It’s a mahoosive one this year:
On a mission
And the whole way home I was terrified of being arrested and/or deported and/or shot and killed for ‘borrowing’ the cart. But it was totally worth it.
In other news, I was finally part of an escape room team which actually escaped a room! And a room menaced by a zombie, no less.
Very proud of team One Slaybook
In the run-up to Thanksgiving I had a couple of fun evenings: a movie salon at Robert and Julie’s examining The Breakfast Club (and its atrocious ending), a horror-themed Escape the Room-style adventure for Constance’s birthday – better characterised as a we-came-nowhere-close-to-actually-escaping-the-room style adventure – and an old-fashioned evening of chatter at Motel with Sean and Dre. And then, Thanksgiving itself!
One of the many great things about Thanksgiving is that I have no childhood vision of what it should be like, unlike Christmas, which is not really Christmas without presents under the tree / Christmas crackers / a family argument before sitting down to watch Doctor Who at midnight and so on. My only traditions so far are great food, great company and giving thanks for things, and I got all of this again at Catherine and Jason’s this year. It was such an enjoyable afternoon, and a total pleasure to meet Catherine’s parents and play Fibbage against them. Plus, all of the food turned out so well. And there was rhubarb pie!
Thanksgiving!
For the rest of the long weekend, Randi and I went exploring two more roadtripable states. Our first destination was Louisville, Kentucky which was holding its annual Light Up Louisville celebration. This included music (carols, churchy stuff, colour-coordinated children), some appealing German market touches (especially currywurst, mulled wine) and a full-on holiday parade, which was narrated by two unnervingly peppy stars of local radio. It was also accompanied by a fair amount of rain, which made it rather difficult to capture in all of its glory, but didn’t actually detract from the city spirit.
Bourbon cocktails and Southern food in Kentucky
Behind us, you can verify that Louisville is, indeed, lit up
I was so, so disappointed that this was a sporting venue and not an interactive KFC museum
The next day, we left our B&B (a B&B which, it must be noted, surprised us with free slices of piecaken) and headed back north for a night in Indiana.
This is Indiana ’15
I feel a little bad for Indiana. By broad consensus, its sole purpose is to plug an otherwise awkward-looking gap between neighbouring states. And no doubt, the view from the interstate – endless warehouses selling fireworks plus a giant billboard bearing the sophisticated slogan that ‘HELL IS REAL’ – doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence. So instead of searching for a mediocre city, we sought out small-town charm in Corydon, who were throwing their own Christmas lights switch-on bash for the town’s roughly 3000 residents.
One fully festive Gazebo
It’s a little odd, actually, since tiny Corydon started out as the capital of Indiana when it acquired statehood in 1816. The original constitution even states that the town “shall be the seat of Government of the state of Indiana, until the year eighteen hundred and twenty-five, and until removed by law”. But come 1825, the provision ran out and the capital immediately shifted to Indianapolis, leaving behind a small but charming community where the local chemist is called Butt Drugs, the local café serves up the best chips I’ve had in ages, and bells very confusingly ring out tunes from Oklahoma on the hour.
The lies of limestone
And that would be that, had it not been for all the roadside advertisements we passed for underground ziplining at Louisville’s Mega Cavern. Having never been ziplining before, it sounded amazing, and my mind was made up after checking TripAdvisor and learning that even those who believe it’s an outrage against God still gave it 4 out of 5 stars.
So back we went to Kentucky, and down an old limestone mine, to whizz through caves on ropes and wires. It was a strange mixture of adrenaline rush and quiet beauty, and if you do ever find yourself taking a roadtrip around this part of the way, you should check it out.
Zipline buddies
Final word of the trip must go to Todd, for recommending Yats in Indianapolis, our final stop on the way home to Chicago. It serves New Orleans-style food, and it’s amazing. Enough said.
I have this Modest Proposal for fixing the US drinking age. 21 is well above the international norm of 18 for legally purchasing alcohol – although it turns out to be 25 in some parts of India, who knew? – and the usual justification is that drinking and driving is a bad idea. Drinking and driving is a terrible idea, no doubt, so why not go one further and allow 18-21 year olds to choose? You could either register for a driving licence, or a drinking licence, but not both. They’d be different colours. For those who need to drive, it would be status quo. For those who don’t, they could sign away the risk and, in return, no longer have to confine their drinking to dodgy college parties. It’s win-win, except for the conveners of dodgy college parties.
I put this idea to Will Guzzardi, a State Representative for Illinois, at a fundraising thing hosted by 270 Strategies, but he didn’t seem to think it was a priority. And given that the Republican governor of Illinois is among those indulging in brazenly racist rabble-rousing against Syrian refugees this week, maybe he has a point.
As always, a powerful counterweight to such baseness is the joy and love of good people. This was no better demonstrated than at Robert and Julie’s wedding. They are both such wonderful people, and it’s impossible not to be happy at how happy they are. To make things even better, Katie and Brandon were in town for it, and I realised how much I missed Katie’s facial expressions.
Pictures below are borrowed (with permission) from Stephanie Bassos Photography, who will make you want to get married just so you can have some of your own.
