Papel Chiltepin: Detroit, a Boon

After our disappointing day in Cleveland, I was looking to reclaim the region. We had a trip scheduled to Detroit last weekend for a friend's wedding, and to visit a friend of mine, Kyle, from Catalina HS who had, over the summer, moved back home to Michigan.

We dropped Paco off at Poco's Playhouse, where he was to be boarded Saturday night. I felt like an anxious parent dropping their kid off at camp for the first time. After checking out his room (that's right, no kennel cage for my baby) and waving good-bye to him (he was being smelled over by the friendly pack of dogs also boarded that weekend), we headed off to Detroit and made it without a hitch! (Well, I forgot to get gas again, but on the freeway we found a station in under five minutes. Oh yeah, and I went the wrong way on a one-way street in Greektown, but there were no other cars).

Our hotel (reserved for wedding guests) was the Marrriot at the Renaissance Center in downtown Detroit. Squeezed between two towers, our floor-to-ceiling window had a spectacular view of the Detroit River and Windsor, Canada!

We met up with Kyle and found a chicken and waffle restaurant in what appeared to be an old bar which may have been a church before that. We caught up on our lives in the Midwest and Kyle and I exchanged what word we had of former students and colleagues back in Tucson.

Then, the wedding: It was held at the beautiful Detroit Yacht Club on Belle Island. It was a Freemason ceremony, which was a new experience for me. My friend Farzin and her bridesmaids wore gorgeous saris. The flower arrangements were stunning. (When I was in high school I started writing a short story about a wedding, which was really me just writing about my fantasy wedding. I made it as far as the location--somewhere in the Santa Cruz Valley south of Tucson-- and a long description of all the flowers. I didn't describe the gown, the guests, or even the groom.)

That night we went to a couple drinking establishments in downtown Detroit. The first one was very cool (old, small, with two middle-aged women running the bar), but a bit loud. The second one I picked by peeking in to its window and declaring it was great, and it turned out to be just as I hoped. It was cavernous with only a handful of patrons, a man playing the Blues on a guitar, and an 80-something year old Greek bartender who poured us shots of Root Beer liquor unprompted (and, admittedly, unwanted, but we accepted). We met some friendly locals and a woman said I looked like Florence (of The Machines fame), which was a fabulous compliment. All in all, a good night.

The next morning, a bit haunted by our Cleveland trip, Javier and I raced through the parking garage thinking our car had been stolen (we forgot we had parked BELOW ground-level). After finally locating it, we ate a yummy breakfast in a hip diner by Wayne State and drove home to pick up the baby who, apparently, was now besties with a poodle and a beagle and was invited to return anytime.