We would be smarter to stop and talk to people there a few years ago, they generously blocked off the street for my wedding and applauded from their porches. We could’ve at least driven through the Heidelberg Project, the neighborhood art project by native son Tyree Guyton, helped along by artists such as Tim Burke.
Cruising music: Aretha, Gladys, Stevie, repeat. Wright Museum of African American History, the Museum of Contemporary Art, Pewabic Pottery and the Motown Museum. For another view, we’d stop at the Charles H. We could pore over each corner of Diego Rivera’s murals and walk among Warhols, Rembrandts and Egyptian mummies. We should’ve stayed a day longer and gone to the Detroit Institute of Arts. We might’ve walked up and down the streets of Boston-Edison and Brush Park to appreciate the glorious old houses, or the sidewalks of Lafayette Park to see the more modern Ludwig Mies van der Rohe homes.
We could’ve stared south at Canada, or crossed the bridge to Belle Isle, the island playland larger than Central Park, with elements designed by famed landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted and Detroit favorite Albert Kahn.ĭetroit is, unfortunately, perhaps, the artistic home of “ruin porn,” and while Michigan Central Station and the like are worth an ogle, we really should’ve stopped in the very-much-alive art deco Guardian Building to spin in the lobby. In all that concrete, marble and glass, it’s easy to forget it’s a city made possible by water. We might’ve taken the Dequindre Cut, a pedestrian-only greenway, straight to the Riverfront.
It’s still owned by a grandson of the founder, still a wise place to buy cheese. specialty store recently reopened under the name DeVries & Co. The next day, we could’ve shopped Eastern Market – the old R. Maybe we should’ve planned the party a day earlier, so we could hit Café D’Mongo, the Fridays-only speakeasy. We should’ve sent everybody home with a box of sugared goodies from La Gloria in Mexicantown. The next morning, we could’ve gotten coffee and pastries from Avalon International Breads or detoxed in the worth-the-wait crepe line at Good Girls go to Paris. (Or at lunch, if you’re that kind of hungry.) There should’ve been coneys, those chili-cheese-hot dog monstrosities best consumed on the wrong side of 2 a.m. We should’ve poked our heads into each of the 52 rooms at The Whitney and requested the creme brulee, just because. We could’ve table hopped and ordered often: the Vedgie sandwich at Mudgie’s, beef cheek pierogie at Roast, barbecue at Slows, beer at Motor City Brewing Works, cheaper beer at the Anchor. When everybody arrived, we should’ve had a pile of sunshine-yellow Better Made potato chips, round paczki from New Martha Washington bakery and Faygo Rock & Rye, or maybe Redpop, waiting. But without a guide, our visitors couldn’t even tell where to start.Ĭity smackdown: Philly, a fine place for ‘cast-offs, misfits’ I miss it when I’m gone and perpetually wish for a few more days to explore. Its rise and fall resembles the story of other cities, but on the ground, there’s nothing like it – exactly the trait that makes any place worth a visit. Detroit has problems, but lack of identity and charisma isn’t among them. I left feeling guilty, like I’d shirked my duties as an ambassador of the Mitten’s greatest city.
It was a merry night, but I know some of our guests left exasperated and disappointed by the view from the expressway and the sense that we shouldn’t stray too far from the well-lit hotel perimeter.
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