A Weekend In Astoria

Like clockwork, when summer rolls around and Los Angeles becomes a sticky mess of tourists and smog, I start yearning for towering trees, sea breezes, and golden twilights that last all night. There’s nowhere quite like Oregon in the summer, when the days are warm and the sun stays high in the sky until 10 p.m. and the stars cut the black like broken glass; when wind rustles through wheat and evergreens and you realize with each inhale just how much more room you need to breathe.

Oregon is familiarity, but this summer I was determined to explore new experiences in my home state. I’d never been to Astoria, a tiny seaside town that straddles the Oregon-Washington border and is best known as the filming location for the ’80s cult-classic The Goonies. These days, it’s matured into an idyllic coastal oasis of cozy coffee shops, craft breweries, and cute shops offering surprisingly sophisticated wares. Thankfully, much of Astoria’s history and traditions have been dutifully preserved during its modern makeover.

For our stay, I knew the minute I saw it on Airbnb that the stained glass-adorned, hilltop Victorian mansion listed on the Astoria’s historic register had to be our home base, and it provided the perfect atmosphere for our time in this little crown jewel of a city. It was reminiscent of the Flavel House, an opulent, 11,000 square-foot mansion built in 1885 that sprawls an entire city block and featured indoor plumbing and hot water at the time of its construction by an Astoria millionaire.

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For an in-depth introduction to the story of Astoria, make your first stop the historic riverfront trolley that runs along the Columbia River. In the summer, you can take the refurbished trolley โ€“ originally built in 1913 โ€“ from one end of town to the other for just $1, with narration provided by the knowledgable trolley conductors.

Astoria is a foodie (and boozy) paradise. We were fortunate enough to arrive on a Sunday just in time for the weekly farmer’s market, which tumbles down 12th Street toward the riverfront from May to October, and hosts food vendors along with booths of jewelry, art, flowers and plants, and more.

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Options for locally-brewed beer abound: Buoy Beer is a bustling restaurant offering interesting brews, fresh seafood, and a stunning waterfront view. Fort George Brewery has a diverse beer list, rooftop seating, and salmon fish and chips to die for. And I particularly enjoyed an afternoon sipping sour beers at Reach Break, an airy, industrial-style brewery flanked by food trucks to pair with your beer flight.

You don’t have to look far in Astoria for charming cafes. Break up your shopping sprees on Main Street by popping into Astoria Coffee House & Bistro for an afternoon coffee and dessert, and start your morning with brunch and killer Stumptown coffee at the impossibly atmospheric Street Fourteen Cafe. Astoria Coffee Co. doubles as aย Goonies gift shop, and Coffee Girl offers strong espresso with the coziest coastal backdrop imaginable. And if you’ve got a sweet tooth, be sure to check out Frite & Scoop for the perfect summer treat.

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For a change of scenery (and perhaps a bit of exercise to burn off all the food and drinks,) head across state lines to view Astoria from the Washington side of the Columbia, where historic churches, Fort Columbia State Park, and pebbly beaches offer a more rugged Northwestern experience.

You can also go a little higher for a different perspective on the area: $5 per car will gain you entrance to the Astoria Column, a dizzying, seemingly-endless spiral staircase that feels most like climbing a lighthouse, and offers a 360-degree view of Astoria and the Columbia completely worth the vertigo.

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In summary, Astoria is a drizzly, cozy, delicious, slightly mysterious coastal escape from reality abundant with history and strong coffee and fresh air โ€“ and I can’t wait to go back.

Nice to Meet You, New York

New York City, and pretty much the entire East Coast, is currently being besieged by a brutal winter storm dubbed a “bomb cyclone,” so I suppose there’s no better time than now to look back on (or look forward to, if you’d prefer,) warmer, happier times: my first-ever trip to NYC during a sublime spring week last May.

Whether I’d like New York โ€” the Emerald City of digital media, a place I’d for years been told I’d inevitably have to try at some point in my life โ€” always seemed like something of a crap shoot. On the one hand, I was enamored by the energy of cities; it’s the reason I’ve found Los Angeles such a hard habit to kick. On the other, even the thought of an East Coast winter sent a shiver down my spine, and the logistics of life in New York City โ€“ unreliable public transportation! A cutthroat competitive atmosphere! Housing so expensive and elusive I’d have to shell out a year’s worth of rent in Los Angeles just to find it!ย โ€“ always seemed daunting to me. Perhaps I wasn’t cut out for New York City. But maybe no one really is, not until they’re actually there. 36423062253_bebb2abd7b_o

