Watching sets of skis orbit the luggage carousel, I
wondered if any of my fellow travellers would be stopping in
Denver. Judging from their impatient looks and eagerness to get
into the mountains, it seemed unlikely.
Passing through its vast and uninspiring airport, it’s hard
to believe Denver has anything much to offer apart from a quick
route to the Rockies, but if you’re one of the thousands of
Brits who simply pass through every year without stopping,
you’d never know.
Stopovers are a growing phenomena in the ski market, spurred on by
everybody’s love of a bargain. Not only do you get an extra
city break for not much more cash, you also get to make the most of
the weak dollar while it lasts. But while obvious choices such as
New York and Boston thrive on holidays to New England (likewise
Vancouver or Montreal if you’re skiing in Canada), Denver is
an unknown quantity.
My interest was spurred by a love of 1950s Americana. Beat icon
Jack Kerouac paid homage to the city on numerous occasions, notably
in the 1957 classic, On The Road, the first account of his many
frantic journeys across the US. Denver was the home of hell raiser
and womaniser Neal Cassidy, who Kerouac idolised, and who provided
the inspiration for his fictional anti-hero Dean Moriaty. I
secretly hoped some of Kerouac and Cassidy’s Denver still
existed.
Checking into the Hotel Monaco was a good start. Built in 1917 as a
railway office, it’s been through several guises, including a
doss-house for railway workers. Kerouac himself worked as a
railroad brakeman on occasion, surely a good omen for my visit.
The building was fully refurbished a few years ago when Kimpton
turned it into a boutique hotel, but the view from my fifth-floor
window still took in a glorious slice of downtown America as it
used to be. Gargoyles adorned the 1930s office block opposite,
staring back at me in mock-Gothic horror. Optimistic, I headed out
onto the 16th Street Mall – Denver’s main street.
At first glance, it’s a fine looking place. The mile-long
thoroughfare connects Lower Downtown at one end with the State
Capitol at the other. The 15th step of the gold-domed Capitol
building is exactly a mile above sea level, hence Denver’s
mile-high city tag.
Along 16th Street, red brick, warehouse-style buildings jostle for
space with grand old Art Deco hotels and 50s department stores.
It’s a far cry from the homogeneous steel and glass style
that plagues modern city centres – it feels like a tiny,
long-lost district of Manhattan. But that’s where the
comparisons with New York end. After a while it feels a little odd,
like part of a civic improvement project in which the private
sector hasn’t played along. It’s kept scrupulously
clean and there’s a free shuttle bus that runs the length of
the mall, but there’s something missing.
The centrepiece is the Denver Pavilions, a shopping and
entertainment complex that opened in 1998, but there’s not
much there beyond the obligatory Virgin Megastore, Victoria’s
Secret and a multiplex cinema. Where are all the other stores so
commonplace in other US city centres? Where are the friendly little
coffee shops? Most importantly, where can I get a cut-price iPod?
The answer: Cherry Creek.
This suburban development, about a 15-minute cab ride away, is home
to a great mall with familiar names such as Urban Outfitters and
Abercrombie and Fitch, as well as the upmarket department store
Neiman Marcus. It’s all very nice, but I couldn’t help
thinking how great it would be if a few of these stores opened up
downtown.
That’s the bad news about Denver’s gentrification. The
good news is what it lacks in daytime attractions, it makes up for
at night. For a relatively small city, it punches above its weight
for bars and restaurants, largely thanks to one man, local
entrepreneur John Hickenlooper.
Hickenlooper opened the Wynkoop pub a few years ago in what was
once the most run-down area of Denver – Lower Downtown. In
doing so, he sparked a gentrification programme that saw former
warehouses and industrial spaces spruced up and turned into bars,
restaurants and smart boutiques.
LoDo, as the area is now called, takes up several city blocks and
encompasses Larimer St, a former skid row about which Jack Kerouac
waxed lyrical.
Quite what he would have made of the gentrification I don’t
know, but it’s obviously been a hit with city residents. In
2003, they elected John Hickenlooper mayor and today the Wynkoop is
one of the largest micro-brew pubs in the US.
There’s a bewildering selection of ales to sample, from
Monkey’s Fist IPA to Captain Hickenlooper’s Flying
Artillery Ale, or the rather more direct sounding SOB. I ordered a
pint of Patty’s Chilli Beer and raised a glass to Jack.
Whatever he might have said, he couldn’t have argued with the
kick on that beer.
