Montana (Helena)

Quick! Name the largest state (by area, not by population). Alaska! (Piece of cake.) The next two are pretty easy, too, although I confess I sometimes transpose them: 2) Texas; and 3) California. Number Four, however, keeps a much lower profile than the first three. It’s kind of a shame, because Montana (Big Sky Country, Land of Wide-Open Spaces, The Treasure State) is full of surprises.

Montana State Capitol

We only caught a glimpse of this huge state. Driving north from Idaho, we got the sense that we were entering it right at the point where the Great Plains begins to get acquainted with the mountains. Along I-15 from the border to Butte, the terrain takes some twists and turns. In some spots, it’s the midwest. In others, it’s all mountains. There are evergreen stretches with babbling brooks that seem like the Pacific Northwest. Other parts feel a bit desert-like. Every bit of it is beautiful.

I confess that we didn’t develop an appreciation for Butte’s charms. It was lunchtime, we were hungry and in no mood to linger on the scenic route. I saw several references to it being America’s Largest National Historic Landmark District, which is impressive. No doubt it’s pretty, up there in the mountains, and its copper mining history gives it a hardscrabble feel. But we were in a hurry to get to Helena.

Known back in the gold mining days as Last Chance Gulch, Helena is now the Queen City of the Rockies. It’s a very pretty and appealing little western town. We knew it would not be the most sumptuous stop on our week-long trek; and it was not. But as long as you’re content with Hampton Inn accommodations and brew-pub dining (in fact, I believe there are nicer and more interesting restaurants… we just didn’t take advantage of them), you’ll be fine.

If you approach the Montana State Capitol from the north, there’s a point at which the dome is perfectly set against the mountains. In the setting sun, it was breathtaking. The building is perfectly suited for the state’s western roots. The copper dome is quite unique. Once inside, while standing in the middle and looking up, I noticed that the proportions of the dome aren’t as high as in some other capitols. The building is pretty but not too fancy. We really loved it, especially because of Jane, who was just about the best capitol docent I’ve ever had. There’s a Charles M. Russell painting in the House chambers of Lewis & Clark’s expedition through Montana that’s pretty spectacular. You can see more of Russell’s work at Montana’s Museum next door. I give the museum a solid “C.” Other western states do it better, like Wyoming and South Dakota.

I asked Jane, a native Montanan, about the state’s other cities and how they differ from each other. She told me that in Billings, people view Missoula residents as damn Commies. In Missoula, people view Billings residents as rabid right-wingers. I’m looking forward to a return trip to Montana so I can see for myself.

In the meantime, I have memories of our trek from Helena down to West Yellowstone. The Madison Valley, as the region is known, is such a refreshing combination of mountains, trees and water. The town of Ennis, charming as all hell, is the fly-fishing capital of the universe. I am one with the city and not so much the “country,” but boy, I get its (and for that matter, Montana’s) appeal.

Maryland (Annapolis)

An old line used by Maryland’s travel bureau trumpeted the state as “America in Miniature.” It’s a slogan the purports that idea that Maryland encompasses all of America’s geographic and cultural diversity, only in a much smaller package. I don’t buy it. What is accurate, though, is that for a relatively compact state, Maryland has more than its share of disparate regions.

Maryland State House

For example, rural western Maryland might as well be part of West Virginia. Its identity, its topography and its major industry, coal mining, seem much more at home in the Mountain State. It even nearly gets pinched off from the rest of the state, in a region in which one can travel through four states (PA, MD, WV and VA) in under a half-hour. Whereas Western Maryland evokes the Appalachian South, Maryland’s Eastern Shore is like the Tidewater South (with a little bit of tacky Jersey Shore mixed in).

Baltimore is in between. I have to say that, in disagreement with the punchline that it sometimes is, I really appreciated the rowhouses and ethnic neighborhoods of this working-class city. Like Philly, or Brooklyn or Boston, the cultural makeup can change in as little time as it takes to cross the street. Crime is high here, but the touristy areas like the Inner Harbor are fine. I enjoyed a delicious—and pricey—crabcake sandwich at Miss Shirley’s. One of the best in Bawlmer, Hon!

