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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.

Whether you measure these things in Celsius or Fahrenheit, it’s unreasonably hot outside. To avoid frazzling to a crisp, I’ve turned indoors for some housekeeping. But housekeeping is hard, so I’ve merrily press-ganged others into service too. First, Randi and I stole Jatherine’s car and joy rode to IKEA so that after a year of living in my apartment I might have somewhere in my room to indulge in extravagances like (a) putting clothes away and (b) sitting down. Then Todd revealed that he (and I quote) “loves” putting IKEA furniture together, so I plied him with Budweiser and basically did nothing for 2 hours, 1 minute and 15 seconds (target time: 30-45 minutes) until I had a chest of drawers. Success.

Even more fun, because it didn’t involve going to Schaumburg, Illinois, was virtual housekeeping. I re-jiggered my home page, added some fancy maps of places I’ve been, and upgraded to Windows 10 on the day it came out because OF COURSE I was going to do this.

And occasionally, I was social: meeting Randi’s work peeps and feeling quietly ashamed for never having read Kierkegaard, celebrating Nolan’s birthday, that kind of thing. But most importantly, because it generated photos, I also went to the state capital of Illinois: Springfield!

The state capitol. The roof is apparently occupied by Cybermen.

I’m proud of this photo because Randi seems tall

Trying to be helpful and give them some warning

“Excuse me, but you’re doing it wrong”

With my bffl, Abraham Lincoln

The original inspiration for this trip was meeting someone who worked for the under-threat-of-closure Illinois State Museum, and wanting to visit while we still could. But Springfield is not the kind of town you head back to in a hurry, so we also took in the state capitol building, the old state capitol building (they claimed it got too small but it seemed perfectly adequate to me) and, most excitingly, the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum. Strictly speaking, only Hoover and onwards got ‘official’ museums from the National Archives and Records Administration, but some of the golden oldies were popular enough to inspire unofficial efforts. And who would begrudge Lincoln his due?

Springfield clings pretty closely to Lincoln in general: they’ve gone so far as to preserve a whole street where he lived in nineteenth century style, though relenting to twenty first century sensibility by adding a warning sign that the paving of this era ‘may be uneven’. (I dread to think of what they would make of Brent council’s paving standards.) But screw museums and memorials: in Springfield, the 16th President is apt to wander into a bar and strike up conversation. Nice chap, and very forgiving. I approve.

They were excited in West Branch, Iowa when native son Herbert Hoover became President. It didn’t last.

No one seemed very excited about our trip to Iowa. “Why are you going to Iowa?” asked most. So I’m pleased to announce the following discovery: Iowa is lovely. Quiet, rural, unassuming – I am assuming this will be a once-in-a-lifetime visit – but still lovely. And as Reddit correctly predicted, the people we met were all delightful, which puts Iowans way ahead of fancy-pants Seattleites.

If you’ve heard anything at all about Iowa, it’s probably because it always snags first spot in the voting schedule for the Presidential primary elections, briefly catapulting the state onto global news bulletins for a few days every four years. With candidates already swarming to patronise woo the electorate, we were hoping to bump into something political, and as luck would have it our first night’s B&B just happened to be run by enthusiastic Hillary Clinton supporters. So naturally we stuck around the next morning to watch her ‘launch’ speech and pose with banners:

Hillary for Iowa! Also, for the other 49 states too!

Later on, in unimaginatively-named Iowa City, we dined in Hamburg Inn No. 2 – which it seems is mandatory for any sort of political career in the US – and, in West Branch, we checked out the Herbert Hoover Presidential Library & Museum. Hoover is best remembered for being in office during the Wall Street crash of 1929 and the onset of the Great Depression, and the museum’s main strategy for tackling this unfortunate fact is to focus about 80% of the exhibit on his pre-presidential humanitarian efforts.

Hoover’s ‘good guy’ credentials thus burnished, they offer an increasingly desperate series of excuses for Hoover’s failure, culminating in “who’s to say it wouldn’t have been worse without him?”, and then a series of buttons to canvas your opinion on Hoover from ‘Strongly Positive’ (hah!) to ‘Strongly Negative’. I gave him one level up from the bottom. Hell, I can think of worse Presidents…

They wouldn’t let me get as close to Hoover as LBJ, but we still enjoyed some quality fishing time together

On Sunday, the weather brightened up and we stopped at Lake Macbride State Park for a spot of swimming and kayaking, which always reminds me of our Wednesday afternoon Sixth Form kayaking lessons down at the Ladbroke Gove canal. Anyway. Kayaking is fun!

Left, right, left, right, stop to pose

Also in Iowa:

• A sign at ‘Family Video’ by the highway promises Report Card A’s Equals Free Rentals!
• It’s not always easy to find vegetarian options on menus.
• But it is easy to find great ice cream at Whitey’s (thanks, Nolan).
• The city of Davenport has built itself a seemingly pointless but enchanting Skybridge.
• Roads are empowered to suddenly declare that ‘pavement ends’ and leave you stranded on miles of unpaved track. We didn’t stay on it long enough to discover what the ‘minimum maintenance’ section would be like.

A fair bit of Iowa was like this

And in Kalona (population: 2,363) the large proportion of Mennonites gave the place a distinctive feel:

You know what I like about horses? They don’t turn on red.

“Not This Frog”

As I say, everyone was super-Mid-Western-friendly. We so enjoyed talking to Daisy, the owner of Iowa City’s A Bella Vista, that we risked the late return of our rental car to stay and chat longer. But the final word should go to owners of Strawberry Farm Bed & Breakfast after we finally turned up at 11pm. Despite the late hour they launched into a discussion of their dog, their neighbours and – most importantly – the frog which was currently perched on their front door.

