MOTIONAL BLUR (THE BACKSTORY) 6: BUOYANT BOISE
Travels with Andrew
We launch from The Fairmont early next morning.
Southern Montana’s scenery is the best yet, with only us on the road to enjoy its magnificence, especially the sky, which truly is big. This is because, in every direction, clouds sit on the horizon, accentuating such bigness.
We cross into Idaho—even more spectacular scenery—and finally cave to hunger at Exit 118, Idaho Falls, maybe the finest Subway sandwich store in the world.
Back on the road I slap The Best of Dion and the Belmonts into the CD player. Andrew groans, scribbles into a composition book he’s brought along, informs me I’ve been reprimanded (again) for my choice of music.
At Bliss, we ramp off for a photo op and discover we cannot ramp on again due to an entry ramp closure.
“You know what the lesson is here?” I tell Andrew. “Never trust bliss.” (Or, as James Joyce put it: In times of happiness, don’t despair, misery is just around the next corner.)
Sure enough, misery finds Andrew when he discovers, rummaging through his travel bag, that all his garments have been smudged by toothpaste, extending to his immediate surroundings in the front passenger seat.
This leads to another road rule after Andrew sheepishly admits the tube went into his bag without a cap: If you can’t cap it, lose it.
Boise’s skyline from the road quickly absorbs us into its clean, well-maintained streets, and we check into The Grove Hotel.
Ninth Street, around the corner, turns out to be more vibrant and artsy than I ever could have imagined about the capital of Idaho.
A creative jeweler named Robert Gray Kaylor crafts a line of fine jewelry out of old railroad nails. I’m drawn to a pin and almost buy it, but decide I need to pen my novel first, maybe buy it as gift to myself upon completion. As in Nailed it!
Next I happen upon a studio belonging to Tony Caprai, a painter of expressionistic nocturnes.
As usual, I scout a place to drink and a place to dine.
The hotel concierge recommends Lucky Fins Seafood Grill, but its appearance is tacky and suggestive of fast food, with a menu to match. So my search continues, past Ruth’s Chris, a possible fallback. But soon enough the right place pops: Juniper, which, as its name suggests, celebrates gin.
Boise, it transpires, is everything Butte is not: Alive.
As for the people who inhabit this city: Very friendly. Even beggars (of which there are few) are exceptionally polite.
Be Bold in Boise is their slogan, emblazoned on t-shirts and baseball caps in the official store of the University of Idaho.
From beat-up Butte to bold Boise, feeling buoyant.
My choice at Juniper is Junipero, an astonishingly good gin.
Perpetually peckish Andrew moves straight for bison meatballs. I raise an eyebrow, Can’t we aperitif first?
No sense of decorum—or ritual—he. “Hey, at least it’s indigenous.”
I am too content to object.
The ambience, inside Juniper and out, is joyful. Boise’s young women are feminine and friendly amidst bohemians, hipsters and colorful characters.
After stuffing himself stupid, Andrew counters calorie intake with a hike, and I concur he should take one, leaving me to savor a glass of Planet Oregon pinot noir and pick on glazed salmon.
My own exercise, afterwards: A leisurely walk around Boise’s Capitol.
Unlike the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C., there is no security, no paranoia, and I have a sense that this place is not inhabited by mostly corrupt and useless politicians accompanied by a bevy of spin-doctors, lobbyists and their corporate benefactors.
If Butte caused me to lose faith in America, Boise helps restore it.
Even the modern architecture is better than I’ve seen elsewhere, contrasted side-by-side with preserved historic buildings, an eye-pleasing mélange of old and new.
The city’s dive bars have their own neighborhood. This is where the dregs congregate, including beggars. I hand out greenbacks to a war veteran and a single mother of three (so their placards proclaim) before decamping to Bodo, an artsy neighborhood, and a wine bar called Bodovino.
Andrew finds me here and begins making friends with the pretty young gals pouring wine: Stephanie and Alexa. They tell us that liberal Boise is completely different from the rest of Idaho, which is very conservative and largely Mormon (kind of like Jackson versus the rest of Wyoming).