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For my traditional (?) post-Thanksgiving trip with Randi this year, we went to Charleston, South Carolina.

Charleston really is beautiful

Charleston really is a beautiful city, and such a joy to walk around – not just because the sun was out. Our AirBnb was a 40 minute walk from the centre of downtown, through mostly quiet, residential streets, but all along the way we passed local shops and bars and restaurants and people. The contrast with some of the Midwestern cities I’ve visited recently is obvious. And sure, Charleston is a tourist destination: an old city steeped in American history and blessed by a core of old money and narrow, pre-car streets. It is supposed to be nice. But it really does live up to it.

Rainbow road

The best decision we made was to take a walking tour, led by Scott and highly recommended. He gave a great introduction to the city’s history – from its founding as an English colony to the place where the first shots in the Civil War were fired – and didn’t shy away from the story of the native Americans, or enslaved African Americans, which are a fundamental part of it.

We also ate at slightly-pricey-but-delicious restaurants (many thanks to Cecelia for recommending The Hominy Grill, which we visited twice) including honey-coated crawfish hushpuppies, amazing crab cakes and southern fried chicken. And on Friday night we enjoyed the Que d’Keys Duelling Piano Bar – highlights include a reluctant Miley Cyrus cover and discovering that the woman behind the bar was from Bury St Edmunds. (It was also the first and only time that my ride home has been in a pickup truck.)

The sabal palmetto trees are everywhere

But we also wanted to visit a former plantation, eventually deciding on Middleton Place. This is where my feelings are mixed, and I still don’t exactly know what to make of it. Because I cannot imagine a plantation as being about anything other than slavery. That’s the purpose of preserving it as a historic site: to ensure the past is not forgotten, and provide a place where it is talked about, especially with children. Maybe that’s a bad starting point, and it’s just a way to compartmentalise the past and keep it out of mind beyond certain designated places.

Either way, this is clearly not what the owners of Middleton Place think they are doing. As you would expect from the former gardens of very rich people, the landscape is beautiful, and seems to be why people come. We had to assemble at #22 on the map for the slavery-focused tour, and while it’s hard to articulate exactly what was wrong, it just didn’t do justice to how sober the subject should be. It was more of a historical curiosity, safely removed from the present day. No slave cabins have actually survived: #22 on the map was, in fact, constructed after the Civil War for returning slaves coming to work as sharecroppers. This would have been a good opportunity to talk about the legacy of slavery after 1865, but we didn’t. And starting a tour by saying that slavery “has existed for millennia” and “is not just a Southern institution” is not the best way of taking on the responsibility for telling this particular chapter of human history.

I don’t want to suggest that our guide was an apologist for slavery. She wasn’t. She described what happened and answered questions honestly and it could have been a lot, lot worse. But it also could have been better.

Don’t walk down this path. Trust us.

After the tour, we walked down this narrow strip of land – which we probably weren’t supposed to – and Randi almost got eaten by an alligator. So there’s that.

The remains of Fort Sumter

Holding the fort

For our final day in Charleston, we visited Fort Sumter. History lesson: South Carolina was the first state to secede from the Union at the start of the Civil War, and later fired the first shot at Fort Sumter where the US Army had hunkered down. Built to withstand the British navy coming from the sea, it wasn’t really designed for an attack in the other direction and they eventually surrendered. Only the base of the structure remains today, but it is a good place to sit and look back at Charleston over the water and be alternately grateful and afraid.

In the observation car on board the (nine hour) Amtrak ride from Chicago to Omaha, Randi and I encountered Henry: a young British tourist on his way from New York to California. Because of course he was. No matter how many times you remind us how ginormous the US is, we’re constitutionally inclined to seek out the railways to get from A to B. And if you have the time to spare, it’s still the most rewarding strategy. Nine hours pass very quickly when you have that much legroom, a half-bottle of wine and a table from which to watch the Midwest roll by.

I won’t even pretend that we were going to Omaha for any reason other than reaching another state. But it’s a strange place. Omaha is the largest city in Nebraska – and by ‘largest city’, I mean it’s around 400,000 people, with 1.3 million in the Greater Omaha area, against a state population of 1.9 million in total. So most Nebraskans are here.

They just don’t come out very much.

