Quick trips
Cincinnati museum draws on the nostalgia of signs
“Advertising,” mystic Thomas Merton wrote, “treats all products with the reverence and the seriousness due to sacraments.”
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“Advertising,” mystic Thomas Merton wrote, “treats all products with the reverence and the seriousness due to sacraments.”
Tucked into a corner of the wall above a stairway leading to the third floor of the Corbit-Sharp House is a tiny doorway. In 1845, the cubby hole behind this door sheltered a runaway slave named Sam. When the local sheriff came looking for the runaway, the lady of the house, Mary Corbit, led him right up to the stairway. As she had hoped, the sheriff couldn’t imagine that the space behind the door was large enough to shelter a human being, so he turned away to continue his search throughout the rest of the house. Corbit’s daughter, Mary Warner, recalled years later that her mother said that her heart was beating so loudly, she feared that it would give her secret away.
Open the scruffy front door of a drab-looking corner tavern in Chicago on Friday evenings and suddenly you’re in Texas, greeted by the rowdy twang of a genuine honky tonk band. Cowboy-booted couples of all ages two-step around the dimly lit scuffed wooden dance floor to the likes of Willie Nelson, Hank Williams, or one of the band’s own drinking songs. If I’m Not Drunk, I’m Not Drinking Today is a crowd favorite.
I grew up in Chicago and still go there often. But since I’m visiting my family, I rarely stay in hotels.
My mom and I have a pact: When visiting Chicago, where she used to live, we eat as many exotic, foreign-themed meals as we can manage.
White sands, impossibly blue water and picture-perfect weather draw beach-lovers to Aruba. Warm and welcoming, the island is what the locals call “dushi.”
On a hot afternoon in August, when the road reflects the glare of the sun, I turn into the main entrance of Sebring International Raceway and pass one, then another empty guard shack. A construction crew is working behind the grandstands, but no one else is about. No races are scheduled this weekend. Even the Skip Barber Driving School is closed.
Back in the day, the meat-avoiding traveler had to pack plenty of trail mix, because even an urban vacation could feel like a hike along the Appalachian Trail when mealtime rolled around. Even a city like New York, with its falafel chains and ubiquitous Indian restaurants, raw-food cafes and even vegan diners, could seem like a wasteland if a vegetarian tried to move into a higher-end dining room.
We climbed a creaky metal ladder, my mother and I following Gable Erenzo into an attic splotched with October sunlight. “These are all experiments,” he said, gesturing to a jumble of three-gallon oak casks, 53-gallon whiskey barrels and seemingly every size in between.
Forget about the Alamo, folks. The action in the Lone Star State’s beloved Tex-Mex capital these days is on the river.
A few blocks wide and more than a mile in length, the Strip District is where Steel City sizzles.
It is a still, hot day on Sarasota Bay as we slide our kayaks into the water. Too lazy to use our oars, we drift a little and watch the mullet jump while we wait for the last members of our tour to arrive. Suddenly a pelican swoops down and grabs a silvery fish, startling us.
The most southerly of the Windward Islands, Grenada remains relatively untouched.
North Carolina city will host Democratic convention.
Other towns make the claim, but this river city has plenty of evidence in its favor.
Pummeled by a hurricane in ’08 and a government scandal in ’09, this hidden gem retains its luster.
Beyond the resorts and the golf courses lies a completely different Hilton Head.
Shoeless Joe Jackson came home to Greenville after he and seven others members of the Chicago White Sox were banned for their part in throwing the 1919 World Series. Now the town is a mecca for sports fans who believe he was wronged.
The approach to the new Barnes Foundation campus in Center City Philadelphia is not a straight line. Visitors to Dr. Albert C. Barnes’ extraordinary art collection first walk by a ticketing pavilion, then past a newly commissioned zigzag sculpture by Ellsworth Kelly. Beyond that is the main building, a subdued rectangle of pale gray limestone bordered by a reflecting pool and a row of red Japanese maple trees. Near the entrance, the path turns left, across paving that bridges the water, suggestive of a protective moat. Then visitors must turn right to enter the building through a pair of heavy, wooden doors.