May 3, 2004

As much as I love unplanned travel, I knew before starting this trip that I was heading for Montana.

My intention was to head straight east after sending Dad off from Portland, to wander back along the Columbia River Gorge and continue on into Idaho, following the Oregon/Washington state border along the way. Even after I left the Portland airport, that still was my intention.

However, I’m very unpredictable when I travel. And so, completely unexpectedly, I pulled over to the side of the road, outside the airport, and thought for a few minutes. (This is when I usually jump out of the car, rummage through the trunk, pull out books and maps, run back and forth opening and closing car doors, and generally make a spectacle out of myself .)

I knew there was somewhere I’d always wanted to go in Portland, something I had missed on my quick I-5 drive-bys over the years. I turned the car around and headed back into the downtown area. It was a good thing I had lightened my car’s load by sending Dad and two suitcases off to California. My trunk was about to take on some extra weight.

I’d heard about Powell’s City of Books for a long time, from many different people. I had to see it for myself to believe it. A city block full of books? It sounded too good to be true.

Now let me tell you that I can drive most anywhere in the country, racking up thousands of miles, taking roads I’ve never even heard of, and never get lost. But find my way through this multi-level booklovers’ paradise? Not a chance. It helped when I realized they had a printed map of all three floors, color-coded by section and efficiently organized by subject matter. But I still wandered around like a lost child. A child in a candy store, that is.

I went straight to fiction, fueled by my obsession for paperbacks. Danger signals began to flash in my financial subconscious. They had everything: every author, every title, enough tempting choices to whittle my savings and travel budget down to nothing.

I didn’t go that far, obviously. But I wasn’t about to walk out of there empty-handed, either. I figured I owed it to this independent bookstore, successful right along with the big corporate guys, to be supportive. You know what I mean, I did it for them.

First I stood in awe of the majesty of it all. Shelf after shelf, row after row, room after room. Powell’s primo policy of grouping all books together, new and used, made it easy to find whatever I wanted. Even within the used selections, there were varied prices, depending on (as I gathered by observing) the particular printing of the volumes and (perhaps) the condition of the books.

I grabbed a copy of Blue Diary, by Alice Hoffman and a copy of Sister Noon by Karen Joy Fowler. I recently enjoyed A Map of the World, by Jane Hamilton, so when I saw The Book of Ruth, I had to add that, as well. I grabbed Willa Cather’s A Lost Lady, having fallen for her exquisite prose last year.

And then I saw others that looked intriguing, especially at used-book-discount prices. After all, how could I pass up such good deals? At this point a wise salesperson had pointed out the baskets provided for customers, so I adopted one and added City of Light, by Lauren Belfer and Cowboy, by Sara Davidson. After all, I was Montana bound.

But… what about those books I’d read but never owned? My handy Powell’s map could lead me to other sections of the store. What about Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones? Or Bill Bryson’s The Lost Continent? Or William Least Heat-Moon’s Blue Highways? Surely it was time I had my own copies of these classics. Into the basket they went.

I left Powell’s City of Books with slightly lighter shelves and gave the trunk of my car a little more weight for windy days on the highway. Surely I’ll find a way to read these all on my trip, don’t you think? And write, and edit pictures, and drive.

One thing is for sure. I’m glad I made the trip back into Portland and got to finally see this store. I didn’t mind dropping a few dollars (and then a few more, and yet a few more) at an independent bookstore that is involved with community awareness, free speech issues, literacy programs, and generous donations to libraries and schools.

I’ll probably be doing some online ordering too, as the store has a hugely successful Internet business. Powell’s certainly lived up to its reputation. This was an afternoon well spent.

And I believe “spent” pretty much sums it up.