For this trip to South Waterfront, I entered via the Portland Streetcar. This is the fourth time that I have been to South Waterfront, and the second time I’ve entered via the Streetcar. The other two times have been on foot. In all trips, the entry under the Marquam Bridge feels like I’m passing through a massive city gate that cuts South Waterfront off from the rest of town. Once I got down there, I gave the O a call, and she told me that everyone was at the main coffee shop. I headed over there, through chilly weather a light drizzle. Nothing had noticably changed, aside from progress on a half-circle shaped building that had added about fifteen stories since the last time I visited. The future park is still a sod field.

The coffee shop is strange, with a fountain, a chandelier, and a grand staircase. Preparations were being made for some sort of holiday party. O offered me half of her sandwich, some combination of turkey, pepper jack cheese and cranberry. It was pretty delicious. Glancing out the window, I noticed that one of the tram cars appeared to be stopped mid-line. O told me that they had noticed that it was stopped on their way in. T pointed out that it was moving, but that it was moving exceedingly slowly. I figure it took at least a half hour for the car to get from one end to another. I suggested that we go interview the people as they got off of the tram and see what it was all about, but we didn’t get around to it.

 We talked about how South Waterfront - and the coffee shop, specifically - felt like a middle place, or a non-place, or an un-place. We talked about that coffee shop could be anywhere in America: Phoenix, Cincinatti, Richmond. The coffee shop reminded T of the waystation in 2001. I’ve never seen 2001 myself, so I couldn’t really relate.

We talked about the entrances to South Waterfront, and how difficult it seemed to get to the area. T drew some nice diagrams that might get posted on this blog. I suggested that he make a map of maps on how to get to South Waterfront. One thing that I noticed, but didn’t express to the group, is how strange I think it is that they appied a strict grid-based system to the neighborhood; it makes the neighborhood only about three blocks wide, and to me, it feels like it barely is enough room to make it a neighborhood. I think that in this observation, I’m influenced by having seen street layouts in very compact European cities. There is a lot of buffer space around South Waterfront, and I am interested specifically in how that buffer space gets incorporated into the area.

South Waterfront sure seems to be carved out of nothing - right as you get past the Ross Island bridge, there it is, gleaming and new right in front of you. The passing under the Ross Island on foot (I’ll post photos later) really seems like a portal, which is why I requested the O, S, and T to walk under it with me. And on the east side there is of course the natural barrier of the river. On the west side, the land abruptly rises to meet - what is that, Macadam? - and certainly stops being part of the neighborhood. There doesn’t seem to be a south “side” per se, it just seems to drift off into a state of not being South Waterfront. In any case, I’ve never been in such an intensely delineated neighborhood in my life. We explored it, as a group, for the second time on Friday night, and to my own pleasant surprise, we found a lot of fun there. We participated in some collective time travel and visited the future park; I accidentally discovered some future barriers that clothes-lined me. We further developed the M.O.S.T. break and re-group. Perhaps one day it will be referred to as the South Waterfront method? Who knows? We found a stoop (stoops are incredibly important to neighborhoods) that was actually out of South Waterfront, but just across the street, and found some good psychic activity there. I located a discarded street sign and re-purposed it in the middle of the future park. Local Access Only.