Day 24 - Nigel spies on rich people

We rolled into St. Paul last night and checked into one of the fancy hotels of the sort that its name is associated with debauched celebrities.  We had gone “up-market” because Pete feared the business contacts who were to collect him might be afraid to drive into the type of neighbourhood where our usual digs are located.  This one is pleasant and shiny, and it sure is great having taps that work, but is a little hoity-toity for a simple kiwi lad like myself.  Also these kinds of places always have beds so soft that I wake in the night screaming for Tonto to lasso me out.

St. Paul is actually located so close to the more well-known, Minneapolis, but I could never work out where St. Paul finished and Minneapolis began.  A local actually told me that you're in Minneapolis once you cross the river, but unfortunately our GPS has developed an intense dislike for us that is bordering on the psychotic.  This manifests itself in some very peculiar routing invariably involving narrow shingle roads and steep mountain passes.  As a consequence, I crossed so many bodies of water that I couldn’t consider it a reliable indicator of anything other than that Skynet is real and we should be very, very afraid.

 

With Pete escorted off to his meeting, I headed to Summit Hill to see how the poor people live.  It truly is a gorgeous area with huge mansions and beautiful gardens; but you could not help but feel sorry for the people that live there though as the cost of heating a 10,000 sq. feet home must be just crippling.  

I had expected to stop here only briefly but with the views and the perfect weather I just kept on walking. After a bit I came across a poorly shaved old man with wild hair sprouting from under one of those hats with tie-down ear flaps, of which one was up and one was down.  I desperately tried to avoid eye contact assuming that he clearly wasn’t firing on all cylinders, but he greeted me when I paused to photograph a brownstone.  As it turned out he was a lovely if somewhat quirky old man and we had quite a chat while he watered his letterbox.  He was quite knowledgeable about the Summit Hill history telling me important dates and even pointing out the house belonging to F Scott Fitzgerald. His neighbour's house was for sale and they had originally sought 5 million for it, but would now give it up for 1.3 million, which just goes to show how right I was about those heating bills.

One thing that struck me was that every time I went to cross the road the oncoming cars would screech to a halt to give me right-of-way. It really was quite unsettling so I took to hiding behind trees and dashing across the road when it was all clear.  Time had slipped by and so after an hour I headed back least I get another parking ticket (I don't think Pete could handle a second hearing in front of Judge Judy).

Everywhere people were walking and jogging, enjoying the weather and genuinely looking happy and satisfied with themselves. Except of course for the homeowners, judging by the number of bottles in their recycle bins, clearly they were drowning their sorrows in Dom Perignon.

Once back at the car, I ate my lunch, a warm pottle of yoghurt I had held onto since breakfast. While I am not one to complain, I have to confess that American yoghurt does not taste particularly yoghurty.  It appears they missed the step in production where milk is left to ferment.

The state motto for Minnesota is "10,000 Lakes" and given that four of them featured in Minneapolis' top ten attractions I thought I better visit one.  I headed to the Lake of the Isles which was surrounded by even more attractive mansions.  As I was driving around it a pedestrian stepped out in front of me and I had to jam on the brakes to avoid hitting her. Clearly she had mistaken me for a local.

I then headed off to visit the Stone Arch bridge, an impressive 2000 feet of granite and limestone, not realizing that in the same location was a 2 mile walk incorporating other attractions, St. Anthony Falls and the Mill House ruins.  What is impressive is that anywhere else this area would have been written off as urban decay and quietly ignored, but they have turned the dilapidated structures and aging factories into an interesting and surprisingly attractive walkway.

After that I picked up Peter and we headed off to the “Mall of America”.  Apparently this is the biggest mall in the USA, and is certainly ten times the size of anything in New Zealand, unfortunately I quickly realized that this just makes it ten times as boring.  I walked the entire mall, probably passing in excess of 800 stores and saw three that I found sufficiently appealing to enter. Shopping is not really for me.