Greetings from the Grand Hotel

Wonk just wanted his legion of fans to know why he's been conspicuous by his absence lately.

First of all, for what seemed like 2-3 days last week, Blogger was either down for repairs or unresponsive. A little irritating, but since the service generally operates quite smoothly (and doesn't cost us anything) it would probably be churlish to complain, except for causing Wonk to miss the opportunity to express his extreme pleasure in the successful US-Iraqi campaign to send Zarqawi to a permanent and very real hell where, I'm sure, he was surprised to find a complete lack of compliant virgins.

Mr. and Mrs. Wonker are now vacationing at the absolutely wondrous Grand Hotel on Mackinaw Island smack dab between the Lower and Upper Peninsulas of Michigan. When folks talk about the Rust Belt they are mostly referencing their impression of flyover country as exemplified by Cleveland and Detroit. What they forget (and what East and West Coasters don't care about) is that Michigan contains some of the most stunningly beautiful places on the North American continent, and Mackinaw Island is one of them.

The island is accessible only by ferry either from Mackinaw City on the LP or St. Ignace on the UP. And, mirabile dictu, you leave your car on the mainland. Since the turn of the last century, the automobile has been banned, and transportation is only by horse, horse-drawn carriage, or horse-drawn taxi. Or, if you want a bit of exercise, hundreds if not thousands of rental bicycles are available for your cycling pleasure.

The Grand Hotel is well over 100 years old and is done in the grand style of legendary places like the Greenbrier in West Virginia. However, it's remarkably unknown to media types who prefer to sneer at the vast spaces of this country that God carelessly tossed in between Really Important Places like New York, Washington, and La-La Land. Thus, it's left to poor saps like Mr. and Mrs. Wonker to luxuriate in fine rooms, luxury amenities, brilliant meals on the nearly full American Plan, and, of course, to dress formally for dinner after 6 which is served to the accompaniment of a fine jazz combo. Apres, one can adjourn for a demi-tasse in the wondrously huge parlor and be serenaded by a solo harp or other ensemble. At which point, promptly at 9:30, one can further enjoy dancing in the ballroom to the sounds of an accomplished troupe of musicians who traverse the vast territory somewhere between big band and Joe Cocker.

Hiking, boating, and exercising one's obligations to perform under the Trickle Down Economic Theory in town (whereby the enterprising townspeople extricate tourist dollars--tastefully, of course) round out one's delightful stay.

Mr. and Mrs. M will conclude festivities here tomorrow evening, hitting Frankenmuth (where Bonner's sells amazing Christmas stuff all year) and Greenfield Village, where Henry Ford transported pieces of the known universe to Dearborn, MI, will round out the holiday before the W's return to bustling DC and whatever fresh hells await them at the workplace. (Enterprising folks are roundly punished for their vacations by the neverending backlog that faces them when they return.)

Spending time on Mackinaw and in the Grand Hotel (where scenes from the Christopher Reeve-Jane Seymour tearfest Somewhere in Time were filmed, several just down the hall from the W's suite) is a wonderful trip back in time, albeit an expensive one. Those who are accustomed to denigrate the intellect and taste of Midwesterners would do well to sample this little oasis of good manners, fine dining, and overall fine taste before they start predicting the outcome of the fall election. Most of the hotel's clientele is pretty well off. On the other hand, many of the folks who come here are of more modest means and are, perhaps, doing a once-in-a-decade blowout vacation, a honeymoon, or a significant wedding anniversary (like our companions). But all are intelligent, diverse, and individualistic thinking human beings. Their wide divergence of opinion on everything ranging from illegal immigration to anything else you might think of would surprise.

See you again in a few days, and thanks to Luther for holding down the fort!