Salem, Oregon: The Capital City That Gets Mistaken for a Witch Trial

Let's clear something up before you book that road trip: no, this is not the Salem with the witches. This is Salem, Oregon, a place that has spent decades politely correcting people at parties. It is the state capital, the seat of Marion County, and home to roughly 180,000 people as of a 2024 estimate. That makes it Oregon's second-largest city, which is the civic equivalent of being the middle child who gets a participation trophy for "Most Reliable Parking Lot."

Is Salem, Oregon Really the Jan Brady of the Willamette Valley?

Portland gets the weird. Eugene gets the hippies. Salem gets a lecture about 1693 from a stranger who has never been west of Ohio.

The city sits in the center of the Willamette Valley alongside the Willamette River, which is a gorgeous location and also a strong hint that nobody was in a hurry. The name itself is lovely: in 1846, William Willson renamed the settlement Salem, a name tied to the word for peace. Peace! Not persecution. Not broomsticks. Just peace, and a decent chance of rain.

The town's origin story is also more Methodist than Massachusetts. It sits on the site of one of the earliest American settlements in the Oregon Country, a Methodist mission established by Jason Lee in 1841. The place was first called Chemeketa, which honestly has more swagger than Salem. After a rebrand, Salem was incorporated in 1857 and became the state capital, with its permanent status confirmed by popular vote in 1864. Someone voted for this. On purpose.

Fun detail for the history nerds: a large share of the population left in the late 1840s to prospect for gold in California. Even Salem's early residents looked around and said, "I'm going to go be somewhere else."

The Golden Pioneer and the Art Deco Bank That Became Government

Downtown Salem is anchored by the Oregon State Capitol, a building that looks like a 1930s bank that got elected to something. It's topped by a gilded pioneer with an axe, whom locals treat like a patron saint of flannel and manifest destiny. He's roughly 23 feet of gold-leafed frontier optimism, and he's been judging your parallel parking since the Depression.

Around him swirls the entire ecosystem of state government: lawyers, lobbyists, and staffers in lanyards. Salem's nightlife consists largely of watching a legislator order a second Pinot and pretending not to eavesdrop on the budget.

The capital is not without its charms, though. In spring, cherry blossoms show off their full glory around the Oregon State Capitol, which, fine, explains the "Cherry City" nickname. It sounds like a discount lip balm, but it photographs beautifully.

Recent local news proves Salem has big-city problems with small-city energy. This year, incumbent mayor Julie Hoy ran for re-election but was defeated by city councilor Vanessa Nordyke in the primary. The job, by the way, is a two-year term with a small stipend. Salem politics: all the drama, almost none of the salary. Meanwhile, drivers have been adjusting to paid parking downtown, which is the surest sign of civilization since the invention of the lanyard.

Kettle Chips, Napoleon Dynamite Energy, and Too Many Coffee Stands

Salem's biggest cultural export is Kettle Chips, a crunchy bag of regret best consumed alone in a parked car. The city also radiates a certain Napoleon Dynamite energy, and that's not an insult, it's a personality type. You'll find more drive-through coffee stands than a Dutch Bros investor could dream of, plus a dispensary scene that keeps everyone caffeinated, baked, and still somehow slow. (Please do not drive like that on the Center Street Bridge.)

Salem is also surprisingly youthful and diverse for a place that sells itself on quiet. In 2020, the city had 175,535 residents, about 25 percent of them Latinx, which shows up in the city's food, festivals, and the Hispanic Heritage fair that regularly lands on the weekly events list. This fall, local events roundups promised "Llamas at the Capitol, Hispanic Heritage fair, harvest festivals". Llamas at the Capitol! That's the most Salem sentence ever written, and we'd like to subscribe.

Brunch Is a Blood Sport (and You're 50 Miles From Portland)

Let's talk about food, because Salem will. Locals will happily stand outside a converted house for ninety minutes for biscuits and gravy at Word of Mouth, then call it "part of the ritual," like they're on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela with a side of hash browns. Ask anyone about the dining scene and you'll hear it's "quietly excellent," which is exactly what you say about a restaurant scene that peaked at crème brûlée French toast.

To be fair, the surrounding Willamette Valley is a legitimate agricultural and wine powerhouse, so the Pinot those legislators are ordering is not an accident. And the biscuits are worth the wait. We're just saying that a ninety-minute line should come with a complimentary blanket and a therapist.

Then there's the Portland issue. Salem is about 50 miles south of the city it will never stop mentioning. Every conversation includes either a comparison to Portland or an insistence that Salem is not Portland. Methinks the capital doth protest too much.

Still, there's something genuinely charming about a place this unbothered. The metro area has grown steadily since the 2010 census, so people are clearly figuring out that peace, cherry blossoms, and a gold pioneer are a decent package. Just bring a jacket, patience for the brunch line, and a firm answer when someone asks about the witches.

Think we were too nice? See the full roast on RoastMyTown.com.