There’s something about the nature of this place that seems to hyper-charge your ability to adapt; kickstarts resourcefulness, sharpens survival skills. I was visiting for a week for work, but was mostly solo in my hours off the clock, outside of visits with a couple of close college friends. Almost instantly, from touching down at JFK and being mistaken for a local by my Uber driver to learning to navigate the Subway the next morning, a city that had always seemed so out-of-reach on paper, so foreign in photos and movies, a world belonging to everyone other than myself, became as familiar a place as I’d ever been. The streets became my own daily routes, the parks my hidden spots, cafes my usual haunts. I quickly came to understand that New York is as user-friendly as you make it to be, it is a city that beckons you to experience it, in its entirety.

There is so much of New York that reminds me of Europe, specifically London, a home I’d loved with all my heart. The streets, the parks, the markets, the sidewalk cafes. The hum of daily life. The unspoken assurance that we all, dearly beloved and strangers alike, are gathered here today for the express purpose of living. This is both the end and the beginning, the very center of the universe as we know it.

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Stumbling out from a sterile office into the late-spring twilight of a city I’d known for less than 24 hours, somehow it felt as if my feet knew just where to take me. I forewent the Subway for a brisk walk through the balmy evening, with no particular destination in mind. From Union Square, the city’s pulsing digital publishing heart, south toward Washington Square Park, where people were gathered in couplets and groups to revel in the good luck of such glorious weather.

A golden glow was burnishing the park, crowning rooftops and skylines and seeping through tree branches. So much life, and everyone around me a stranger. But something about it felt so familiar. The college students calling to one another as they trekked from classes at NYU, the couples locked in embraces on sunkissed benches drenched in warmth, the children tottering around as their parents followed. I had been them once, and I would be them again. New York City is hardly shy about its central thesis; that life is a full circle, that everything and everyone is connected somehow.

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While a powder-blue night fell around me, I pushed further south, past my hotel in TriBeCa, all the way down to One World Trade Center. I had seen its spire rising above the city skyline, beckoning me to see this piece of history for myself.

I have no doubt that its reverence is not lost during the daytime, but there was something about seeing the World Trade Center Site illuminated at night that quite literally took my breath away. I was seven years old when 9/11 happened; like many in my generation, it’s the first news event I have any memory of, towers falling on a TV screen, and it quite literally changed the world I grew up in.

What was once Ground Zero is now a sunken pool ringed with golden light, the depths of which seem endless, as if you are standing at the edge of a portal to the very center of the Earth, or perhaps to another world. Maybe Heaven, maybe an alternate version of this life where such tragedies never occur, but certainly an existence that is not this one, a place that is beyond the pain and suffering of here. And yet, for somewhere quite literally built upon sadness and grief, I was not overcome with a sense of despair, the likes of which I’d felt visiting Holocaust museums and war memorials in Europe. Rather, I was enveloped by a calm like I’d never felt, a sense of peace bathed in this blue and gold half-light that fell after the darkest day of so many peoples’ lives, at this shrine to those who were once a part of this resilient city, and would now live on in it forever more.

In a city seeped with such history, both celebratory and sad, one of the newer attractions New York has to offer is the High Line, less than a decade old and completed just a few years ago. It’s a sort of urban boardwalk flanked by greenery and stunning skyline views, and from here, one can see straight down avenues for miles in one direction, and the Statue of Liberty towering out in the harbor in another. Cotton candy sunsets are truly spectacular in New York, and I could hardly drag myself away from the twilight down to the Chelsea Market just below, though it’s really a can’t-miss. There are dozens of food vendors offering up just about every cuisine imaginable, as well as delectable desserts, beer and wine, and shops filled with trendy trinkets and souvenirs. It reminded me again of one of my favorite parts of London โ€” the markets โ€” and offers this communal space through which tourists and locals, friends and strangers alike can call this city their own.

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I found it rather remarkable how, within the span of a week, I’d gone from being ambivalent about New York City to falling head over heels in love, becoming hopelessly entangled in its glimmering, golden embrace. I had these wild thoughts of dropping everything on the West Coast and fulfilling my millennial destiny, doing the damn thing and trying my hand at New York. I saw the entire course of my life shifting, ran through scenarios of just how I might make it work. Was I prepared for a cross-country move, for East Coast winters, for starting all over, again? I fretted and frantically attempted to recharter the rest of my life in a hotel room, until over drinks with a friend, I received just the talking-down I needed to soothe my mind. “New York will always be here,” she assured me.

And now, I know when the time comes that I’ll be ready for it.

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