Variety, “grit,” and Istanbul.

This afternoon, my Friendly Neighborhood Pharmacist figured out I hail from NY.  Excited, he told me that he too grew up in Manhattan, right next to Lincoln Center as it was being built.

“So are you a convert?” I asked.  Had he moved west and never looked back?

“Oh yes,” he told me.  “New York City is so. . . crowded. . . and dirty. . . and loud!”

I kinda like my cities crowded and dirty, I told him.  But the pace and serenity of a town like p.d.x. was the only suitable option for F.N.P., he said.

In that case, I told him, Don’t go to Istanbul.

Istanbul reminded me of all the reasons people like F.N.P. move to Portland — but also of all the reasons Portland can, in my mind, be a bit lacking sometimes.  Some neighborhoods in Istanbul were so crowded that even I — an intrepid New Yorker, a person happy amidst throngs of others! — wasn’t always thrilled.  Friends would get lost amidst all the hubbub and not resurface till twenty minutes later.  Elbows became things not to have, but to wield.  Certain streets felt — dare I say it — hectic.

Crowds in the day.

Crowds in the night.

But then, other streets were still lively without being overwhelming.  They were perhaps not as slow as Portland’s, but they were relatively peaceful.

Of course, there might be no fair way to compare these places.  They are two very different kinds of small round fruits, I know.  But one thing Istanbul boasts that Portland simply cannot is that scrambled feeling — the aforementioned people-thrown-together whir.  You can feel it in Istanbul even when ambling down the quietest of streets — or lounging on cushions and carpets overlooking the Bosphorus.

Carpets by the sea.

And, especially if you dig that feeling, it throws the homogeny of a place like Portland into sharp relief.

Now, my two cents about the overwhelming whiteness of Portland have already been logged; that’s not what I mean here.  It’s just that some cities are, for lack of a better term, action-packed.  There are enough types of people, types of struggles, types of transactions and just types of Things, that watching can be an enthralling, all-consuming practice.  And then there are places like p.d.x.  Don’t get me wrong, I support people-watching everywhere and anywhere! — but there’s just not that buzz in the air.

Still, coming back to Portland in springtime:  definitely not a bad thing.  Everything is budding, blooming, brightening.  But the price I pay for F.N.P.’s clean+quiet city?  An accompanying lack of whir.