Portland Hospitality; or, Big City Love

I am in Portland, Ore., this week to cover the first round of the NCAA tournament, and this fine city reinforces what I've learned about big cities: They're not all bad.

I was, quite frankly, stunned by the friendliness of Chicagoans when my family visited the Windy City in 2006. Nary a grumble was heard when I loaded our huge four-wheel drive baby stroller on the bus. In fact, our kids received smiles and Rachel and I received help in finding places. After we watched the Cubs beat the Cardinals at Wrigley Field, a Cubs fan told me, "Good luck in the playoffs." (A prophet, that man.) It's a cold place, Chicago, but it has not frozen the residents' hearts. My sister-in-law, who lives there, can verify this.

I went to New York over the summer, and it lived down to expectations. And I've figured it out: New York has spoiled it for all the other big cities. I couldn't walk five feet without hearing someone cursing – it's just a part of the casual lexicon up there – and most everyone walked around with ears plugged and eyes looking straight ahead. Being an expert on the finer points of Southern hospitality, I was greatly offended many times over. And NYC casts such a long shadow over our culture, its characteristics become assigned, in the mind of Southerners anyway, to all metropolitan areas.

So even though I'd heard how nice and friendly a city it was, I still wasn't sure what to expect of Portland. I hadn't even left the airport last night before a casually dressed Arab fellow helped me figure out how to buy a ticket for the Light Rail. As I type this, I haven't even been here 24 hours, but I've already met a couple of nice shuttle bus drivers and have had no reason not to tip generously.

Portland is indeed a beautiful city. Not that I'd want to live here, mind you. Much as I like nice people, the drawback of a big city is this: There's too many of them.