I think there are a lot of things that we’re afraid of “looking like”: a creep, a dork, like we’re stuffed into a piece of slightly-too-small clothing, a criminal; I could go on forever. Me? I dread looking like a tourist.

As I sit here in Stumptown downtown, sipping a pint glass of latte and enjoying the noise and bustle around me, I realize how tough it is to be a tourist in Portland. A whole crowd of them just moved through, and I bet they didn’t anticipate how difficult it would be to order coffee here. Sure, the staff at Stumptown is friendly enough, but the establishment itself can be a little overwhelming for the out-of-towner.

First of all, it’s noisy in here. The ceiling is cavernous, the walls made of brick, and the floor concrete. Acoustically, this place is primo for amplifying the thrumming music of the spinning LP, clack-grrrummm-clack-clack-clack of the espresso being dispensed manually from the grinder, and the dozens of voices competing for auditory real estate in conversation. Get past that, and it’s time to figure out what you want to buy to make your Portland experience feel more legit. After all, Portland rhymes with coffee. Yes, it does.

One chalkboard overhead lists almost thirty different kinds of whole beans to purchase, and next to it another chalkboard listing the types of drinks you can have made. There are prices but no sizes, and the boards list no descriptions to help the novice coffee drinker make a decision. If you want to purchase beans to take away as a souvenir, there is a shelving unit full of 12oz bags that are marked with name, type, and origin of bean. Still, no prices. Once a bag is chosen, a price is found on the aforementioned chalkboard. Be careful, the nicaragua las golondrinas is $45 a bag. And that bag looks just like all the others.

And for the Starbucks educated folk who consider themselves true knights of the land of espresso, toss all your expectations out the window. There’s no skinny mint mocha frappuccinos here. No blended drinks at all; just the classics either hot or on ice. Sure, you can get non-fat milk, but it’ll diminish the taste of that latte. If you order a small, you’ll get an 8oz sip. 20oz drinks are for the McCoffee masses.

(note: I have absolutely nothing against Starbucks or those who like its drinks. I’m just saying that getting coffee at Starbucks is a much different experience.)

In a hurry to get out and see more of Portland? They don’t care here. You have arrived for coffee, and they are going to give it to you Stumptown style. The beverage you’re about to consume at Stumptown will be more amazing than anything you’ve had before. But! There’s a catch: You’ve got to wait for it. The lines here are long, and the only thing ready-made is the french pressed coffee loaded into a self-serve decanter on the front counter. From the time you get in line to the time you receive your drink, ten minutes will have easily passed.

So what the hell, right? “Pretentious Portland”, some folks may say. I think those nay-sayers just don’t get the point; just like the Americans who visit Japan and can’t understand why their souvenir purchases are wrapped in so many layers of beautifully folded packaging. In Portland, we take very few things as seriously as we do coffee and beer. Okay maybe politics. But that’s a different post. Anyway, as a city that finds immense pleasure in the pursuit of leisure, we like to take the time to enjoy those things that the rest of the world takes for granted. It’s the details, man. I think it’s tough for an already overwhelmed out-of-towner to slow down enough to see them clearly.

I can understand. I looked like a tourist for the first two years I lived here.

I am reading Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. Yesterday I finished off The Great Gatsby (which I know was on a high school summer reading list, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t give it proper attention, due to the fact that I approached this go-round confusing Daisy with Myrtle in the fate department), and the day before that I gobbled up Agatha Christie’s Appointment with Death like a piece of delicious candy. Back in my teens I considered myself a pretty accomplished reader and writer, but as I go through these fine pieces of literature I’m thinking to myself, “Have I just recently learned how to truly read something?” I remember liking The Great Gatsby because it was full of action and debauchery, but I don’t think I had the faintest idea what its point was. Did I think anything had a point back then? Other than to torture my poor teenage soul, of course…

Back in 2005, while riding the trains in Italy, I re-read 1984, a book I absolutely despised in high school. At age 24 I found that I absolutely loved 1984, though that realization did not tip off the kind of reading frenzy that I’m currently in the midst of right now. What I’m most afraid of is that I’ll run out of titles to investigate. So please, if you have a classic book that you love, share its title! Or, if you have a Shelfari account, friend me. You can do both, too.