Robert and Julie
Groupon, past and present
Other than that, I’ve mostly been planning Thanksgiving / Christmas / post-Christmas-but-it’s-still-cold getaways. Randi and I did see Chapter Two last night, a play which felt very much from another time and place, which is good because it actually was (New York, 1977). There was a somewhat jarring switch from light-hearted dad-jokes in the first half to an outpouring of emotion in the second – a situation of the main characters’ own making, since they decided (for unclear reasons) that they had to get married in a week. Unless their wedding photographer was leaving the country, I couldn’t relate.
For the past two weeks I’ve been travelling again for work. Back to Warsaw first, and this time joined by Bex who very graciously endured my abridged, second-hand re-enactment of an Old Town walking tour. It was also great to see Mark and Caroline again, and along with a couple of others we visited what I can only assume is one of the city’s premier gambling establishments. Alas it still failed to arouse my interest in actually gambling (no surprise there) and so instead I amused the Italians by ordering tea (with milk) at the bar. I was desperate.
Bex, Sara, Rossella and me
Caroline, Mark and Rossella in a Warsaw casino
After a couple of hours wandering around Brussels on a layover, my next stop was Morocco. Having been advised that Marrakesh would be a more interesting place to spend a weekend than Casablanca, I started there.
Inside the Majorelle Garden
I was excited – this was actually my first visit to any African country whatsoever, let alone Morocco – and spent Sunday exploring the city. (Yes, I know I’m wearing a super-touristy hat: it’s only because I needed to get some change for entry into the Saadian Tombs.) The central square, Jemaa el-Fnaa, is breathtaking and the souks alongside are fun to explore, just as long as you watch out for the motorbikes which some people see fit to ride through the packed, narrow paths.
I’m also very glad I visited the Majorelle Garden – it’s a small, enclosed space but is astonishingly colourful and peaceful inside. The perfect calming antidote to a bustling market, and the last thing I saw before catching my train to Casablanca. (A three hour ride, in wonderful old-fashioned compartment style for about $14. The rest of the world should take note.) I’m pretty sure the two Spanish men to my right were complaining about the English, though.
Jemaa el-Fnaa
In the souk
Looking out over lunch
Catching the train to Casablanca
I should mention that Morocco is very much an Arabic and French speaking country, and the limitations of my English-only tongue were particularly evident in the taxi journey from Casablanca’s main railway station to my hotel. I was somewhat confused when another passenger joined us – this turns out to be a normal and, I guess, somewhat economic quirk of their taxi system – and then the driver grew increasingly impatient with my inability to answer any of his questions. Thankfully, the atmosphere lightened when he stopped the car in order to hide away some cash in a secret cubby hole hidden in the middle of the steering wheel, and we both started laughing together. You don’t really need to share a language to bond. A shared love of the absurd will do.
With Francisco
I didn’t get a chance for much touristy stuff in Casablanca, although I was well taken care of by Francisco and Jessica while I was there, and enjoyed hanging out with other visitors from the French office. We did make it to the world’s third-largest mosque one night, right by the sea, which was beautiful.
The Atomium at night
But soon it was time to go home, and fortunately this time the mysterious gods of yield-management airline pricing granted me an overnight stay in Brussels. So as a lovely bonus to the whole trip, my parents popped in by train so we could have dinner together and see the city sights by night.
So now, in terms of tourist sightseeing, I can tick off the Grand Place, the Mannequin-Pis (or the “peeing boy statue” as everyone actually says) and the Atomium. We worried the latter would be a wasted cab ride – with nothing to see in the dark – but were pleased to discover that at night it lights up and sparkles more than a Twilight vampire.
Oh, and in the midst of all of this, I also scored theatre tickets to Harry Potter and the Cursed Child from an intense online booking queue. But that is a story for next year…
Dinner in Brussels
At the Manneken-Pis
Before I write my fun ‘I’ve been travelling!’ post, I need to catch up on some Chicago things:
Learning science
Supporting Todd support the Blue Jays
Puzzling
Jatherine 1, Jatherine 2
(Clockwise: the Adler Planetarium’s ‘After Dark’ night – the same formula as London’s Science Museum, which is ‘add alcohol, remove children’ – had some cool shows and a decent lecture on dark energy. We all supported Todd through some tormenting Blue Jays games. Belatedly celebrating Catherine and Jason’s engagement – HURRAY! – with specialist wine glasses. And going, on Karl’s invitation, to the Puzzled Pint: an evening of trying to crack fiendish clues in morse code and so on.)
Also, two more shows: Home Before Dark – our pick from Common Room this month – a story of adolescent sexual exploration and abuse, and a technical rehearsal of the excellent The Play About My Dad, telling stories from Hurricane Katrina through the meta lens of a doctor in Mississippi and his playwriting daughter. This is still running until the end of November, and it’s well worth seeing.
(Tangent: I’d love to claim that endlessly blogging about plays in Chicago has now paid off into backstage invitations, but actually this came courtesy of director Marti Lyons, connected to Randi through work and coincidentally also the person behind probably our favourite play to date, Bethany, last year.)
Helen on It’s (waiting) time.: “Fabulous news, congratulations to you both! X” Jun 8, 21:51
