9:46 am – Saigon… shit; I'm still only in Saigon… Huh… what? What?!?! Oh, okay. Salt Lake… shit; I'm still only in Salt Lake… Not that I'm complaining.
From my hotel, looking down upon the potential treasures of the Western Nut Company, on a Sunday in Salt Lake, I'm afraid the only nuts I'll have access to are my own. Surveying the contents of the drawers in my room I find a Gideon Bible, but surprisingly no Book of Mormon. Way to slack off on your home turf, elders.
1:50 pm – I hit the streets of downtown Salt Lake, making my way over to the The Gateway, a semi-ritzy entertainment center and open-air mall. While roaming about the mostly empty confines I got hit up by a young dude down on his luck for scratch towards a room for the night. I palmed him a fiver. Now that I did my good deed for the day, everyone else can go slag off!
Nearly all the shops were closed this Sunday morning, except for the obligatory Starbucks, but that didn't stop people from strolling around the outdoor mall. These weren't mall walkers either, but families. Couldn't exactly understand the attraction, but there was an entertaining fountain where kids in their bathing suits frolicked in the ever changing jets of water, orchestrated to the tune of the Salt Lake Olympics theme blaring out of speakers in the vicinity. I thought about filming the kids at play, but figured that would land me in the ever loving arms of the Salt Lake P.D., to the cacophony of cell phone calls to 911. Either that or some soccer mom would gouge my eyes out with her car keys.
Tiring of the scene I hoofed over to the Greyhound station to inquire about advance seating options available out of Salt Lake. For an extra $5 on top of the cost of my ticket, I could board twenty minutes in advance of the masses, avoiding the need to stand in line to score a seat of my choice.
Afterward I boarded the TRAX light rail line that would take me back through downtown and on up to the University of Utah campus, situated in the foothills of the Wasatch. It was quite a high and winding way up to the terminus across the street from the University's Medical Center, but it did afford a broad view of the valley in which the city resides.
For all the beauty of the mountains surrounding the city, there was a lot of misery on the streets of Salt Lake. Homeless folk are about in most of the public parks, and in secluded spaces where they are usually easy to ignore.
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2:44 pm – Quaffing an IPA at Cheers To You, a friendly, jovial downtown neighborhood bar. Good staff, happy drinkers. I paused before drinking to take a mood shot of me with my pint of ale, setting the camera on a ten-second delay. I got what I hoped to be a good shot, and indeed it was. For the few seconds I was posing for the camera, a patron on his way back from the pissoir stepped up behind me and flashed a victory sign with his up-stretched fingers.
I spotted this immediately upon review and turned around quickly to point out my fortunate transgressor. We joked, made introductions and I jotted down his email so I could send him a copy. It really was the quintessential photo of my Salt Lake experience, and I was overjoyed that Christopher stepped up to the plate.
I forget the context of this text that I posted on Twitter, but it bears repeating. “It takes a lot of balls to be a transvestite. You just have to remember to tuck them back.”
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6:04 pm – Wanderlust came upon me. I waltzed around for awhile until I found another joint a few blocks away called Junior's. I ordered up a pint of Guinness and spotted a jar of pickled eggs behind the bar, though these were not mere mortal eggs. These pickled delights marinated in a brine teeming with whole habaneros and semi-circles of sliced onions. I gave in to the urges felt. Zesty!
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More wanderings brought me to an eatery/bar called The Green Pig Pub where I sampled an offering from the Wasatch Brewery called Polygamy Porter. A few of these will make me want to impregnate a slew of women, all in the name of Jebus.
8:37 pm – A leisurely stroll east of downtown brought me to quintessential dive bar called The Twilite Lounge. Indeed the place had all the charms of such extinct downtown Des Moines dives like Evy's, Vicki's Pour House and the Locust Tap. Yes, the Locust Tap. I refuse to recognize the current abomination posing as a dive.
The Twilite Lounge was indeed intoxicating. One of the quirkiest offerings I had ever seen was a quart of Miller, served up in a bucket of ice to keep your beer chilled. I had already downed a big stein of Bud at this point, but felt compelled to order up one. After downing half the quart I found myself reaching the limit and I passed on the remains to a fellow patron at the bar and set forth to find some grub to finish the evening.
Lucky for me I came across a New York-style pizza joint called Este. I ordered up a meatball and ricotta pizza to go and made my way back to the hotel to settle into bed, nosh on pie, and channel surf until the eventual beer nod settled in.
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September 7th
7:17 am – Awake since three with alcohol insomnia. Leaving for Vegas this morning. I hope to catch some sleep on the bus. Hope, that is.
After quality time spent taking a leisurely shower I swing downstairs to sample from the complimentary Continental breakfast served up at the downtown Salt Lake Hampton Inn. The food was surprisingly good. Not great, but very little in life is so. Either way it fills my belly in a satisfying way.
| Photos from the Picasa Web Album: Salt Lake City |
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