Love Letter to Detroit

When I look at this photo, I can still hear the sound of a sparkling serenade playing as the sun decorated a summer's sky over Belle Isle.

I can't quite remember when my fascination with the Motor City began, but my intrigue grew to love on July 12, 2021.

On the surface, Detroit is everything your mind has already painted it to be. But at its core, Detroit has a heart of gold that left a permanent mark on mine. I don't know that everyone can see and experience Detroit the way I did and the way the people who made my souvenir magnet "Detroit turned out to be heaven" did, but it took just two days for me to learn that there's a whole lot to love about that rough-and-tumble town.

Detroit is a place that doesn't hide its wounds or its chronic struggles—it wears its guts and its glory proud for all to see. Detroit is unafraid of who it is or what you think it is.

Detroit is rainbows and daggers. Detroit is smiling faces and faces smiling through strife. Detroit is a place to taste exotic pastries and square, sauce-on-top slices sprinkled with sausage. Detroit is a teddy bear wearing spikes. Detroit could use a hug, but it won't ask for one.

Detroit is an enormous city that once housed 1.8 million people. It's now home to 600,000. A lion's share of abandoned avenues sprawl from the riverbanks to the outskirts, and nearly a third of all homes in Detroit are vacant.

Depending on where you set the bar, Detroit might look like a town that's barely kept its head above water. For every step it's climbed, Detroit may appear to have taken six leaps back—like it's got a great iron fist hammering down on its drive. But like the unmovable Monument to Joe Louis that reigns in Hart Plaza, Detroit redefines what it means to be tough by weathering the force of seemingly endless storms and forever dusting itself off again. The ambition of this city is lit by a flame that never dims.

Every time this city has fallen, it's gotten back up twice as strong. I can't help but admire, applaud, and relate to that level of resilience. Seeing it in Detroit helped me see it in myself. Looking past Detroit's busted-out windows, crumbling towers, and demolition-stained streets, I stared into the soul of the city. It helped my mind understand that progress and success are only measured by the scale you set them on.

Even after I fell for this city and retraced my steps, I still ask myself, what was it about this gentle fanged giant called Detroit that spoke to me the way it did? This place filled with emptied-out neighborhoods, countless once-booming businesses now windowless with boarded-up doors—it's a shell of its former self. And yet, there's beauty to be found in the industrial wreckage turned inspired sanctuaries, the mangled metal turned into the art of flourishing gardens, the honorary and interpretive murals.

This place, where a never-ending stream of steam rises from the asphalt cloaking the city in a misty haze, feels as haunting as it does romantic. There's so much about this puzzle of a place that left an indelible mark on me.

The people I encountered were a big part of how I experienced Detroit. They helped set the tone for my brief but sweet time in the Motor City. All of the twisted, tantalizing elements were whipped up into something uplifting that made my soul dance and my spirit sing. Normally, I don't like to dance, and I rarely sing.

Detroit taught me things I was on my way to learning, but like fate, it all came together in splendid serendipity. One simple phrase I've repeated to everyone who's asked, "Detroit? Really? How could you love Detroit?" The resounding reply that rises up every time: Detroit is a place that wears its pain and its beauty proudly, unapologetically for all to see. And that resonates so deeply with me.

I've been inexplicably drawn to Detroit for as long as I can remember. I thought it was perhaps the intrigue of potential danger appealing to my slight invincibility complex, but I think all this time, I was just sensing a story my life had yet to realize.

Being in the city of Detroit is like being in someone else's huge, possibly haunted mansion when they're not home. You walk the creaky wooden planks past forgotten chapters of time, wondering, "Is anybody home?" It feels so empty and yet full of magic, mystique, and intangibles I can't put words to.

On my first night in Detroit, I got so swept up in the city that I completely lost track of time. I spent hours downtown talking to locals, soaking up the Greektown scene—the next thing I knew, it was after 9:30 on a Monday, and my only food option would be something from my hotel lobby's half-stocked shelves or modest mini freezer.

Before I tell you what I ate for dinner that night, I should explain that the fact that I even had a "first night" and a second in this city speaks volumes of my desire to experience Detroit. I am a rambling tumbleweed who rarely, if ever, stays put in a place for more than one night. It's not because I don't want to—believe you me—I'd love to wander on endlessly and stay for as long as I like everywhere, but with the limitations of annual PTO allotments, I can't help but maximize every minute of my explorations by cramming as much as humanly possible into each one. And now, after having spent two whole nights in Downtown Detroit, I know that next time, I'll have to spend a minimum of four because then and only then will I have a hope of getting my fill.

On my first night on Gratiot Avenue, I had my choice of yogurt, a microwave pizza, a microwave burrito, chips, and good ol' cup-o-noodles. Since I was pretty sure my room didn't have a microwave, I went with the soup du jour. I conjured my ancient college learnings and turned the bathroom faucet to the hottest water it would give. I hesitated for a second, thinking of nearby Flint, Michigan, but the call of the cup-o-noodles overpowered any uneducated concern.

