U.S. state capitals is something I’ve always claimed to have a fairly good hold on. Back in high school, my half American best friend spent breaks quizzing me on the more obscure ones. At some point in the last 15 years, I must have suffered some sort of amnesia. If someone had asked me what the capital of Oregon was, I’d have said Portland, or at a push, Eugene.
Getting to Salem
My journey to Salem began in Portland, which as we’ve now established, is not the capital of Oregon. What Portland is, is edgy and alternative. Home to the West Coast’s craft beer revolution, plus some pretty impressive historical sites.
I hadn’t really planned to go to Salem. In fact, it was only a week or so before my trip that I glanced at a map and decided to break up my journey south to Eugene. As is so often the case, my last minute itinerary change really paid off.
I booked a seat on the once-a-day Pacific Crest bus from Portland to Salem. The journey took around an hour, and can be booked via the Greyhound and FlixBus apps as well as directly with Pacific Crest.
The bus dropped me off at Salem Amtrak station, a couple of miles from the city centre. Amtrak’s Coast Starlight and Cascades trains call at Salem. Flix also run buses between Salem, Portland and Eugene.
Bombers & Beer
After a quick taxi ride from the station to the Holman Riverfront Park hotel, part of Hilton’s Tapestry Collection and an all round fantastic place to stay, I set out to explore Salem. There was one place which had been at the forefront of my mind since my recent discovery of Salem’s existence: the B-17 Alliance Museum.
I hopped on a city bus out to Salem Airport, a tiny affair which at the time saw a handful of commercial flights operated by Avelo. These have been withdrawn in the last few months and Salem’s scheduled flights have been reduced to freight services to Portland.
The B-17 Alliance museum isn’t your typical museum. Getting in entailed pressing a buzzer on the airport security fence and waiting for someone to come over and escort me in. The museum’s curator duly arrived and led me into the tiny gift shop where he narrated the story of their beautiful plane.
After a short chat, I was handed over to one of the Alliance’s volunteers who would give me a private guided tour of the hangar. To say Bill was passionate would be an understatement. There was nothing about the Lacey Lady that he didn’t know.
He took me through an exhibit on the plane’s history and its rather bizarre retirement atop a gas station before leading me into the hangar where the Lady was being restored. She lay in bits. The task ahead looked almost impossible, but Bill was adamant that by 2035, Lacey Lady would be fit to take to the skies again. Safe to say, the day she does, I’ll be crossing the pond to see it.
The bus back from Salem Airport only runs once an hour, and unfortunately, I’d just missed one. Before requesting a Lyft back to the Holman, I had a quick look to see if there was anywhere to kill the 55 minutes before the next bus. Indeed, there was.
And thus, I found myself in the most unlikely gay bar I’ve ever stumbled upon. Southside Speakeasy occupies a large industrial unit on a business park just south of the airport. It’s reasonably priced, the beer is good, the bartender was friendly, but it had no customers. None whatsoever. When I asked if this was normal, I was told that they were most surprised that anyone had come in.
I’m not entirely sure how a bar with no customers supports itself, but if you ever find yourself on a random industrial estate near Salem Airport, do drop in and give them a surprise.
A Lesson Learnt
My detour to the microbrewery meant I missed the next bus back to Downtown Salem, but I eventually found my way back to the Holman on the last bus of the day. After a quick dinner at the restaurant next door, which I’ll be honest, wasn’t up to much, I was drawn into a nearby bar with a wonderful sign.
The Dehn Bar was a tad busier than Southside Speakeasy and I made many a new friend, one of whom tempted me to join him on a Salem bar crawl. We had a lovely night, until, well until I got a little bit too English.
One of the cultural differences between the U.S. and UK I really struggle with is appropriate topics of conversation. In the U.S., it’s perfectly acceptable to bring up one’s financial situation with a total stranger, whereas to us Brits, this is a very personal topic and completely taboo.
In the UK, we love nothing more than striking up a political debate with a stranger. We need not agree, but we’ll have a great night arguing away, buying each other drinks as we go. This is not the case in the U.S. This, I found out the very hard way at a dive bar in suburban Salem when a middle-aged woman who had been somewhat over friendly until the subject of politics came up. Suffice to say, my negative opinion of the then new president-elect was not welcome. I left pretty quicky when she threatened to summon her husband with a shotgun.
Riverside Tranquillity
With a slightly groggy head, I left the Holman Riverfront Park in search of a restorative breakfast. That I found at Honey & Co on Court Street where my spirits were instantly lifted by a super friendly server and the best hash brown I’ve ever tasted.
Humanity restored, I headed down to Riverfront Park to take in Salem’s true beauty. And that beauty isn’t to be underestimated. The Willamette River flows through the very heart of the city, and the surrounding parkland is the perfect place to spend a leisurely morning.
Soon enough, my cue to leave came. Not in the form of Salem ridding me, just the departure time of the once-daily FlixBus to Eugene. Sad as I was to leave, my night in Eugene would prove not to disappoint.
