The photos on the listing were an easy sell: the artfully-placed cowhide rug, cane kitchen furniture, and hefty record collection all stoked our notions of what Portland living could be. There are also smaller details that you only really start to notice a day or two in, like a little golden armadillo figurine atop the fireplace or a box of '80s music trivia cards sat on a bookshelf in the back bedroom, that make it feel like more of a home and less of a rental.
The first-floor bedrooms, a small back corner and a larger front room, were as pictured with deep teal walls, plush white bedding, and tons of light.
Over our two-night stay, the living room became the place we unwound in between excursions and events; we flopped onto the cream couches and sneak in a little down-time, as an Emmylou Harris record spun lazily in the background. Meredith and Lale prepared for their live podcast recording at the kitchen table, draped in a floral tablecloth and bathed in soft light throughout the day, in a quiet no hotel lobby ever afforded us. While the house’s location near Mount Tabor meant that we were a cheap Lyft drive from Portland’s most-buzzed about restaurants and shops, the quiet corner home was salve to us New Yorkers.