chapter 12

Door County‘We adore Door County,’ Amar and Arpitha enthused, keen that we experience the ‘Cape Cod of the Midwest’, more than a couple of hours north of Neenah. They spoke of how spectacularly beautiful it was and how they had enjoyed boating, walking and driving around, on earlier visits.When we drove there the next day, VK and I found they were right in singing duets of praise. If anything, they had understated the charm of the place. Not surprising, since they had been honeymooning there. Door County (pronounced ‘du-er’ and not ‘door’) is on the finger-like projection of land jutting out to the extreme north of Wisconsin. Amar did not want to take us to the tip of the peninsula; Door County is on the narrow strip of land with Lake Michigan on the eastern side and Green Bay on the western. We took one road going north and returned driving along the coast-hugging one. It was the loveliest of trips.One reason, I thought, was that once we moved away from Interstate 41, we took other, smaller roads, not always built on the principle that the purpose of a road is to take as many vehicles as possible, as quickly as possible, from point A to point B, usually in a straight line. The roads in Door County were narrower, curvier and delightfully devoid of uniformity. They looped, curled, climbed, bent, swirled and meandered through the countryside that in the early spring—the time we were there—had cleaner air and bluer skies than anything we had seen in a long, long time. The roads hugged the natural contours of the land in a way the giant highways did not. Now and then we would drive past a picture postcard town or small city. There were few people about and, wonder of wonders, not many cars either.There weren’t many buildings, and even the tallest, not as high as the trees; the exceptions being the lighthouses. The beaches—the locals call the waterfront areas beaches though both Green Bay and Michigan are only lakes—were clean and mostly deserted. But we couldn’t see any land on the horizon. Besides, there were waves along the waterside, so we promptly threw into the waters the Indian idea we had imbibed as children that the seaside had a beach just as a lakeside had a shore.We were headed for Fish Creek. Better to spend the rest of the day there, Amar said, than drive further to Land’s End. When we reached Fish Creek, we found there was no boating available that day. It was too early in the season; there was some ice and snow around to prove it. But we didn’t really mind. You could stand anywhere and gaze and gaze and just be happy.A Latino waiter was the only non-white person we spotted in Door County. I observed at the end of the day that it was one of the most beautiful places I had ever been to and that we were the only blots on the horizon. Not politically correct, of course, but my similarly-tuned family laughed.Would I recommend Door County to Indians travelling to the States? Yes and no. Yes, if you want quiet and beauty, and to sample some fresh air. Indians don’t have to be reminded that they will have to use their passports if they want to breathe fresh air. Yes, if the sight of trees, water bodies, flora and clean little winding roads and small, lovely houses fills you with joy. Yes, if you are a sailing aficionado. No, if you are looking for amusement parks, shopping malls, vegetarian restaurants, places of worship or roads where you can attempt to set new speed records. No, if quiet and peace are things you cannot handle. No, if you plan to take a train, because there are no rail lines in Door County.And, most importantly, a big ‘NO’, if you have a bladder that needs to be relieved often. For there was a near total absence of public restrooms. The U.S., I later found out, has a Victorian delicacy regarding toilets, turning a blocked nose to this most basic of needs. In the nineteenth century, it did have what were called ‘public urinals’, in the early twentieth century they turned into ‘Comfort’ or, as a wag put it, ‘Come-fart stations’. But soon they became victims of cost-cutting measures and disappeared.To make matters worse, if this lack forces someone to relieve themselves in the open, they are rewarded with heavy fines and some states classify such people as sex offenders. How cruel is that! Americans with a strong civic sense are egging Biden on for a ‘pee for free’ infrastructure plan to make the U.S. a bladder-friendly country.After much single-minded scouting, we managed to find a public toilet but I was appalled—it was like the ones I’d seen in the villages of Tamil Nadu when I was a child. There was a toilet seat over a huge hole. No flushing possible, just holding your nose and running out, if you haven’t fallen into that black hole of the U.S. I was quite shocked to see a bit of the Indian past showing up in this sophisticated country. Arpitha, who had gone in first, warned me not to look into the gateway to hell. I did, and gagged. There were paper napkins around, of course, and a couple of wash basins, but it was traumatic all the same. It took a while for me to recover from that experience.The sun finally decided that enough was enough and began to set. And what beauty it unleashed. As we drove back, we kept glimpsing between trees the tantalising sight of the setting sun throwing orange flames over the horizon for a very long distance. We gazed, dumbfounded by the beauty of the flaming colours mingling with the fleecy, tinted clouds, the inky blue of the sky and the patterned green of the trees. Amar, of course, concentrated on the winding roads.