Greater D.C. shapes Maryland, too; and vice versa. Maybe because so many of D.C.’s more exclusive suburbs are over on the Maryland side, this region can give greater Baltimore an unwarranted inferiority complex.

A little more than a half-hour away from either of those places is Annapolis… hands down, one of the top two or three most beautiful capital cities in the U.S. This home to both the state government and the U.S. Naval Academy is moneyed and utterly full of maritime charm. The state house is very pretty… it was once used as the U.S. Capitol, and no other capitol has had its legislature reside in it longer. Tours are restricted to one floor, which is unusual and a bit disappointing. But there are lots of fun facts to make up for it: the mortar between the bricks was made from ground-up oyster shells! That wooden dome, the largest such in the U.S., contains not one nail! Be sure to allow lots of time to meander the streets, walk into the shops and dine along the water or at one of the many great restaurants along Main Street.

Louisiana (Baton Rouge)

Laissez les bons temps rouler! Trouble is, ever since Katrina, the good times haven’t exactly been rolling in Louisiana. Has a state been more affected by disaster, for as long of a time, than Louisiana since late August 2005? Not so far in our lifetimes.

Louisiana State Capitol

I had the good fortune to visit southern Louisiana a little more than five years before Katrina. My vivid memories are of the food, the music, the food, the people, the food, the history, the food, the culture, the food… Louisiana deserves my highest compliment: it’s unlike anywhere else on earth.

I just love Cajun cuisine. There is no such thing as too spicy, in my book, so I’m in heaven there. The seafood is so incredible; the flavor pairings so unique. The people there LOVE to eat; they have a joy about their region and a welcoming, warm attitude towards visitors.

The best starting point for this experience is, of course, New Orleans. My understanding the areas most frequented by tourists have long since returned back to normal. Although we only spent the equivalent of a day there, we covered a lot of ground: Bourbon Street which, like Las Vegas or Orlando, is worth seeing… but only once; the Garden District, which is beautiful… be sure to take a streetcar; a swamp tour (very, very touristy); and one restaurant after another.

Surprising for us, our best meal, though, was not in New Orleans but in Baton Rouge. I wish I can remember the name of it; no matter, because there are so many Cajun- and Creole-cuisine restaurants in this region, you can’t go wrong. My sense, however, is that Baton Rouge’s charms are primarily limited to the kitchen. Maybe it’s because, just north of the capitol complex, there are seemingly miles and miles of chemical plants belching God-knows-what into the sky. Or maybe it’s because the capitol itself, America’s tallest, just doesn’t do it for me (the bullet holes from the assassination of former Governor and then-U.S. Senator Huey Long are pretty cool, though.) It’s kind of a gussied-up North Dakota capitol… built around the same, utilitarian time.

Louisiana is, like Florida, more like the rest of the socially conservative South the farther north you go. The spicy, exotic stuff is all in the southern part of the state.

Ohio (Columbus)

A few states lay claim to being the perfect representation of America. Missouri and Pennsylvania, for example, present a compelling case, what with their precise combination of urban vs. rural vs. suburban. But to find this country’s true bellwether, one need only to look to Ohio. With its 20 tantalizing electoral votes, the candidates—and the media—practically take up residence in the Buckeye State during the remaining six months of a presidential election. It’s equal parts Red and Blue, and whoever Ohioans choose ultimately affects us all.

Ohio Statehouse

Ohio is where I was born and raised. I believe I have benefited from having grown up there, as well as from my decision to move away from there. I know one thing: people on the coasts are generally clueless about places like Ohio.

So here’s a quick primer: Cleveland is the largest city in the largest metropolitan region in the state. However, it is not the largest city in the state (more on that complicated formula shortly). It is located in the northeastern part. Cincinnati is in the southwestern corner of the state, along the banks of the Ohio River; Kentucky is on the other side. Indiana and Pennsylvania abut Ohio to the west and east, respectively; and Michigan (to the northwest) and West Virginia (to the southeast) round out the borders.

