Still just a tourist

When I first arrived in Portland, I thought I would be able to blend in fairly seamlessly. I didn't have a crazy southern accent or sound like I was from the Bronx. Even though B says I talk like I lived in Minnesota for five months (which I did), I thought that I looked like the locals so no one would really know that I just moved here. And that theory worked, for awhile.

"Yeah, we were down by the Willamette river," I would say. (Willamette pronounced wil-la-met-tee.) Or, "just take Couch street." (Couch pronounced like couch.)

Then I realized that everyone I talked to started saying things like, "where are you from?" or "did you just move here?" I couldn't figure out what was giving me away. Finally, I was clued in.

The Willamette river? It's the wil-lam-et river, like "the Willamette, damnit."
Couch street? It's coo-ch street. That one I'll never figure out.

But the hardest one yet has been Champoeg. Cham-poo-eg? Chaum-pey?
Nope. Sham-poo-ee. Maybe it's French or something.

Anyway, you don't have to pronounce it right to enjoy it, so B and I spent a gorgeous fall Sunday afternoon biking to Champoeg State Park south of Portland last weekend.