The City by the Great Salt Lake

The airport was under construction and stretched out for empty miles, full of dirt and yellow diggers. Dad and I had no problem finding route 80. The Hertz map showed three enormous, entangled over/underpasses before our intended exit. So we drove and drove, waiting for an exit to 400 S. St., until there were some not-so-hopeful signs for Reno, NV. We'd nearly passed the whole city. The lesson here? I should not navigate. Oh, and Salt Lake City is much smaller than I imagined.

On the way to the hotel, which was by the University of Utah, UU for short, we passed a pretty grassy area, which turned out to be Liberty Park. This is also the place where I learned that the streets are numbered and also lettered for North, South, East and West, as we circled Liberty Park three times in an effort to get on the right 700 St. Rather recalled than learned, since my college roommate, who spent time post graduation here, had written me that SLC's streets were laid out in a grid around Temple Square. Mind like a sieve, K. Thanks for trying.

Dad and I walked through the Public Library and Temple Square after my agonizing attempt at jogging at 4,327 ft elevation and over 90 degree Fahrenheit heat (I have never felt so out-of-shape in all my life) during which I got to see the posh Rice-Eccles Olympic Stadium. The weather felt different than any I'd previously experienced. When we'd walk in the sun, it would be almost unbearably hot, but as soon as we reached shade, we'd be quite comfortable again. On Monday, when both of us were wearing suit jackets, we drove past a bank sign with a posted temperature of over 100 degrees. Neither of us felt too hot to manage.

The Public Library is just uncannily lovely, with a swooping arc of windows up to the building itself and a roof garden at the top of it. More pictures here.

The Library restricts Internet use to library card holders, so when I drove back into town one day, desperate for an Internet fix, I had to content myself with a cookie and a cappuccino from the fabulous coffee roasting place next door instead. Which reminds me -- we saw a working brewery, two coffee houses and three tattoo parlors while wandering about the city. I had feared spending four days without coffee or booze (well, dreaded might be a more appropriate verb.) But without the "membership required" signs on bars, it could have been a regular college town.

The brewery, Squatters Pub, was fantastic, producing "Polygamy Porter," "Captain Bastard's Oatmeal Stout" and "Provo Girl Pilsner," among other selections. Dad and I returned there twice. We also enjoyed a tres elegant meal at a hotel restaurant named Bambara. These were in stark contrast to the absolutely ghastly food available at our hotel restaurant, which served sandwiches and $2 milk.

Very kind and friendly people throughout the city. No one honked at me when I was driving. Not once. And I would take turns from an inside lane.