I think one of the reasons I love London is that it reminds me of Portland, Oregon. With bridges crossing the wide and placid Willamette River, Portland is separated in to Eastside and Westside. Just like London. Except that the Thames winds and bends its way through London and the Willamette cuts a mostly straight line through Portland.
Historically, Portland grew up as the End of the Oregon Trail where Eighteen-Forties pioneers bound for Oregon Territory finished their arduous overland journey with an exciting and often treacherous raft ride down the Columbia River, then a left turn at the relatively calm intersection of the Willamette and Columbia Rivers. Portland was also a shipping destination because the Willamette River is navigable from the Pacific Ocean until nearby Oregon City where Willamette Falls comes tumbling down, bringing water from the south to the north from various smaller creeks and rivers in the Willamette River Valley.
I grew up here, crossing these bridges, watching the river, enjoying its changing moods and water levels. My father crossed the river daily on his commute to and from work.
One day, The Professor and I walked along the banks of the river, remarking that it reminded us of our visits to London and our strolls along the Thames, passing the bridges, watching traffic stop when the bridges were raised for tall masted ships.
Ross Island Bridge, Marquam Bridge, Broadway, Steel, Burnside, Hawthorn, and Morrison Bridge.
An afternoon stroll along the River Walk is a stroll down My Memory Lane.