I wanted a summer vacation SO BADLY.

Like properly badly.

After switching over to the transportation team, I had somehow entered a phase of life where I barely saw the sun in broad daylight.

Weekdays were just the same little routine going round and round and round.

Work => Go home => Repeat => Again & Again

Very healthy and spiritually expansive;

And aside from customers summoning me somewhere on a business trip every month or two, I didn’t really have many reasons to leave.

So I decided: VACATION!!!!!

I actually sat down and tried to choose somewhere properly.

My main requirement was very simple:

I wanted to sit by the water in ACTUAL DAYLIGHT, get hit by the sun, and do absolutely nothing.

That was it.

Not culture/ Not personal growth/ Not a transformative culinary journey.

But: SUN + WATER + REST

There honestly weren’t that many candidates after I applied my extremely sophisticated criteria.

And somehow—

Michigan.

Again.

There are obviously plenty of cute, nostalgic, safe, comfortable little places in America.

But I wanted Michigan.

I missed it.

So Michigan it was.

The second I landed at Gerald R. Ford Airport, my heart did a tiny little kong-kong.

Just a little.

And then the first thing that surprised me was the air.

SO CLEAN.

Like somebody had changed the filter on the entire state.

Honestly, whether it’s a vacation or a business trip, I think the airport is the first major checkpoint.

The state of the airport tells you everything.

If the airport is clean, calm, and vaguely pleasant, I immediately assume the trip will go well.

Is this statistically sound?

Probably not.

Do I continue to judge entire cities by baggage claim?

Yes.

I rented a car and decided I’d hang around Grand Rapids first, then either go down or go up depending on my mood.

Very structured itinerary.

Extremely professional.

There was this market area in Grand Rapids where they hold a Christmas market during the winter.

Even without the Christmas market, there were plenty of vendors and things to look at.

And there was this tea shop—

SO GOOD.

Like actually, actually good.

They gave me some tea to sample and it was excellent.

Dangerous place.

You give me one free sample and suddenly I’m emotionally invested in your small business.

Then I went to the museum.

Even though it was a weekday, the place was PACKED.

The entrance was a little chaotic, so for a minute I had no idea where I was supposed to look first.

What am I seeing.

Where am I going.

Why is everything happening.

Eventually I realised the only solution was to just choose one thing and commit.

One thing I really liked, though, was that anything a kid might point at and ask “WHAT’S THAT?” had an explanation attached to it.

Everything.

Even the bridge construction happening outside the window had explanatory stickers on the glass.

Someone at this museum had anticipated children correctly.

Respect.

Then came my moment.

TETRIS.

I am the Tetris ruler of this area.

Naturally I had to demonstrate.

That high score?

MINE.

I would like this noted for the historical record.

The joystick controls were awful, though, which made the entire experience slightly deranged.

I was fighting the machine more than the blocks.

There was also this Korean snack display that was apparently supposed to explain old Korean train culture.

I looked at it and thought—

okay.

Kind of.

I see what you were trying to do.

But there was also a Korean flag sitting there in a way that felt slightly like somebody had developed their own private theory of Korea.

If they’d put in freshly roasted sauna eggs or Chilsung Cider or something?

Then I would have been like:

YES.

LOCAL CULTURE.

GOOD JOB.

Instead, it looked a little like someone had gone to Seoul Market nearby, bought a selection of Korean snacks, and said:

history.

Which honestly is also charming in its own way.

Then there was old Grand Rapids.

And old Grand Rapids basically looked like old Europe.

At some point during the Ford / automobile / steel era, this region must have felt much more important and industrial and grand.

Grand Rapids now feels quieter.

Not dead.

Just—

slightly rusty around the edges.

Like an old machine that still runs perfectly well but no one bothered polishing.

And honestly I kind of like that.

There was another part of the museum that I REALLY loved.

Everything had been drawn, categorised, labelled, explained.

Very old-fashioned.

Very meticulous.

Very—

if I love something, I will sit down and catalogue every single part of it with my own hands.

I LOVE THAT.

There was so much affection behind the natural-history displays.

You could tell whoever made them was genuinely obsessed with the subject.

That kind of stubborn sincerity makes me so happy.

Draw it.

Label it.

Classify it.

Keep it forever.

YES.

Also:

Lake Michigan.

SALT FREE.

SHARK FREE.

Which is apparently why they can safely have shark displays indoors instead.

The sharks looked terrifying.

Like genuinely savage.

But also extremely cool.

Sharks really commit to the face.

No mixed signals.

And honestly, one of Michigan’s great claims to fame is Ford.

At some point I would like to read a Ford biography.

Will I?

Be serious.

