Discovering the world, one bite at a time!

Homeless People Love Applejuice

The day of the Women’s March, the day I was hoping to get something to eat and fate sucked me onto the wrong train, I was hungry and tired. After not being able to eat at what is considered the 12th best deli here I was feeling slightly drained. Hunger pangs had settled in my gut and the slogans from the march were still ringing near my lobes.

Now I know what I am about to say will make most cringe – but homeless people in Portland are the only downside to a great visit. Before people vent on social media, can the defense state that when the proper denomination of currency is available I support their cause. I will engage and make conversation.

The problem was in a 4 block sojurn I was stopped by 13 people asking for money. With the tipping culture you tend to hold little or no coins so you unless you want to hand over $20, circumstances dictate I have little to donate.

The first person always is at the lights with a “can I ask you…?”.  I had a man who had a suit on saying he had lost all his stuff. Seriously, the plot of “While You Were Sleeping” was more believable. Fast forward to the corner of 7th & Burnside when an African-American man ran across the street.

“Man, have you got any money that I could get some applejuice?”

“No mate, sorry”

Noticing my accent, “You from Australia? Have you heard of Mitch Fanning?”

“The surfer… yes.”

“And Mark Occhilupo? I met him when I was 15.”

Mark and him took different forks in the road some twenty years back. But being a betting man I thought let’s make an unloseable wager and my conscience would be clear as I trudge up the hill, still hungry as shit.

“Listen, I have only $20 note on me, that’s it. But I tell you what, if you cs8n spell his last name I will give you that. Make a mistake and you get nothing. That is the best I can do.”


“O-C-C-H-I-L-U-P-O”, he said confidentially and then just to rub it in, he said his real first name was not Mark, but rather Marco.

I gave him the money and swore out loud all the way home as if I had Tourettes. As fate would have it I saw him again a couple of days later but I wasn’t going to go double or nothing.  Who knows he could probably spell “Philippouiss” or “Trbojevic” and there goes my nest egg?


0 Responses

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Related Blogs

This blog started life as a series of emails with poor quality photography to family and friends whilst overseas to let them know I was still breathing.  It has since grown into it’s own little part of the internet.  A place where I ramble on about my love of travel and food.  Hopefully you find some enjoyment and inspiration out of it for future travel plans.  I have got a buzz from seeing it evolve into this flurry of pixels. 

If you like what you see, subscribe below and updates will be sent straight to your inbox the next time I am travelling and/or eating.  The only spam you may get is of the food variety, but then again I don’t care for that tinned stuff anyway.



Follow my adventures and get the good oil.  Stories straight to your inbox


Updates straight to your inbox
No Spam (unless it's part of the food)