“Do you know what this is?” the guy asked, but my hopes of being the unexpectedly knowledgeable city boy (“it’s a frog!”) were soon dashed as he began to list possible species. “It reminds me of having dinner under the skylight when we were growing up”, his wife added, “and we’d look up and see this frog. Not this frog.”

Perhaps we were just tired, but it felt like a moment.

IOWA, YEAH

I’m back from the Pacific Northwest  – a little worse for wear (unattractive sneezing and coughing abounds) but with a satisfied feeling of successful travel and the smug afterglow of being moved into United’s ‘Economy Plus’ seats on the way home.

So, Seattle first. The home of Starbucks and Amazon, as well as the famous Pike Place Market, one unexpected thing which we noticed immediately was that its inhabitants can be a little… blunt, let’s say. I grew up in London, and no-one there ever hung up my call on the apartment entryphone in order to let themselves in first.

Not that this stopped us from enjoying the city, and we packed in the obvious tourist destinations: dinner in the Space Needle, taking the ferry to Bainbridge island, touring the EMP Museum (see Dalek, below) and the Central Library. Together with newly-minted Seattle resident (and not at all rude) Michele, I also checked out the Northwest Folklife festival which happened to be on: think handmade “SAVE THE BEES” t-shirts on Greenpeace activists, fun music and a strong smell of pot. (Less predictably, you can also buy jewellery there which is made from ammunition. It takes all sorts.)

Birthplace of Starbucks, Seattle is known for its coffee shops

Coupley photo in Japanese garden #1

Jatherine

“Wait, I’m not actually in shot, am I?”

A concerning discovery

I love this fountain. So do young children, clearly.

Arty shot of the Space Needle from Chihuly Garden and Glass (stolen from Randi)

For the second half, we caught an early Amtrak train down to Portland. (I miss trains.) Portland had an unexpectedly spread-out feel, but still with plenty of parks, green spaces and easy walking. “OUR FEMINISM WILL BE INTERSECTIONAL”, announced large letters in one window we passed, “OR IT WILL BE BULLSHIT”. We found fewer obvious landmarks to photograph, but kept eating delicious food: a particular shout-out to Salt & Straw, whose rhubarb crumble ice-cream is something special.

Coupley photo in Japanese garden #2

Don’t just visit nature: photograph nature, in case it disappears or something

The four of us at Mt. Tabor Park

Some people have described the Northwest as their favourite corner of America. It’s not mine, but I can see why it might be. Both cities are certainly well worth a visit!

I almost didn’t make it to Austin. Having almost passed out on the train to the airport, I arrived just in time to empty my guts into the nearest toilet, before shuffling through security and onto the plane in an ugly state. Thankfully, the woman assigned to the seat next to me quickly fled in self-preservation, and I was left alone to occupy the row in a foetal position. But this only increased my happiness at seeing Josh and Anna’s faces again when my cab pulled up by our Airbnb home that night. Who’d have thought we’d be reuniting in the capital of Texas?

Enjoying the Texas House of Representatives

Somewhat awkward with the Ten Commandments outside the capitol

All the stars look a bit, ur, Soviet?

By the river

Hey hey, LBJ

Austin’s famous bats

Mock if you will, but my favourite part of Austin was the Texas Legislature, which is admirably open and welcoming to the public. We strolled into the gallery above the House of Representatives first, who were debating an amendment to allow texting in a car which had come to a complete stop. “The data show that this rule costs lives” one Representative began, before being interrupted by another demanding a source. An assistant duly scurried in with a piece of paper, although not before the first guy clarified meekly that he was still in support of the rule change, despite the higher death rate. It passed by a landslide.

Other highlights included the state’s history museum and the LBJ Presidential Library, at either ends of the University of Texas campus. In between, a pro-Palestine demonstration was loudly and successfully gathering attention away from an Israeli block party, which says something about the liberal Austin vibe. We drove out of the city one morning so we could go swim in the Pedernales River, waited under the Congress Avenue bridge for the famous flight of the city’s bats at dusk, and spun about a thousand bat puns out of the days which followed.

Austin was a great city, but New Orleans was the more special and memorable of the two. We drove – by which I mean, Anna drove us – through Texas and Louisiana in a day, stopping at a farewell-to-Texas steakhouse (where our servers danced and tried out their British accents) and at Louisiana’s welcome centre, where they hand out free coffee and tell you to beware of alligators. New Orleans, though, is clearly a place unto itself. It’s almost impossible to capture properly in photographs, because the most wonderful thing is all of the free music which pours out of every bar and street corner. We wandered from bar to bar each night, drinking Purple Haze and soaking up the atmosphere of blues and jazz.

Delicious breakfasts at Slim Goodies

Just one of the many, many live acts we saw in bars

Swamp tour

Baby boar

Literally an alligator

This is a lot of Confederate flags

As you can see, we also went on a swamp tour – not to be missed – and ate all of the right foods. Crawfish etouffee, fried alligator, beignets, snowballs: distinctive cuisine is the other reason to visit NOLA, and it did not disappoint.  I should clarify, too, that the creepy display of Confederate flags above was an aberration, and outside the city. The worst thing we saw in New Orleans itself was the trashier end of Bourbon Street, where police led a man out of a strip club while very bored looking strippers looked on. That said, we didn’t wander too far from the historic French Quarter, except to catch the streetcar to and from our house in the Irish part of town. There were plenty of references to Hurricane Katrina, but how much the city is still recovering was left mostly to our imaginations.

More than most American cities, though, New Orleans just feels old and enduring: layers of French and Spanish history pile up in refreshingly narrow, built-before-the-car-came streets. Whenever you make it to visit – and you will want to visit sometime – it’ll be here, ready with music and life.

So: my first trip to the South is complete, and two more states can be scratched off the map. (That’s not a metaphor, it’s an actual scratch map.) More American exploration on the way!