Cleveland is cold and industrial; kind of like a smaller Detroit or a bigger Buffalo. Recessions do not look kindly on places like these. People here tend to vote for Democrats, not because they are particularly liberal, but because of their belief that the Democratic Party represents them, the engines of the manufacturing sector. Cincinnati is more of a sibling to fellow river towns like Louisville or St. Louis (with a dash of Pittsburgh’s rugged terrain mixed in). Maybe because a significant part of its metropolitan area is in Kentucky, it really doesn’t think of itself as part of Ohio (just look at the Convention & Visitors Bureau Web site, a link to which is above). “Cincinnati, USA” is how it has defined itself for years. It’s a conservative place… not quite the south, but not quite the north.

Then there’s Columbus, nearly dead-center in between Cleveland, Cincinnati and everything else in the state. With all of its super-sized aspirations, and laudable achievements that really do make it rise above the other two C-cities, it is nonetheless stuck with the ultimate generic name. This means that a comma and “Ohio” will always and forever be attached to it. Hardly the stuff of the big leagues.

Having lived in both the Cleveland and Cincinnati areas, I’ve long taken a dim view of how Columbus champions itself as Ohio’s largest city. It got to be that way by gobbling up unincorporated residential areas that ring the landlocked city. So yes, it has more people than any other place in Ohio. But Ohio’s largest metro area and media market remains greater Cleveland-Akron-Canton.

What else defines a city? Cultural institutions, for one… Columbus has them, but Cleveland is a true powerhouse on that score (ditto for medical facilities). A diverse corporate community? Columbus does remarkably well in that category, but not as well as Cincinnati. Recreational pursuits? Flat, landlocked Columbus really doesn’t compare to Cleveland or Cincinnati. So what does Columbus have going for it that the other two do not? That magic combination, which it shares with Madison, Austin, Lincoln and only a few other places in the country: the home of the huge state university; and the state’s capital. Nowhere is recession-proof, but those two things give Columbus a huge leg up.

Visitors are often surprised by how new Columbus and environs is. The rust belt it is not. Its downtown is attractive enough, and its urban neighborhoods, like the Short North and German Village, are quaint and energetic. But with acres of new housing developments, modern-looking shopping areas (including “lifestyle centers”), you can drive through and around Columbus feeling like you’re in a sunbelt city, not the Midwest. Beyond the city limits, suburbs like Dublin or New Albany have growing populations, shiny new buildings, and enviable corporate residents. For decades now, Columbus has been able to thrive while other Ohio cities falter.

As for the state house, as its known, it sits on a manicured plot of land right in the middle of downtown. I’ve never been a fan of the domeless cupola drum look of Ohio’s, and Oregon’s capitol. But once inside, well, I love it. The building was restored in the late 1990’s, and they did a fantastic job. Its lighting is soft, warm and pleasing. Many marble capitols have a cold feel to them. Ohio’s is the exact opposite. It ranks as one of my favorites. There’s a terrific gift shop on the building’s lower level. Take in the displays down there, because the Ohio Historical Center, a few miles up I-71, does not, in my view, adequately showcase all of the unique aspects of Ohio. There are lots of geological artifacts that I find boring, and not enough about Ohio’s unique role in shaping the industrial revolution, the politics and the culture of this country.

All roads lead to Columbus, so use it as a springboard to see the rest of the state, particularly if it’s campaign season, when Ohio turns into a carnival.

Utah (Salt Lake City)

In most state capital cities, you can tour not only the capitol itself but a museum that describes the history of the state and that state’s contributions to the country and to the world. Usually there’s a display of the state’s commerce (an L.L. Bean duck boot in Maine; a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer can in Wisconsin) and a sampling of its musical heritage (a fiddling hoe-down in West Virginia; a cowboy ballad in Oklahoma). Some museums are old and pathetic (Connecticut) and some are brand-new and fantastic (South Dakota). But in Utah, there simply is no museum… that is, until you visit the Church History Museum, located in Salt Lake City’s Temple Square, just down the hill from the capitol. That’s because Utah history is the history of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS); and LDS history is Utah history.

