Portland had tricked us, like so many cities do, giving us sunshine when we arrived (although tinged with grey), adding a touch of drizzle and then by day three throwing a full on downpour our way. Of course we started the day on a sugar high with the obligatory delicious sweet treat, I watched a man encounter a waiting dog on his way out and do a dance with it cavorting in circles, even more enthused than the dog himself. Exploring Eastburn, I browsed vintage shops while Dylan made friends with an Irish barman. One vintage store merrily paired vintage buttons in the shape of sunglasses and old family photos with 10 racks of vintage Playboy, an elderly gentlemen clutching his selected volumes to his chest, a pirates treasure. Then the skies opened and it rained until we were soaked to the bone and it just wouldn’t let up. So we squelched our way and took shelter in an artisan pizza restaurant, not a bad coincidence as we could warm ourselves by the woodfire oven, watch pizza dough fly through the sky and devour nettle pesto pizza.The downpour was now just a drizzle and we wandered towards a bluegrass bar the Irish Bartender had recommended. On the way, feeling a bit overgrown Dylan decided to accept the invitation of the barbershop sign that read “Walk ins only”. He declined the beer he was offered thinking they were asking if he wanted a beard, and being unused to such a proposition from a hairdresser. While he was shorn he other hairdressers moped about the weather and swung in the barber’s chairs, then the dun came out from behind a cloud and everyone perked up. We wandered out into the glowing world, a rainbow in the sky. The bluegrass bar was a dark little pub with a little old lady at the mic with guitar in hand. As Dylan said you felt she lived every word she sang, when she spoke she was a bit of a hoot, with that self-deprecating humour that Australians love. Then we wandered to a bus stop where the bus just refused to come until well passed its due date, tomorrow we’re renting bikes!