City of Many Ways

“Just like Ann Arbor, but bigger,” I was told. Similar, maybe, but not exactly alike; although it's true I moved here partly because the trees wouldn't make me homesick. Instead, they make the horizons here almost familiar.

Madison is a biking city—and, according to some people, one of the best in the United States. There are streets where cyclists are granted equal status with cars. The street I live on, for instance. My neighbor has propped a sign near the road reading, “Mind Bicycle Boulevard,” with an illustration of a bike, a heart, and a car. 

I see cyclists, dozens of them, every day. Despite this, I wasn't brought home to the meaning of a “biking city,” until I was riding a bus that was held to the speed of four cyclists zooming along directly in front of it.

Madison is a foodie city, too—which would be wonderful, if I could afford to eat out as often as I have some new place suggested. This place has the best Laotian, that place offers amazing gyros. I hear things like that all the time. Bloody Marys. Fish n chips. Italian. Cheese. Sandwiches. Indian. Fru-fru drinks. I have a list of recommendations as long as my arm and leg to check out once I have a decent job.

The thing that I can really get behind is the Saturday farmer's market. Tents stand in lines around the capital square, each bursting with fresh produce, cheese, honey, flowers, or bread. Masses of people move from one tent to the next, a sluggish stream of humanity that skirls and eddies around the stalls. One couple stops to exclaim over the snap peas. Another walks by with a bright bouquet of deep red lilies and purple Canterbury bells. Parents keep a close eye on small children. A few people have escaped from the mash of bodies to lie under the trees shading the capital lawn.

One tent full of dried bird-house gourds is fronted by a grinning man, and the next sells lamb skins. I find myself drawn to the tents full of colorful produce. I don't have the budget for organic lettuce at $3 a head, but in making my circuit around the square, I find better deals. For my farmer's market haul, I bring home small sweet onions, new carrots, dirty young beets, and a cutting of rhubarb in seductive red. I'm more than satisfied.

So...not just like Ann Arbor. I find myself missing Top of the Park, and meeting up with friends at Arbor Brewing Company. I have yet to find a bookstore equivalent to the Dawn Treader. There's no Zingerman's Deli. But I think Madison has its own wonderful corners, and its own festivals and farmer's markets.