Utah State Capitol

Indeed, Brigham Young was the first governor of the Utah territory. Utah wasn’t even allowed to become a state until “The Church,” as Mormons like to call their religious institution, renounced “plural marriage,” as Mormons like to call polygamy. These are but two of countless examples of how the LDS church and Utah are inextricably linked.

That’s not to say that there isn’t some non-Mormon life in the state. Salt Lake City has had a series of progressive mayors over the past decade and the fantastic mountain resort town of Park City is well-known as being perhaps the most liberal (read: non-Mormon) spot in the Beehive State. But with an estimated 60-70 percent of Utah residents belonging to the LDS church, Mormon influences are never far away.

We began our Salt Lake City visit by heading directly to Acme Burger Co. for lunch, after spending all morning on airplanes. Doug reports that his bison burger was terrific; my Kobe beef burger was just OK. The restaurant’s feel matches the wholesome yet contemporary spirit of Salt Lake. It’s not quite Denver… no, it’s smaller and doesn’t have as many decadent microbreweries or sinful coffeehouses, or goths or gays. Salt Lake is also one of the few American cities, at least in 2009, with construction cranes as part of its skyline. Then it was on to Temple Square, although we saved more in-depth touring for the end of our vacation. After that, we set our sights on the Utah State Capitol, rising up on Capitol Hill just north of downtown.

It is as stately, and dome-y, and column-y and capitol-y as it gets. Truly, if there were a cookie-cutter for capitol construction, this one (and a few others in this country, truth be told) follows it to a letter. And it was recently renovated, so it has all the benefits of a solidly built, historical structure combined with modern appointments. In theory, I loved it. Problem is, I didn’t walk away with much more of a sense of Utah than when I entered. Doug thought it lacked heart and soul. Others may disagree, and that’s fine. But for us, it seemed to be missing crucial elements that would distinguish it from the rest. Perhaps on another day it would have struck us differently.

I will say that a few elements of the grounds did interest me: it was a gorgeous summer day, and there were adults and children playing frisbee on the lush lawn. I liked that it was being used, rather than just admired. Perched up on a hill, the capitol steps offer a great view of downtown Salt Lake, and the Wasatch Mountains. To the south and west of the capitol, you’ll see beautiful, verdant neighborhoods with comfortable houses located on well-maintained streets. But look to the north and BOOM!–the view is of arid mountains, with not a tree in sight. I found the contrast to be interesting and jarring. Finally, the courtyard behind the building is reminiscent of the ones that surround Mormon temples. Obvious much?!

After the capitol, we headed up to Idaho and beyond for an Intermountain West vacation. Salt Lake City is definitely a great place to begin and end such a journey. But even if you stay in Utah, there is still plenty to see. As I mentioned earlier, Park City is great, with many terrific restaurants and cultural offerings. Unlike Vail or Teton Village, it has the feel of a real town. I loved it. Be sure to visit Utah Olympic Park for a Zipline or  bobsled ride, a museum to the 2002 Winter Olympics and more. In the southern part of the state, there’s Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park. I’ve been to the latter and can report that it’s spectacular. But a caveat: while I haven’t mapped out the mileage, my sense is that they are a little easier to get to if your starting point is Las Vegas, rather than Salt Lake. I’m sorry to say that we did not  float in the Great Salt Lake. I didn’t do a whole lot of research on it, but I got the impression that there aren’t too many recreational features of this massive, colorful, smelly, salty body of water.

While you’re in Salt Lake City, though, you might as well take in its raison d’être. We sure did: in addition to checking out the exterior of the Salt Lake Temple and the interior of the Tabernacle (where the acoustics are so perfect that you really can hear a pin drop), we toured the Beehive House, where Brigham Young lived with his many wives and children. We drove through Sandy, West Jordan, Murray, and, to the north, Bountiful. These places could be mistaken for any suburban community in the mountains, except for the LDS chapels that sprout up every few blocks. Our Mormon indoctrination felt particularly complete when, on the SLC-DFW leg of our trip home, there were 30-40 LDS twenty-somethings on their way to their mission in South America. Did they/will they convert us? No. But being in their world for a few days made me think more about them… what makes them different, and what makes them the same as the rest of us.

