Saturday, January 15, 2022

Behind the Ohio River

 



Woke up outside of Cincinnati. Driving into town I asked my older one to look up the derivation of the name.  Right.  Cincinnatus the Roman general who won the battle and then returned to his farm.  The George Washington archetype that Trump never heard of.  We were en route to Tucker’s because, well, the Lonely Planet said it was cool and I looked it up and it did seem cool, the Over the Rhine neighborhood seemed a bit dire.  Tucker’s though did not appear to have survived Covid, however the Findlay Market around the corner was bustling and we got some mighty good food, walking around the market, including a breakfast sandwich and some empanadas from a gent who mixed in Indian spices. 

 

Though I was tempted to see this city’s art museum, like we did in Cleveland, I was glad we went instead, with our limited time to the Underground Railroad Museum.  Situated between the football stadium and the baseball stadium and certainly more poignantly right behind the Ohio river where former slaves used to attempt to cross to freedom.  From the pavilion they have you can look out and consider that terrifying dash, and we all talked about similar borders both historic, like the one between Hong Kong and Shenzhen and the current up in North Korea.  The museum is powerful, well done if perhaps a bit cluttered.  Thematically some of the transitions might have been organized better, but the material is a gut punch and we all took it in, in our own way, noting the resonances from the my little one’s recent history class, or the tape we heard just a while back on the ride down here, concerning Donehogawa, aka Ely S. Parker, a remarkable Native American engineer who became the Commissioner of Indian Affairs under Ulysses S. Grant. 



We couldn’t cross the Roebling Suspension Bridge of 1856, which was under repair but just like that we were soon in Kentucky and just like that I was soon drowsy.  My wife drove on, just about all the way down to Louisville.  Retarded, certainly, I couldn’t stop saying everything as in a Mitch McConnel voice.  My gal was done driving and wanted a drink and Proof on Main sounded like a fine enough place, in the city where it’s all about bourbon.  They weren’t open till five though.  The joint across the street needed 30 minutes to seat us.  So we peeled on out of Louisville just as fast as we came in, explaining to my daughters just why there was a fifty foot baseball bat standing on its end there on Main St. 



It’s a not insignificant drive through KY on to TN.  We wanted to dine in Nashville.  It was Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs driving through Kentucky and switched over Hank Williams when we got into Tennessee.  I fear I may be foolishly getting fearless with my Waze app because when I don’t see no cops detected I sassume it’s OK to go ninety miles an hour on the all but enmpty four lane highway.  We made good time and soon we were off the highway and cruising towards the replica of the Parthenon that this city has.  Once again, so glad, ever so glad that we have the memory of visiting the real one, to off set the fact that this was somehow important to Percy Jackson.  But the older one wanted to see it and there we were. 

 

Off in the distance there was a lovely faux gothic tower and a sign for Vanderbilt University which I’d only recently learned was dammed exclusive.  The Carmicle Tower called us onward and soon we rounded out this, our third college visit of the tour, after Oberlin and a Kenyon drive through.  Everyone seemed to agree that Vanderbilt seemed stately and reckoned this was why we saw so many familiar Asian faces around.  A first, as second and a third restaurant were all booked out.  Slavishly thumbing through the Lonely Planet my wife finally found a place that wouldn’t have been our first pick among all the ribs and BBQ joints but Chauhan Ale & Masala House was outstanding!  We got there the long way, driving down town through Printer’s Alley and then back around.  We Loved it.  We all ate way too much, got friendly with waitress who called all my ladies “my dear” with a fresh-to-our-ears, southern lilt.  Alas, that was all we got to see of Nashivllle.  Driving west, once again into the sultry long sunset we continued on for the next three hours over on to Memphis.




Saturday, 06/26/21

 

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