Time to Wander: Not Your Typical AWP Post
by Julia Tagliere
Although wanderlust marked me from an early age, my dreams of being a professional traveler somehow never came to pass. I’m fortunate to be able to travel more now, usually with my family, but it never feels like enough. Traveling solo is an especially rare treat for me, but I did just that recently when I attended the 2019 AWP (Association of Writers & Writing Programs) Conference in Portland, Oregon.
For those unfamiliar with the annual event, I invite you to imagine more than 12,000 writers, teachers, students, editors, and publishers descending on a city for four days of industry and craft panels; a bookfair with more than 700 tables; dozens and dozens of literary readings, signings, and other off-site events; and 24/7 networking. Now I invite you to sit down and rest for a moment, because it can be overwhelming to imagine this event, let alone attend it. It’s intense.
That’s why this time around, I decided to take some veteran AWP-ers’ advice and break away from the conference for a little while each day. I rarely have the chance to wander a new city alone, and I knew how sorely I would need to recharge. So I mined my schedule carefully for opportunities for small escapes, trying to ensure that I got the most out of the conference but also giving my wanderlust a little free reign. It’s my experience that those unplanned excursions are often the richest moments of any trip I take.
I arrived a bit early, so I went to the still-empty Oregon Convention Center, ostensibly to practice navigating the enormous space and to find the “best” bathrooms (many thanks to writer Leslie Pietrzyk, for that and other helpful tips). But in the cavernous, pre-event silence, I encountered the most beautiful artwork, pieces I would have missed had I rushed past them, weaving in and out of the crowd on my way to or from a panel (I am not a model pedestrian).
My eyes drank in the vibrant reds of Ginkoberry Gwa, “a celebration of the tree of life, drawing inspiration from the ginkgo forests of prehistoric Oregon and the Native American mythological Gwakalekala tree” (from the Convention Center’s Public Art Collection Tour Guide).
I stood beneath Principia, the world’s largest Foucault pendulum (in Oregon! who knew?) for nearly ten minutes, mesmerized by its gentle, unceasing motion. Had I been in that space the following day, during what I heard was a very long registration process, I likely wouldn’t have looked up.
On the second floor, Lillian Pitt’s “Voices,” a series of 26 bronze relief plaques, lined the walls. I read, photographed, and touched each one. I thought of my mother, long gone, and her love and reverence for Native American culture. I could almost feel her hand on my shoulder as I lingered before each plaque.
But of course, all those pieces were inside the Convention Center, which meant little wandering was required. For serious wandering, I would need doughnuts. Yes, doughnuts.
I don’t know if it’s just a touristy thing, because this was my first trip to Portland, but apparently donuts are a Very Big Deal there, so naturally I wasn’t about to leave without trying some. After putting out a call for which ones folks considered “the best,” I was told Voodoo Doughnut was a good option. I set off walking to find the hot-pink shop where I’d seen fellow attendees lining up earlier in the week.
The Voodoo Doll Doughnut
On the way, I delighted in a gorgeous mural, “The Keith Vernon Rose 2012,” on the side of the Portland Bottling Company, and I stopped to admire gorgeous, leaded-glass transom windows, clearly original, on private residences. I wandered into an antique shop, Thee Lucky Bastards Antiquities & Desirables, whose open door I couldn’t resist. That unplanned visit entailed another walking tour later that afternoon to find the closest FedEx shop that could ship my unplanned purchase home—
Ahh, home. The sudden, almost unbearably intrusive thought of it, that moment when Dorothy clicks her heels and flies away from the Emerald City. Before I knew it, my time in Portland was over, too, and I was being whisked away: away from the joy of connecting with fellow writers, of being inspired by their fresh perspectives and invigorated by the expertise and encouragement they shared so generously in panels, off-site events, and spirited conversations over delicious meals. The end of that precious face-to-face time saddened me, but I was comforted by the knowledge that modern technology would keep us connected.
Even modern technology has its limitations, however, and I knew that long after I returned home, I would miss the plucky beds of Plants at Work, the rock-climbing, purple blooms encircling the Convention Center, the pink donut shops, and the silvery haze of the mountains that played hide-and-seek with me all week.
Home—the familiar place where my family was having lunch, talking about college admissions and track meets, or walking our dog around the neighborhood; the place I was already, in spite of my wanderlust, beginning to miss, too. Home—the place I knew the alchemy of travel would have changed for me, as it always does.
Safe travels, friends.