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Having almost exhausted the states which lie within a plausible weekend driving distance from Chicago, the logical candidate for the extended Memorial Day weekend trip was Ohio. Ohio! The land of John Kasich’s triumphant first victory and desperate last stand in the 2016 Republican primary, I generated the same general level of confusion about going to Ohio as going to Iowa. To which I remind people that it wasn’t me who divvied America up into 50 states.

Together with partners-in-crime and people-who-can-drive-cars Randi and Jason, we arrived into the capital Columbus at a distressing late hour, argued for a bit about what time to set an alarm (“but I need to make the tour of the statehouse!”) and went to bed. The next day, Jason and I sauntered down to the Book Loft (a cool, higgledy-piggledy 32 room bookshop) before marking that all-important tour of Ohio’s capitol. Our guide was certainly trying her best, but despite a lot of confusing Lincoln references (who’s pretty well claimed by both Illinois and Kentucky already) there was no blockbuster politics. Outside the gift shop, a flashing dot matrix screen posed the question of our age: should school buses be fitted with seat belts?

Brace yourself for bad news, Ohio

I love Yats

After lunch at Yats (and it’s no exaggeration to say that we structured this entire trip around eating at Yats) we moved on to the town of Chillicothe and their annual Feast of the Flowering Moon. While the website very much played up the Native American angle, it soon became clear that most of the feasting was on deep-fried fair food, and while there was allegedly some Native American dancing in the park (we saw none) the main stage was instead given to an ageing cover band who opened – somewhat ironically – with a spirited rendition of We’re An American Band.

If I sound bitter, it’s only because Chillicothe rained on me quite a lot. An even-handed analysis would also include the fact that the park was beautiful, the fair clearly popular with families, and that deep-fried Oreos were very tasty. Sadly I missed my chance to witness a beauty pageant, although I didn’t miss the gaggle of young girls staring up at the pageant winner’s outfit in a shop window.

Randi’s weather app lied to us

But enough distractions. Our real destination in Ohio was the Hocking Hills State Park, and we stayed at the Wildwood Inn & Lllama Farm (llama farm!) as a guest of Mike – a really interesting guy with a fascinating life story. Not only did he cook us a delicious breakfast casserole, but we were also invited to roast s’mores around his fire at night and walk his llamas in the morning. This led to worrying moment when my llama bolted free at the first sign of rain and ran off down the path, at which point I wish Mike hadn’t told us that each llama cost him $3000. (Thankfully, it had just ran home.)

In the park itself, we went zip lining in the morning and canoeing seven miles down the river (“technically a creek”) in the afternoon. This was great fun, even when we got stuck on a log and had to be rescued. I could easily have spent a very relaxing and secluded week here, with its pleasingly lack of phone signal and windy rural roads. Ohio, you’ve won me over.

Not pictured below: the ‘Oldest Concrete Street in America’ of Bellefontaine, Ohio. You can use your imagination for that one.

City car, country road

Zip lining!

Post-zip lining!

(This was before we ran out of energy to paddle)

Discovery: llamas will stare at you. Together.

Ooh the flame

Creepy Confederate flag watch: small but noticeable numbers by the roadside. What’s up with that?

And the sons of Pullman porters, and the sons of engineers
Ride their father’s magic carpets made of steel
And, mothers with their babes asleep rocking to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel

(City of New Orleans)

Memphis, Tennessee

For Randi’s birthday surprise gift thing, I decided to book tickets on an Amtrak sleeper train. Not only would this fulfil one of her stated life goals, but – conveniently! – would also speed me to another freshly visited state. With timetable options on Amtrak rather limited, the most sensible destination ended up being Memphis, Tennessee. I’m stressing that the destination started out as a bit of an afterthought, because I really didn’t know much about Memphis itself… but it turned out to be a wonderful place for a sunny weekend getaway.

But first, let’s talk about the magic of trains: taking dinner in the dining car opposite a stranger, folding down the upper bunk, shuffling down the carriage to brush your teeth, curling up to sleep under a blanket as the night landscape rushes by outside and the double-decker bumps and sways along the rail. Since I had just read The Mask of Dimitrios (as recommended by Simon, King of the Railways) it really wouldn’t have surprised me to find a communist spy in the next room. And while there’s a certain sadness to Amtrak – the feeling you’re just catching a faint echo of glory days long past – the staff on-board our train were phenomenal and fun. I generally avoid the notion that trains are romantic curiosities, because they’re not: trains are the future, not the past. But I make a bit of an exception for sleeper trains, because a little romance never went amiss.

Dining on Amtrak

We arrived in Memphis early in the morning and checked in to the Peabody Hotel, a fancy-shmancy kind of place famous for having ducks swimming around the fountain in the lobby. Each morning the ducks are led down from their rooftop penthouse, and then every afternoon – with much ceremony – they march back out of the fountain, along the red carpet and into the waiting lift. It’s all very cute, and naturally everything else in the hotel is now duck-themed too. (Weirdly, this even cropped up in the novel I was reading this weekend too.)

Procession of the Peabody Ducks

We mostly went to the Botanic Garden for the children’s section

After a much-needed southern breakfast at Brother Juniper’s, we walked off our train legs through a nearby park and then Memphis’s Botanic Garden. Not only was it beautiful and warm, but – in conformity with southern stereotypes – most people we passed actually smiled and said hello. (This was basically true everywhere we went in Memphis.)