I’ve been to ghostly city centres before – St. Louis comes to mind – with an eerie emptiness at the downtown core. But that’s because they’ve been depopulated by suburbanisation. Omaha feels different. There were some unattractive stretches, but on the whole everything was perfectly pleasant. It wasn’t run-down. There were restaurants and bars, and – as you’d hope – they looked pretty busy on a Saturday night. There just didn’t seem to be anybody on the streets between the restaurants and the bars. Short of apparition or an extensive floo network, I assume the mystery is explained by lots of very direct car journeys from home to work to play. It’s a shame.

Fair play: it’s a tall fountain

The border

A red telephone box in the Old Market

Winning!

Blessed with great weather, we bucked this custom by walking around a lot, but we settled into a wonderful bar in time to watch the Cubs advance to the World Series. (To the uninitiated, this a Big Deal. They haven’t got this far since 1945, and if they won, it would be the first victory since 1908.) Despite being two states over, Omaha turns out to be a hotbed of Cubs fans and the atmosphere was perfect for the occasion.

Special thanks to Cory, an amiable bloke who joined us at the bar and answered many of my remaining Nebraskan questions. (The quintessential activity is pheasant shooting, apparently. British readers might note that, even here, I still get asked in cabs about Brexit.)

The moment the Cubs made it through to the World Series

The latest in my ‘posing with Presidents’ limited edition art series

Other adventures in Omaha included adding predictive post-it notes to Gerald Ford’s birthplace, wandering around the ‘Heartland of America’ park, learning about Prohibition and railway history at the Durham Museum and taking advantage of the bike rental scheme by the riverfront. Although technically most of the actual biking was in Iowa since the Nebraskan trails were still mostly in ‘proposal’ stage on the map. (This was also where my shoelace became unfortunately entwined with the bike, and Randi had to beseech some strangers for a fearsome-looking pocketknife to set it free. Guns don’t save people, pocketknives do.)

We improved it

Technically Iowa

That’s pretty much it for our weekend in the country’s only unicameral state. But we have been busy in Chicago too, including grinning and bearing through the final Presidential debate, phonebanking into Nevada (ten minutes of conversation with one wavering Republican woman made her feel, and I quote, “a lot more confident” about voting for Hillary – probably the first and only time I’ve had this effect on anyone) and playing Betrayal at House on the Hill with Chloe. This is a fun board game where one player suddenly turns hellish defector halfway through, and came highly recommended by Katie.

We also saw two more plays! Merge, by New Colony at the Den (which, I think it’s fair to say, is our favourite theatre here) told the story of the rise and fall of gaming company Atari. It’s the kind of thing I would happily read a book about, so seeing it on stage instead – at a breathless, quirky pace – was an enjoyable alternative. And then The City of Conversation (directed by Marti who is most definitely our favourite director, anywhere) showcased the decline of a Washington political elite through the Carter, Reagan and Obama years. The lead character, socialite Hester Ferris, was particularly well played and the entire production was well worth the trek up to the treacherous ‘pavements optional’ land of Skokie. Doubly so, because we also got to have lunch with Robert and Grace beforehand, who joined us in glaring awkwardly at the one person who voted for Reagan in the pre-show Carter vs. Reagan vs. Obama poll.

Pretty much every Minnesotan I’ve met for the past two years has urged me to go to the Minnesota State Fair, and this Labour Day weekend I finally experienced it for myself with Randi, Simon and Steve. And it was amazing!

Minnesota (keep reading and we’ll get there)

But first: Simon and Steve arrived in Chicago after some extensive road/plane/train-tripping across the United States already, so we had a couple of days to relax and introduce them to important Chicago institutions such as Kuma’s Corner and the Cubs. (In their game against the Pirates, which we saw with Todd and Carolyn, the Cubs were thoughtful enough to throw in some unnecessary drama at the end where it looked like they might squander the whole game’s lead, but they ultimately triumphed in order that Simon and Steve could hear the victory song.)

For the first time in too long we also saw Improv Shakespeare, who rejected our suggestion of ‘President Trump’ (wise) and performed The Coughing Lumberjack instead: a worthy saga combining the industrious Don Lumberjack and a dastardly French invasion of England.

