Seaside

After spending lots of time in the cities, I decided it was time for another slightly more remote spot to visit. On the recommendation of a traveller in Seattle, I made my way from Portland to the Oregon coast, ending up in the aptly-named town of Seaside. Definitely a perfect case of "does exactly what it says on the tin".

I arrived in the dark, unpacked my bags in the HI Hostel there, and spent what little was left of my evening sitting around a pleasant campfire with some cyclists from Chicago who were making their way down the coast. It was a pretty good start to my stay, so I went to bed hoping for more of the same over the next couple of days.

When I woke up the next morning, I realised I'd definitely got the wrong impression. Everything seemed to turn to that soul-sucking grey colour that I thought I'd left behind when I left Glasgow, and the rain meant that my North Face waterproof jacket had to be brought out in anger for the very first time. After taking a brief wander around the town, I decided that Breakfast/Lunch was in order and I dived into a nice wee cafe, for shelter as much as anything else. It was if some guy upstairs was trying to say that life becomes instantly better after a good meal, because after yet another helping involving melted cheese, I emerged from the cafe into glorious sunshine.

Despite the fact that glorious sunshine makes everything just look a lot more appealing, the one thought that kept running through my head was how much Seaside was basically an American version of Largs. Tacky tourist shops and hamburger joints were in plentiful abundance as I walked down the main drag, but nothing could've possibly prepared me for what I saw as I reached the beach.

A Dog Long Jump competition. Yes - you did read that correctly. Much like that spotted in the olympic games, only with dogs instead of humans and a big swimming pool instead of a sand pit. The owners would throw a toy, the dogs would run along the runway, leap, and splash into the water, aiming to cover as long a distance as possible. I'm not entirely sure if the dogs were aware of this objective, but they certainly enjoyed chasing the toys and splashing around.

Unfortunately however, my experiences in Seaside seemed like a giant anti-climax after this event. My days were mostly spent sitting around on the beach getting pretty bored, and my evenings were spent either hanging out in the uber-white-trash bars in the town or trying my best to avoid some of the old weirdoes in the hostel.

The hostel was pretty rubbish. The rooms were tiny for the number of people they tried to cram in, the staff were either annoyingly pushy or just plain village-idiot-stupid. I got especially tired of the one staff member whose sole experience of Scottish culture was the fact that Braveheart was his favourite movie of all time, and he proceeded to ask me all kinds of questions about whether we still have clans and live in little shanty villages and like killing English people. I mean, come on, Braveheart!?!

So aye, to sum up, don't bother with Seaside. Just go to Largs instead - the ice cream's better and most people realise how stupid Mel Gibson's accent really was.