Next stop: Graceland, the ‘home of Elvis Presley’ (his death proving no hindrance). I wouldn’t exactly call myself an Elvis fan, so this wasn’t quite a pilgrimage of rock ‘n’ roll, more an irresistible scoop of Americana. (Although talking of scoops: try ordering a milkshake there and you’ll be treated to what felt like an entire tub of ice cream.) The tour of his mansion was interesting, though, if a little bit confusing because the relentlessly positive chronology doesn’t provide any context leading up to his death, so he just sort of… dies, suddenly, for no reason. It did make me want to listen to a few Elvis songs afterwards, though.

(I don’t mean to sideline Elvis, but actually the most memorable thing which happened at Graceland was in the queue, when the couple in front of us suddenly turned round and, in southern accents, complimented my TARDIS phone case. Turns out their entire family are big Doctor Who fans, with children who dress up as Daleks for Halloween and walk around shouting ‘EXTERMINATE!’ at things. We’re everywhere.)

Elvis would have loved Twitter

Live music over lunch

Not moving fast enough

The most famous part of Memphis is probably Beale Street, and while we ended up ditching its big Saturday night crowds for the comfort and cocktails of the Peabody’s lobby instead, we’d already got our live blues fix earlier in the day over lunch. (Fried chicken and catfish, since you ask.)

After lunch we took the monorail to the Mississippi River Park on Mud Island. The chief attraction here is their giant, geographically-faithful scale model of the Mississippi River, which you are encouraged to paddle in until it reaches the Gulf of Mexico and becomes a fully-fledged swimming pool. It’s really, really wonderful.

Monorail

In the model Mississippi!

The next morning, while Randi worked, I took a more sombre trip to the National Civil Rights Museum built around the former Lorraine Motel. It was here, in 1968 on the balcony outside room 306, that Martin Luther King was assassinated: a good place to stop and reflect on what has and has not changed since then. Inside, the museum does a good job telling the story of the civil rights movement, but was all the more meaningful when I could overhear a member of the group ahead of me talk about his own life and memories in response to the exhibits: yes, he remembered Brown v. Board of Education, he remembered the Little Rock Nine and Massive Resistance and the lunch counter sit-ins and the slow toppling of formal, de jure segregation across the South.

The balcony at the Lorraine Motel where MLK was assassinated

The final spot on our Memphis itinerary was Shelby Farms Park: a huge park, about a 30 minute drive from the centre of Memphis with hiking and biking trails, lakes for pedal boats and kayaks, zip-lining through the trees and – allegedly – a herd of buffalo. We did not see the buffalo. But we did walk through the woods and fields to our hearts’ content, before flying home to Chicago.

I can’t quite wrap my head around Memphis. We had, of course, a very touristy experience. If you read up on the city, you’ll soon hear about violent crime, poverty and brutal racism. The same is true, of course, of Chicago. And it doesn’t stop being true just because it’s possible to visit and have a wonderful weekend. But I would recommend visiting Memphis enormously: for the people, the music, the food, the history and the green spaces. And if you really want to make it special, roll up on the overnight train.

Kayaking at Shelby Farms Park

Couldn’t leave without acquiring a duck

Some places defy expectations. Providence is not one of them. It is, as you might think, a comfortable corner of the world replete with beautiful brick buildings, a pretty river and lots and lots of students… at least in the immediate vicinity of the Rhode Island School of Design and Brown, where Randi and I were very kindly hosted by Rachel last weekend. (And some of the students are, y’know, those kind of students. I walked past one woman explaining to her friend how she’d ‘problematised’ something, which is still my most hated academic tic of all time. Please, please stop problematising things.)

So it was that we had a relaxing Rhode Island weekend in ‘mostly sunny’ Providence: eating lots of things with lobster inside, taking a boat tour up and down the river (on which we made up 50% of the tour’s audience) and celebrating Rachel’s completed thesis with sangria. Congrats!

Providence, Rhode Island. Categorically not an island, but at least there’s a river.

My arty bridge shot

My arty ‘need a haircut’ shot

Students!

Somewhat smug police cars

Randi & Rachel (plus sangria)

Oh, and we also saw Zootopia, which was… astonishing. Forget the trailer I’d seen beforehand, which is ludicrously unrepresentative, and marvel that Disney have sneaked out a full-throated social commentary on bias and prejudice… all while being legitimately funny the whole way through. I don’t know how to describe it without making it sound po-faced and terrible, actually, so ignore me and just go see it yourself. If nothing else, as I watched the credits roll it became hilariously clear what a giant cultural gulf divides the country: Zootopia‘s ‘Mammal Inclusion Initiative’ on the one side, Donald Trump on the other.

(Exhibit #2: outside Planned Parenthood in Providence stands one lonely protestor, silently holding aloft his ABORTION KILLS placard. I wonder what he’d make of it all.)

I really did want to end this blog with lavish, heartfelt praise for poor unloved Amtrak, because my train from Boston to Providence really was fast, comfortable and cheap. Unfortunately, my train on the way back was delayed, so with a heavy heart I ended up bailing on my return journey and taking a $60 Uber to ensure I didn’t miss my flight. Which is sad, because it yanked me prematurely out of my Northeastern fantasy of a railway-loving America. Maybe Disney could do trains next.