I like traveling. I like being in new places. If it weren’t so hard for me to approach people I would probably like it a lot more. So when I started getting tattooed while traveling, I found a portal to a wealth of information. Here was a captive audience who absolutely knew where to get the best sandwiches in the city, or how to find happy hour fish tacos.
Seattle
In Seattle it was Liberty Tattoo. Most shops have a walk-in time set aside. Bigger shops are often open late. It’s always intimidating at first. The very nature of the act is intimate: a new space, a new city, and a new person that you’re asking to permanently alter some form of your appearance. I picked Emily Nelson. Friendly, with a good portfolio and a wicked smile, she made me comfortable and made me laugh. She was gracious with my requests and we ended up doing a piece of butterfly flash off the wall as well, for fun. Within 20 minutes she had drawn up what I wanted and we were sitting down to get started. Nervously I enquired about a good place to eat after and suddenly the dialogue was open. This is what I love about tattoo tourism. I walked in unsure, and now I know that the best barbeque is The BBQ Pit and if you really want good coffee, Victorola will help you out.
I also know that the local artist crowd is struggling with recent gentrification of the city. That the bank down the street used to be an incredible record shop and that the cost of living and traveling to work is becoming more than what the locals can handle. That they want a garden and to raise chickens but there’s no space left to grow. I feel for them. There’s a connection now to a place that I’ve never been, to a person. I was a stranger in a strange place, and an hour later I left with a piece of the city on my skin and BBQ on my brain.
Portland
If ever there was a place to get tattooed on a whim, Portland would be it. Artistry is ingrained here. There in October, I was remarkably surprised by the warmth. It was humid and heady, and I loved every second of my first visit. Walking through the streets to Scapegoat tattoo, I was struck by how old the area seemed. Heavy tree branches hanging low over tall brick houses and small streets, the wind whipping up leaves that seemed prematurely fallen. When asked about things to see, Aron Dubois looked up from the tattoo he was carefully lining in and smiled brightly. He told me about Lone Fir Cemetery. The oldest cemetery in Portland, it housed over a hundred years of history. Carved stone faces look out ominously, and walking through it later, I felt what he was saying. That this city seems older than it is. It felt ancient but welcoming. Here was a place I could be alone, here was a place I could be with people.
From there, I checked off every name on his list. Breakfast one day at Roost, the next at Broder. If you’ve never been, Broder makes the best Scandinavian pancakes I’ve ever had. Dinner at Pok Pok (I highly recommend the chicken wings) and drinks at The Ace, just for the experience. I left Portland on the train, full and feeling thankful.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
