Grand Rapids, MI.

In my first proper Amtrak ride, I decided to dress well and bring some style back to rail travel. It was useless. Noise and mass confusion at Union Station led a hoard of antsy Michigan Moms in three-quarterslength pants to organize the passengers of the 370 to Grand Rapids. It was kill or be killed and we had to stick together, otherwise we might go to the wrong gate or board the wrong train. We made it, thanks to a little Midwest practicality and ingenuity.

Luckily the train ride itself was fine, as I realized that sweatpants is a more appropriate uniform for my final destination. I saw kids shooting airsoft guns in a downtown street, Rosa Parks Circle, a strange water fountain with steam jets, Meijer, a toothless rickshaw driver, and a “US pissing on NAFTA” sticker. All in all, the city was clean and beautiful, though small but spread out, and I wasn’t used to driving everywhere. A biking city, to be sure, I’m told, but I didn’t see a single one. Grand Rapids reminded me a lot of Providence- pretty, insular college culture, historic, small, and the arts capital of the state. Their downtown was called CityCenter like Providence’s Downcity, kind of weird but I like it.