Arkansas (Little Rock)

Arkansas is one of those crossroads states that’s hard to miss. And yet, I made it to 47 states without ever getting to it. So in Spring 2009, I journeyed across the Mississippi River at Memphis and experienced something that never gets old: driving into a state in order to cross it off my list. Flying in just isn’t the same, because I love seeing the welcome signs at the border and getting off at the first exit to pick up travel information. I had other reasons to be excited about my Arkansas visit, as Little Rock is one of the few places that is home to both the state capitol and a presidential library/museum. My expectations were high. 

Arkansas State Capitol

Little Rock gives off a good first impression. Massive it’s not, but it is the largest city in the state. Its downtown buildings are pleasing and appropriately proportioned, with a surprising number of new, inventive architectural styles. I headed right for the capitol, which is close to the central business district, but set apart on its own, expansive plot of land. And the building is a beauty. I particularly like how, in this shot, the deep red Arkansas flag is set against the stark white facade. The massive bronze doors at the entrance are especially spectacular.

A woman was going down the stairs when I was going up, and I asked her to photograph me in front of the building. After she did, she told me that this was a great day to visit, because “Chah-leee” was signing his book. She then explained that she was referring to Secretary of State Charlie Daniels, who had written a book about the history of the state, or some such topic. Once inside, I stopped by the small gift store near the rotunda to buy a miniature flag, as is my tradition. “Oh no,” said the young woman. “We don’t sell small flags, we give them away. Chah-leee would never want a visitor to buy his own flag.” There you go.

I wish the hospitality would have extended to the rather surly woman at the tour desk, who explained that they give tours by appointment only. I understand that policy on weekends, but this was a busy Thursday in the spring. Nonetheless, I took the self-guided tour and found lots to like. Sure enough, in one of the chambers, Chah-leee was faced with a long line of people waiting for him to sign their copy of his book. I particularly liked the portraits of the three Arkansas beauty queens who went on to win national titles; these portraits were sandwiched between the Little Rock Nine and Governor Clinton.

Speaking of “Bill” (this first-name-basis bit is big in Little Rock), he still looms large. Time and again, I was told by Little Rock residents that Bill is singlehandedly responsible for the resurgence of the city. It isn’t just the William J. Clinton Presidential Center (more on that in a moment). It’s the River Market. And the Heifer International headquarters. Little Rock has a newness and energy that would not exist if Bill hadn’t built his museum there (which made me wonder, where the heck else would he have built it?) His museum is unlike any other. Wags complain that it looks like a double-wide, set against the banks of the Arkansas River. I think it’s beautiful. Rather than going from room to room, as one would in most presidential museums, the exhibits here are mostly in a single, wide-open space. It’s modern and fast-paced… a real must see, regardless of your opinion of him. I wish that it would have focused more on his life before politics (and I wish that we could have walked into the exact replica of the Oval Office). Other than that, raves.

I also recommend the Little Rock location of Whole Hog Cafe for very good BBQ, Flying Fish at River Market for catfish and hush puppies, and to stay, Robinwood Bed & Breakfast. I’m very choosy about B&Bs, and this place is historic yet modern, set in the beautiful Quapaw Quarter historic district. The governor’s mansion is just down the street. Apparently, Bill, along with the current Arkansas governor, Mike Beebe, exemplify what it means to be a great neighbor. Mike Huckabee? Not so much.

Delaware (Dover)

Among the collection of T-shirts for sale at any of the souvenir crap shops that line the Delaware shore is one with the outline of the state and the term “Dela–WHERE?” This sliver of a state is known for being the first to ratify the Constitution, for being the home of our current Vice President, and for having a major inferiority complex. OK, maybe that’s not fair. It has a zillion Fortune 500 companies headquartered there, due to its favorable corporate tax laws. DuPont Chemical was born there. It has the fewest interstate highway miles of any state save Alaska (and, depending on how you look at it, Hawaii). It’s the only state in the country without commercial air service. That might be it.