And then it was roadtrip time! Highlights of our journey included a ferociously weird Spotify playlist (I Feel Like Jeremy Corbyn became the trip’s anthem, which you can Google if you must) and multiple stops at Culver’s. By Friday night we reached our hotel in Madison – a popular town if my friends are anything to go by – and spent Saturday morning exploring the farmers’ market and/or arguing with creationists (Simon and Steve took one for the team here) before moving on.

If you weren’t there, you won’t understand how funny Simon’s slow and laboured air mattress inflation was

The state capitol

One of Todd’s favourite shops provided colouring-in

On Saturday evening we arrived into Minneapolis, ate some non-fried non-American food and shared some beers with Catherine while we prepared ourselves for Sunday. Fair Day. There’s so much I could write about the fair itself because it’s so vast: we arrived at 9.30am and left eleven hours later, and not once did we get bored or run out of things to do. To start with, there is so much food: most notable (for us) were the incredible cheese curds, the famous cookies from Sweet Martha’s Cookies Jar and some delicious corn on the cob. There are fairground rides, political stalls, a host of farm animals (some within the ‘Miracle of Birth’ tent) and an art gallery. We saw the finalists of the Princess Kay of the Milky Way contest carved out of butter, rode the cable car over the fair and and the Ye Old Mill canal boat through pitch black tunnels underneath, cheered on a lumberjack competition and admired many, many tractors.

In short, it was wonderful. Apart from the GOP’s Trump tent. Which was less wonderful.

State Fair!

On the incredibly fun (and incredibly wet) River Raft Ride

On the tractor

Princess Kay butter sculptures

Turns out ‘all you can drink’ milk is a mixed blessing

Prize winning corn

In the Democratic booth

My Hillary badge became a talisman

Almost dropping the cookies

We weren’t the only ones going for the cookies

The Crazy Mouse ride: our final attraction

There were a couple of other pre-fair events back in Chicago which I should mention. I went to a very compelling one-day course from Edward Tufte: nominally on data presentation, but he has the moral authority and professorial gravitas to talk about whatever he wants and make it compelling (plus he’s friends with Randall Munroe from xkcd). I made use of both Jason’s pool and the wonderful, free public pool in Pulaski Park before the summer ends. And we had a three-way dinner date with Robert, Grace, Luis and Marti before seeing The 7th Annual Living Newspaper Festival: a collection of topical short plays inspired by newspaper stories. (The most enjoyable was set in a robotised future classroom in a Trumpian dystopia. Election day draws ever nearer.)

The weekend before last, Randi revealed her birthday present to me after I had been too rubbish at anagrams to figure it out in advance: a murder mystery weekend at Mont Rest Inn, Iowa! This is a wonderful B&B in its own right, painstakingly rebuilt after a fire. My favourite feature was probably the miniature world’s fair diorama, complete with little binoculars for closer inspection. (I spotted the Boots at the back along the British high street, naturally.)

We were also lucky enough to visit while the owner was paying a visit, and during the tornado warning (“get on the lowest floor possible”, the TV alert announced, before switching to a flash flood warning which instructed us to “seek higher ground”) we accepted her offer of shelter in the basement. It didn’t take long to realise that, just like last time, we were in a strongly Democratic B&B, with mementos from the visits of past presidential candidates on the walls. Lobbying is totally overrated: if you want to meet powerful politicians, just open a B&B in Iowa.

Austin Powers meets Michael Gove

For the murder mystery itself, we were assigned characters and costumes with the other guests, and learnt the basic outline of the case, before settling down to a scrumptious meal to discuss who might be to blame. This is a bit of a mistake in the format, really, because the food is so delicious (freshest salmon ever?) that it’s hard to stay focused on catching the killer. Especially when the killer turns out to be one smug looking Randi Lawrence. So yes, she escaped justice without facing a single accusation.

They also do themed nights without any murders: this table was set for the Titanic

The next morning we stopped by the Maquoketa Caves State Park, which is distinguished by an extensive series of caves to wander through. (Top tip: the wandering is much enhanced by the thought that you’ve bought a fresh pair of shoes and socks to change into later.) An unusual park and highly recommended!

In the caves

Still in the caves

Escape from the caves!

Finally, on the way home, we were only about 15 minutes shy of being these people. Darn.

Just slightly late for this photo of a collapsed Blue Line station to be interesting

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?