I slowly wandered through the exhibits instead.

Much more realistic.

Then I went to the Gerald R. Ford Presidential Museum.

And the entrance alone???

SO COOL.

Mr President……

I was immediately impressed.

There were a few sections where I went:

hmmmmmmmm.

Particularly some of the New York-related material.

But regardless, the exhibition itself was beautifully done, and Ford really is such an iconic Michigan figure.

Again, I thought:

I should read his biography.

Again:

Will I?

Probably not???

At least I am consistent.

After playing around Grand Rapids for a while, I decided to head south first.

Toward South Haven.

And on the way, I started eating all the foods I had missed.

First:

the glass-noodle pho in Holland.

Second:

that pizza that basically melts in your mouth.

Third:

chicken in South Haven.

Very good chicken.

Important cultural research.

Then—

SAUGATUCK.

Still romantic.

Still ridiculously romantic.

I didn’t even know they had a chain ferry there.

I saw this little thing going back and forth and it was SO CUTE that obviously I had to ride it.

Basically, it travels a short distance across the water using a chain.

Like a boat version of a moving walkway.

Simple.

Tiny.

Adorable.

The weather was perfect.

The water was pretty.

Everything was soft and summery and romantic.

I nearly fainted from the atmosphere.

Very serious medical condition:

too much vibe.

Then I stopped at a winery, had some wine, and made a solemn declaration to myself:

I NEED TO DO A WINE TOUR.

Remember this.

It becomes a recurring thought.

Saugatuck just kept going with the romantic little streets.

Tulip season was already over by then, but early summer had its own fresh green charm.

Actually maybe better in a different way.

Everything looked alive.

Very little-town summer.

Very dangerous for people like me who see one flower box and immediately start imagining an alternate life.

Then I got to my accommodation in South Haven.

It was a dome.

A DOME!!!

The ceiling was open enough that I had this whole fantasy in my head:

I will lie there at night and look up at Michigan’s endless stars falling across the sky.

Romance.

Nature.

Peace.

Reality:

BUGS.

HAND-TO-HAND COMBAT WITH BUGS.

Please observe the evidence of me throwing pillows around the room while fighting insects.

Absolutely brutal.

Nature had entered the accommodation and apparently wanted the bed too.

Still—

the place itself was insanely romantic.

And honestly, if I wanted stars that badly, I could just put a camping chair outside like a normal person.

The inside of the dome was much more modern than I expected, too.

Lots of little devices and things.

I chilled in the jacuzzi next door while watching KPop Demon Hunters.

Very culturally coherent Michigan wilderness experience.

Then South Haven itself.

South Haven really does look like the sea.

Except it is a lake.

Which my brain continues to reject.

It has such a strong little marine-city identity.

The maritime museum wasn’t enormous and didn’t have THAT much inside, but honestly you don’t even need it.

Just walking around the harbour and marina feels good.

That’s enough.

I also made two suncatchers nearby.

Both of them eventually shattered into pieces.

BOTH.

A successful craft experience.

But honestly, I don’t care.

Making them was so fun.

Choosing pieces.

Sticking little things together.

Building something useless and pretty with my hands.

DOTHETHINGSTHATMAKEYOUHAPPY.

Even if the thing later explodes.

Looking back at all these photos while writing this, I’m starting to think—

did I really travel this much???

I swear the trip was only around a week.

But sorting the photos feels like I spent six months crossing the continent.

And the reason I’m saying this is because—

THIS WAS ONLY HALF THE TRIP.

Yes.

We now go UP.

Wayyyyy up.

TRAVERSE CITY.

And actually, the original purpose of this entire trip was:

LET’S GO SEE THE BIGGEST CHERRY FESTIVAL ON EARTH!!!

That was the whole concept.

Except.

The festival had ended the WEEK BEFORE I GOT THERE.

Excellent planning.

Beautiful.

No notes.

I arrived at my Traverse City accommodation, though, and visually???

Insane.

The colours were so pretty.

Like genuinely gorgeous.

Unfortunately, the bugs also seemed to agree.

Especially the moths.

SO MANY MOTHS.

I tried to sleep and became increasingly angry and miserable.

Eventually I gave up, went downstairs to the sofa, and sat there nodding off like somebody’s exhausted aunt at a family gathering.

I was so annoyed.

I left a bad review.

Then the owner said they would refund me.

So I removed the bad review.

Very efficient diplomacy.

My official conclusion:

this is not accommodation.

This is a daytime tourist attraction.

Come while the sun is up.

Take pictures.

Admire the colours.

LEAVE BEFORE THE MOTHS CLOCK IN.