Delaware Legislative Hall

I’ve been there a handful of times, and I’ve found it to be quite pleasant. The center of the state, away from the ocean, seems somewhat Ohio-like to me. New Castle is an incredibly charming, historic place. Rehoboth Beach, the self-proclaimed “Nation’s Summer Capital,” is popular with the D.C. set, the gays and people seeking an alternative to the Jersey Shore. Nearby Dewey Beach had an overgrown frat-boy feel to it the last time I was there, which can be appealing to some. Then there’s Dover, home to the Dover Air Force Base, Dover International Speedway (SO not my thing…) and a tiny capitol complex for this tiny state.

Some claim that the Old State House Museum is still, officially, Delaware’s capitol. I don’t buy it. But they call the building that now functions as the capitol Legislative Hall. I believe the governor’s office is there, too, so it’s more than that. But, whatever. I found it to be unremarkable. There’s not much to say about Dover, either. I think we stumbled upon a pizza joint that also serves subs, but I don’t believe there was much more than that in the way of restaurants. So if it’s summer, tour Legislative Hall, then head to a beach town for a nicer meal.

Nebraska (Lincoln)

Here’s a fun fact: if Memorial Stadium in Lincoln were to be counted as a separate city on game day, it would rank Number 3 in Nebraska. It just goes to show how much Nebraskans love their Cornhusker football. The capitol building, which punctuates the plains like an exclamation point (or, some say, an erection), is also an attention-getter. I proclaim it to be one of the most unusual capitols—not necessarily in a good way—in the country.

Nebraska State Capitol

Here’s something else that’s unusual, another fun fact: Nebraska is the only state in the country with a single-chamber legislature. No House or Senate here, just the Unicameral (although members are known as Senators). I don’t know if, ultimately, this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I did get the sense when I was there that Nebraskans have a sense of pride about their Unicam.  

So this unusual legislative body meets in this unusual building that rises up from the prairie. I felt like I was in a cathedral, or a vast, 1920’s-era train station. Not being a student of art or architecture, I couldn’t really appreciate all of its elaborate features… but believe me, they’re there. If you’re into all that stuff, this place is a feast for your senses. Oh sure, I got the Native American/agricultural/”we’re simple, salt-of-the-earth people” symbolism. But I found it a bit overdone in parts. The building was built between 1922 and 1932, and it definitely has the distinctive feel of that time between WWI and WWII… kind of dark and cold. But kudos for its originality. I’m not sure if the observation area at the top is still open—I was there before 9/11—but if it is, I recommend a trip up.

Lincoln is a heckuva place for the capital, all the way on the eastern part of the state. True, that’s where most of the state’s population is, but you have to feel sorry for the poor legislator from Scottsbluff, at the western end. This senator lives closer to three other state capitals (Denver, Cheyenne and Pierre) than he does to his own. (That is my final fun fact for this essay.)  I found it to be a pleasant enough, if unremarkable, college town. It’s a bit more understated than, say, Madison or Columbus. I’d be up for a return visit, and when I do, I’ll do more than just drive through Omaha, which is only an hour away. Omaha is one of those places, like Oklahoma City or Des Moines, that are surprisingly interesting and cosmopolitan, despite what snobs on the east or west coasts may think.

Kentucky (Frankfort)

Kentucky, like its neighbor, West Virginia, is in geographic purgatory, as it’s viewed by Southerners as The North, and by Northerners as The South. Other commonalities include ties to the coal industry, and Appalachian culture. But unlike West Virginia, those things are only part of the story in Kentucky. And also unlike West Virginia, there is a wide swath of beautiful, bluegrass-covered land in Kentucky, full of white-fenced horse farms that reek of bourbon—and money. 