I bounced around my ninth-floor room like a sparkling rubber ball that night. I was a kind of giddy I hadn't been for quite some time. A bluish hue settled over the city, but the lights of the opera house and the warmth of the city's glow lit me and my room with something electrifying that night. I couldn't bring myself to close my curtains or my eyes. I lay there awake for hours staring through my portal to my newfound paradise.

On my way into the Motor City, my tough-guy armor that instinctively activates in urban environments was on full display. Picture a massive, black, spiked turtle shell on my back, a Predator-style helmet with Predator-style hair, thick brass knuckles that attach to metal arm cuffs that Predator would wear, plus metal chest and shoulder armor that resembles what a Medieval football player might wear. Of course, this armor only exists in my constantly-racing imagination, but that's the kind of persona I assume I emit when my inner Mafioso is engaged.

So I rolled into town like my blue Kia Sportage was a tricked-out, matte black Cadillac Escalade with dark tints, spinning rims, and muffled bass bumping. I switched my playlist to the hardest of the hard. My nitrous oxide engine revved the moment I saw the Motor City, USA, bald eagle painting on a water tower along I-75.

But my imaginary armor fell away the moment I was so warmly welcomed by Jacqueline at my hotel. We made an instant connection. She loved that I was on the road alone and that I was exploring her home city. She took me under her wing and told me exactly where to go and where not to go. I told her everything on my list for my first full day in Detroit. We both knew it was ambitious, but that's my style, and Jacqueline encouraged me to go with my flow. I like to explore with the intensity of a soccer mom at Disney, and that's just what I did.

When I saw Jacqueline again on my checkout day, we were all smiles. She told me I looked so relaxed and refreshed. I told her about the incredible sunset I caught the night before on Belle Isle, and she told me that she had never heard of the island, but she decided she had to go. I love influencing potential tourists to explore off-the-beaten-path places, but I especially love teaching locals about what's hiding in plain sight in their own backyard.

Emily, who co-owns City Bird in Corktown with her brother, was another lovely person I met in Detroit. I asked her where's a good place to get some bacon and eggs in town, and she wrote down at least a dozen breakfast places she recommended. She had nothing to gain from putting that effort in for me. She didn't even eat eggs—she shared with me later. She and I were just enjoying each other's company and sharing tidbits about our life's journeys. I kept her list of breakfast recommendations. It's in the top drawer of my writing desk where it will stay.

Kevin owns a charming, renovated home built in 1877. He rents the warm upstairs suite on Airbnb, and he too was so kind and lovely to lose track of time talking to. He shared stories from Detroit's heyday. Told me all about how he was part of the team that designed and desegregated Detroit's neighborhoods. He also told me about his epic adventure back in the 70s when he rode his motorcycle from coast to coast. He made a friend along the way in Utah and drove her to Las Vegas.

I love encounters like this. My trips are filled with them. The more I've traveled, the more I've learned to take detailed notes of little and big things that happen along the way. The older I get, the less reliable my memory becomes, and memories like this are too precious not to have backed up. 

A cop asked if I'd consider moving to Detroit to marry him! That's not a memory I'd easily forget, but it's been buried by a year's worth of experiences since then. He was funny. I was walking around Greektown smiling, discreetly taking pictures of things—trying to blend, when he and his partner waved me over. Shit, I thought. I'm definitely not blending. Might as well be wearing a t-shirt that says, "I've never been here before!" They confirmed that impression when we got to chatting in a sweet, laughing way. Like Jacqueline, they too told me where to go and where not to go.

My life's been yearning for another dose of Detroit. I'll go back next fall with renewed PTO. Maybe in November for my birthday. Detroit was a delight last summer. Magic and music filled the air on Belle Isle (pictured above). Cars pointed with their noses back toward the mainland, sat and entertained with trunks popped, speakers singing, and solo cups clinking. Friends danced in their modest tailgate spaces on a typical Tuesday evening in July, rejoicing in sweet, temporary covid relief at sunset, basking in the joy of simply being together.

There weren't any brand-new cars or brand-new clothes dancing around that lot. Their owners may not have had wealth, but they knew how to find and share joy. It was a gift to witness—local life on a beautiful gift of a night.

On the banks of Belle Isle stood two men who appeared to be watching the water for hours. The pair had at least five fishing rods between them, each one strategically stationed in buckets with bells set to ring the second a line sensed a hint of underwater activity within reeling range. The two men didn't speak much to each other at all. They didn't need to. They had reached a level of closeness where silence was comfortable.

They shared an empathetic laugh when a bell that was ringing up a storm finally stopped. When the bell first started up, my eyes widened. I imagined seeing one man sprint to grab the line while the other man positioned to grab his friend, and together they'd crank and crank till their hats fell off and a 14-foot Moby Dick-style fish I'd name Bessie flew from the water and landed in their laps. But these men were Lake Erie's well-seasoned fishing pros. They didn't get excited until there was something to be excited about. But it was fun to watch them watch the water.

So should you go to Detroit? If you're someone who can see beneath the surface and derive a deeper meaning from an encounter—if you're someone who loves a good casino and the sounds of Motown—if you enjoy a good museum steeped in history and American innovation—if architecture intrigues you, or if you're simply looking for the ideal starting point to an epic Michigan adventure, consider Detroit your gateway.