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?
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
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
Jeff DuBowe on Haarlem globetrotters: “One of our favorite spots. Super walking city. I think we were the ones who told your In-Laws about it…” Oct 14, 15:15
