ve ever visited, at $36.50, and also the worst value, because I left after 30 minutes, shaking my head.
On the bright side, to get to the Museum of Pop Culture, which is next to the Space Needle, I rode the Monorail. It was built for the 1962 World’s Fair, two years before my birth.
“Not old,” a message over the entry portal says. “Classic.”
I endorse this message.
Checking out of my hotel the next morning, I walked two blocks to board a light rail train, which whisked me to the airport for my flight home. Thus ended another excellent vacation.
For selfish reasons, I hope the president’s son discloses the names of “the other craphole cities of the country.” If they’re anything like Portland or Seattle, I definitely want to visit.
David Allen, your favorite columnist, writes Friday, Sunday and Wednesday. Email dallen@scng.com, phone 909-483-9339, and follow davidallencolumnist on Facebook or Instagram, @davidallen909 on X or @davidallen909.bsky.social on Bluesky.