I spent about half a day furious over the accommodation, eventually lay down inside my car and slept for a bit, then woke up and booked somewhere else.

And on the way to the new place—

I found this farm.

I hadn’t searched for it.

Wasn’t on the itinerary.

Just happened to see it.

So I went in.

Bought an enormous bowl of cherries.

Walked around.

Nearly passed out from happiness.

Flowers.

Trees.

Grass.

Water.

Tiny pretty things everywhere.

If you like cute little places and flowers and trees and lakes and all that stuff—

WESTERN MICHIGAN IS ACTUALLY HEAVEN.

There.

I said it.

And that evening I had wine again.

Which reminded me:

WINE TOUR.

YES.

WINE TOUR.

SECOND DECLARATION.

So I finally did it.

Five wineries in one day.

FIVE.

I spent the entire day going around taking little sips of wine and somehow never actually got drunk.

껄껄.

Amazing physiological achievement, apparently.

But I did learn something.

Next time?

Pick one area.

Maybe one or two wineries in a day.

That’s enough.

Going to five places meant I was technically seeing a lot while somehow not really experiencing any of them properly.

Arrive.

Sip.

Look around.

NEXT.

Arrive.

Sip.

NEXT.

This is not how romance works.

I felt like I was conducting a winery audit.

So next time:

LESS.

SIT DOWN.

ENJOY THE PLACE.

Very mature conclusion.

Also—

watermelon salad.

I had no idea watermelon salad could be THAT good.

Sweet.

Salty.

Fresh.

Perfect.

Like why does this combination work so well???

Extremely delicious.

Then I wandered into this common shop area and found a tiny bookstore run by an older man.

And when I say packed—

PACKED.

One person could barely squeeze through.

Books everywhere.

Especially old books.

The sort of bookstore where if you pull the wrong volume, there is a reasonable chance the building may collapse.

Excellent.

Then came the Nauti-Cat day.

The weather was honestly terrible.

But I went anyway.

Because I had already decided I was going on the boat and apparently once I decide something, weather becomes an administrative detail.

Still had fun.

I saw the water skiers and thought that would be SO fun too.

And honestly—

if I ever make a lot of money, I think I’d like to buy a boat.

Keep it in Michigan.

Put on music I love.

Bring people aboard.

Just float around.

I think that would make me very happy.

Not yacht-billionaire nonsense.

Just enough boat.

Enough lake.

Enough people.

Good playlist.

Perfect.

Then it was time to go home.

Apparently there was a direct flight from Traverse City to New Jersey, so I took that.

And even the AIRPORT was pretty.

Why is everything here cute.

There was this huge wine display in the airport, and I looked at it and thought:

YES.

GOOD.

I DID THE WINE TOUR.

VALIDATED BY AIRPORT DECOR.

And then I went back to New Jersey.

That should probably have been the end of it.

Except somehow, not very long after, I came back to Michigan again.

This time with boxes.

Which is quite a different category of visit.

Looking back now, I don’t remember there being one enormous moment when I decided that Michigan was the place.

No cinematic revelation.

No standing beside Lake Michigan while orchestral music played and suddenly understanding my destiny.

Nothing useful like that.

It was more like a collection of very small things that kept accumulating without asking permission.

The clean air when I walked out of the airport.

Old Grand Rapids looking a little rusty.

A tiny ferry moving back and forth on a chain.

Lake water pretending extremely convincingly to be the sea.

Flowers outside shops.

Old books packed so tightly onto shelves that a person barely fit between them.

Cherries from a farm I wasn’t looking for.

Too many wineries in one day.

Moths I absolutely did not invite.

A ridiculous dome.

A harbour.

A boat.

Somewhere along the way, Michigan apparently made itself familiar.

New Jersey still has the feeling of home in a way that’s difficult to explain.

New York has its noise.

Florida has its romance.

Texas arrives at full volume.

Michigan is quieter about it.

Maybe that’s why I kept coming back.

Or maybe I just really like lakes.

Either explanation is possible.

This year I went everywhere.

Not everywhere everywhere, obviously.

But enough that sometimes I look at the photos and wonder how all of that fit into one year.

And strangely, some of the best parts weren’t really planned.

The cherry festival I actually came for?

Missed it.

The random farm I never knew existed?

Loved it.

The accommodation I carefully booked?

Moths.

The little places I wandered into because they happened to be there?

Somehow those are the ones I still remember.

Maybe there’s something useful in that.

Not everything needs to arrive with a five-year plan and supporting documentation.

Sometimes you choose a road because it looks nice.

Sometimes you go north because you’ve already gone south.

Sometimes the place you keep visiting quietly becomes the place where your things are.

And then one day you look around and realise— Oh Michigan again!