Kentucky State Capitol

The old joke goes, “How do you pronounce Kentucky’s capital… ‘Lewey-ville’ or ‘LOU-uh-vul’?” The answer, of course, is Frankfort… although if you’re looking to reference the state’s largest city, the latter pronunciation is correct. It speaks to Frankfort’s obscurity, and indeed, this tiny place along the banks of the Kentucky River is easy to overlook. It’s not a bad place to put the capital, located roughly between Louisville and Lexington (Kentucky’s second-largest city). But even natives might need a few seconds to find it on a map, or to name what else it’s known for besides what they learned in school. (The answer to THAT riddle? Rebecca Ruth Candy, home of the famous bourbon chocolate balls.)

The capitol is located in a lovely, park-like part of town, surrounded by modest homes and not much else. The building is very beautiful, though it doesn’t break any molds. Be sure to visit the floral clock, located near the back. All this is separated from downtown Frankfort by the river. Downtown contains a few state office buildings, a street or two of storefronts (disappointingly, not much in the way of restaurants or shopping), the phenomenal Thomas D. Clark Center for Kentucky History, the old state capitol and a few other attractions. Although it’s possible to walk between the two districts, that’s not to say that it’s a short walk. Chain hotels and Applebee’s-type restaurants are adjacent to the Frankfort exits of I-64; if that type of environment meets with your approval (I thought it was just fine), then by all means, dine and stay in Frankfort. Otherwise, make the short trek to Lexington (heart of horse country and home to the University of Kentucky) or Louisville (a city I find rather unremarkable, sort of Cincinnati- or St. Louis- or Indianapolis- or Nashville-lite).

Connecticut (Hartford)

Connecticut is the Constitution State. The Nutmeg State. Gateway to New England. Those of us who live here know it as The Land of Steady Habits. When my partner and I first moved here in 2004, I was under the impression that most of Connecticut was made up of “Official Preppy Handbook” holdovers. It only took one trip to the DMV to dispossess me of that notion. Since then, I’ve found it to harbor some contradictions: 1) It’s one of America’s richest states, yet its cities are among the poorest; 2) Its location affords easy access to two of the Northeast’s major metropolitan areas, yet Connecticut’s residents—among the most surprisingly parochial people I’ve ever encountered—resist traveling more than a few towns away, let alone to New York or Boston; and 3) Although it is a bastion of true-blue progressive politics and is made up of charming, New England towns and manicured suburbs, there are pockets of it (particularly between the center of the state and the casinos) that are surprisingly redneck-y.

Connecticut State Capitol

In fact, the more I think about it, this state in which I live, and that I really do love, is very odd. Bridgeport holds the distinction of being Connecticut’s largest city, but it’s not really a city at all, unless your only definition is a place with high crime and poverty. My definition includes things like a discernible skyline, a cultural institution or two, good restaurants and nicer shopping. New Haven has some of those things (in particular, its restaurants) and benefits from being the home of Yale University. Yet it has more crime, and downtrodden neighborhoods, than most other cities its size. Then there’s Hartford, a place with such potential, and a place which, at first glance, looks kind of nice. Scratch the surface, though, and you’ll see that it’s a dump.

This should not be the case. It has a diminishing—though still strong—corporate base in the insurance industry. It has a riverfront and beautiful parks. Its metro area contains several handsome, well-to-do suburbs. But the city’s crime rate is high and self-esteem is low. With few exceptions, the restaurant and shopping scene is in West Hartford, and that’s where I recommend that visitors go after touring the capitol.

A capitol that is, in my view, a little too fancy and ornate. Overlooking Bushnell Park just west of downtown, the Connecticut State Capitol has so many ruffles and flourishes. It’s very striking, and nicely maintained… but just a bit much for my tastes. Much of the people’s business is conducted in the adjacent Legislative Office Building, but the governor’s office and both chambers are still in the capitol. Don’t bother with the Museum of Connecticut History, located across the street. I’ve been in many of these state history museums, and this one is, by far, the worst. It’s small, long-in-the-tooth, and doesn’t even begin to show a comprehensive view of the history of the state. As a proud Connecticut resident, I’m ashamed of it. Take in the Mark Twain House instead.