While living in Los Angeles during the '90s, my family and I would flee to Portland every November. We referred to it as our annual urban getaway. Each day would begin with breakfast at the Mallory, then we'd stroll over to Powell's Books, the Park Blocks, the waterfront, the rose gardens, Old Town, Ladd's Addition, Irvington. We never rented a car -- we never needed to.

But now that I've made Oregon home, there is something I miss about that wasteland of suburban sprawl. Scattered among L.A.'s mind-numbing miles are mind-blowing works of architecture. Museums that are worth the price of valet parking just to see from the outside; Craftsman homes that gave the style its name; a stunning new performing arts center by Frank Gehry.

By contrast, Portland has several nice museums and performance venues; a host of glass-and-steel towers; and a plethora of brick and cast-iron historic buildings, all faithfully preserved. "You can pick elements of many buildings and taken together they're pretty good," says Ethan Seltzer, head of Portland State University's School of Urban Studies. "But there isn't one building that'll knock your socks off."

Portland may never shine in the world's architectural firmament. Where we do maintain world-class status is in the gray area where architecture and human beings intermingle. As Oregonian architecture critic Randy Gragg puts it: "Portland's not about architecture. It's about the space between the buildings: urban design." It's about structures and streetscapes that

people actually want to work in, shop at, picnic next to, walk past. It's about architecture that helps the human condition -- buildings that recycle old timber, generate their own electricity, filter their own stormwater, heat and cool naturally.

And it's not just a Portland phenomenon. Just look at Bend and its eclectic downtown shops and lovingly landscaped riverfront park; Baker City, with its historic hotel and classic Western main street; Astoria, just named a distinctive destination by the National Trust for Historic Preservation. All of these places work because, with forethought and perseverance and strict land-use laws, we've planned our spaces for maximum user-friendliness. Not everyone likes to be told where to build a house or where farms and timberland will stay. But it's hard to argue with the result -- walkable cities with vibrant downtowns and green spaces giving way to densely populated suburbs and bustling town centers giving way to well-tended farms and fields.

In this issue, Building Portland explores how we can stay on the green cutting edge, and Neil Goldschmidt talks about

the urban legacy he wants to leave -- a Ramblas-like string of Park Blocks in downtown Portland that would turn architectural heads worldwide. There are other challenges on the horizon: planning a new city in Damascus, building the urban tram on Portland's South Waterfront, managing meteoric growth in Bend, Ashland and elsewhere.

As soon as the weather gets really hot, my 7-year-old son and I will put on bathing suits and head to Keller Fountain in downtown Portland to splash around in cascading waterfalls under the shade of soaring office towers. Architecture critic Ada Louise Huxtable called this place "one of the most important urban spaces since the Renaissance." It makes me think that Oregon's city-builders have what it takes to face the challenges to come.

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Copyright 2004 Oregon Business magazine