“When do we get to go on the People Mover again, dad?”
There are no 12 sweeter words in the English language for a slightly thrifty dad facing the often-daunting task of keeping the kids’ eyes off the boob tube on a summer Saturday. And I’ll admit it: I’m easily entertained. And it would seem that I’m bound to pass that on to my kids. We three – four-year-old, two-year-old and 33-year-old -- set out with $20 and some Canadian change in my pocket and went looking for a morning and afternoon of low-grade adventure. Turns out that it’s easy and economical, too, to be a tourist in your own town.
First stop: Eastern Market. What’s a Saturday morning of wandering without a stop in the sheds? Parking spot? Check. Wagon? Check. Dazzling amounts of sensory stimuli? Check and check.
The Rocky Peanut Co. is the kind of place where sensory memories that last a lifetime are formed. From the wafting aromas of spices to the tactile digging required to bag your own nuts; the slight crush of other shoppers dawdling through the minor maze of aisles and passageways between both exotic treats and staples. A couple bucks worth of peanuts – protein, shucking and shelling – the perfect snack!
We make our reluctant exit from the stores and head for the stalls. It’s not long before I turn once again into the enthusiastic ringleader.
“Look kids! Bunnies! Chickens!”
“Can we get one, dad?”
“Not today.”
“Why do they have bunnies and chickens here?”
“Sometimes people eat them. Sometimes people get them as pets.”
“Really?!” a wide-eyed stare beams back. “I want a pet chicken.”
“Me, too, buddy. Me, too.”
Amidst the din and hustle, we manage to score a few samples of oranges, apples and cantaloupe. Fruit! I am the great provider! The melon scores lowest on the toddler taste-o-meter. Snag a bag of some carrots and a half-dozen apples and I’m only down to $15.
Moving People
In the interest of finances and novelty, I decide to forego a trip to Greektown and the attendant parking and pizza costs. Instead, I swing the Buick toward Joe Louis Arena and hope the parking structure’s open. Luck is with me and -- $5 lighter in the pocket -- we’re soon surrounded by the flat grey corrugated tubes above the freeways linking parking garage to “mass transit” (and arena).
These same tubes through which the teeming “Let’s Go Red Wings!” masses stumble and shove after home games provide an otherworldly sci-fi bit of easy play on a quiet Saturday morning. I hoist the munchkins up to the windows and let ’em ogle the traffic zooming by underneath. I invite them to shout as loud as they can and see what kind of echo comes bouncing back.
“Where does that go, dad?”
The boy is pointing to the end of the tube toward the spiral ramp inside the corrugated silo leading out to Congress.
Here’s the deal: If you’re gonna let your kids tear down the ramp, remember that to get back to the People Mover station, you’re gonna have to give at least one of ’em a shoulder ride. Also remember that there are occasional piles of pigeon crap that would put a horse to shame.
We grab a couple tokens (lighter $1.00, the best bargain in town) and jump the train that Coleman built and Reagan crippled. It’s not long before my son is giggling to himself and repeating “old Pruneface” as he edges nervously toward the window for a better view of the river and Windsor.
My little girl is mesmerized by the lifelike newspaper bronze at the Grand Circus Park station. The beauty of the Pewabic tiles and elaborate mosaics in other stations will have to be appreciated another day, when their appetite for artistic subtlety catches up with their appetite for things that are huge or that zoom or that freak them out.
We are well into our second cycle around the People Mover loop when I catch sight of the jumping water in the Campus Martius fountain. Of course! Jumping water, open areas of grass for Crazy Legs and his sister Motor Girl to tear around and coffee, sweet, sweet coffee. I mention the park and after an informal but unanimous vote (judging by the toddler’s happy blurts), it’s decided.
While I’m busy wondering to myself which station is closest to Campus Martius, my son has positioned himself by the door as we pull into the Michigan Station.
“C’mon dad! We’re getting off!”
I hustle to catch up as we hop from the train to the platform. We’re as close as we are gonna get, I suppose.
My son’s a canny little bugger, though. He knows my weakness for all things coney and as we wander down Michigan to the park, our lunch-hungry noses lead us to the twin temptations of Lafayette Coney Island and American Coney Island. Now, I’m a Lafayette guy through and through. You’re just one or the other, really, I think. But in the spirit of parental indulgence, my son has allowed me to get dragged into the more colorful, more spacious, and more heavily windowed surroundings of American. I miss the shouting out of the orders and the general gruff bonhomie of Lafayette, but at this point, a dog’s a dog and it fits the budget nicely. A couple coneys, fries and pops later, we’re working with a slim budget that will get us back on the People Mover and on our way to dessert in a foreign country. At least that’s the plan forming in my noggin.
But first we mosey to Campus Martius, and we’ve got the place mostly to ourselves. I’m used to the place being a bustling hub of white-collar lunchers, tourists and locals. We take the opportunity to play a game of tag during which the rules are never quite stable and which ends when the toddler takes a thankfully blood-free nosedive while chasing her brother. But the fountain is lovely and we admire it accordingly.
Turns out, we could have hit a fountainous trifecta if I’d just planned ahead a little better. The Riverwalk outside the Ren Cen offers jumping waters through which the kids could have frolicked. (Though, there’s some debate over the source of the water and whether the invitation to frolic should be politely declined.) And I note, with some dismay, as we wander toward the Ren Cen PM station, the magnificent Isamu Noguchi Dodge fountain in Hart Plaza isn’t offering its waters today, either.
I make a note to do more homework next time I decide to be spontaneous. We hop the train once more, lungs full of fresh air, feet aching slightly, bellies still gurgling happily on a stew of ketchup, chili and fried potato, and head for JLA and further shenanigans.
A word of advice from someone who’s made the mistake of forgetting: If you have a wee one and set out for random adventures, downtown or anywhere, a lightweight stroller is your friend. Toddlers have a scientifically-unproven-though-no-doubt-real ability to put on 10 to 15 pounds when they become whiny, tired, clingy or any combination thereof.
NAFTA Inaction
The bridge is calling. Technically, the kids have never been to a foreign country, so I’m about to introduce them to the joys of international travel. I’ve collected a good amount of Canadian change – well, enough to cover one-way travel on the bridge at least – and this is one of the only ways to drop a loony or two and get a marvelous view of the city at the same time. Plus, I’m a sucker for Coffee Crisp and other duty-free delectables.
The kids have crossed Mackinac several times (kinda like going to another country, eh?). But the view of factories and skyscrapers and the odd passing boat and helicopter on the way to the Great White North (technically, south) should be a whole new ballgame.
Growing up in the Detroit area, I’d wager every former 19-year-old has their customs-friendly border crossing story still hardwired into their paranoid brain. “Going for pizza at Mother’s” is, of course, code for “We’ll be drinking a lot of your Canadian beer this evening.”
I’ve got a foolproof story all worked out. And it goes something like this: “Well, I wanted the kids to see the bridge and we were probably going to buy some candy and chips and take a walk along the waterfront.”
I imagine a strained look on the face of the customs officer, a perhaps slightly overlong pause to double check my license plate and a reluctant wave through.
But just as we’re passing the Michigan Central Depot, I crane my neck around to give a little bit of fatherly historical insight and note with some slight dismay that both of the little monkeys have zonked out. And here I am still with $1.50 left from the original Jefferson. Another Saturday perhaps, another Saturday.
Coming soon
Part Two: Belle Isle, puppets, Styrofoam creations, basement choo-choos and much more.
Links:
http://www.thepeoplemover.com/
http://www.rockypeanut.com/
http://www.campusmartiuspark.org/
http://www.ambassadorbridge.com/
All Photos Copyright Dave Krieger