Little Rock

I will admit that Little Rock was, for us, a place we thought we were merely passing through. We’d planned one night on the way west and ended up staying three. It was the river that did it — the broad Arkansas River sliding under a row of old bridges, one of them, the Junction Bridge, now a pedestrian walkway strung with lights. Lia and I crossed it that first evening as the sky went pink, the water below us slow and enormous, and by the time we reached the far bank in North Little Rock we’d quietly agreed to unpack properly.

Central High and the Nine

You cannot understand this city without going to Little Rock Central High School. In 1957, nine Black teenagers walked into this building under armed guard while a mob screamed at them, and the crisis forced a president’s hand and the nation’s conscience. The school is still a working school, beautiful in its 1920s grandeur, and the National Park Service visitor center across the street tells the story with unflinching care. We stood at the reconstructed lunch-counter exhibit, and I thought about how young the Nine were — children, really — and how much they carried. Lia was very quiet on the walk back.

The River Market and the Water

The River Market District saved our evenings. It’s a stretch of warehouses and halls along the river turned into restaurants and stalls, and on a warm night the whole thing spills outdoors. We ate barbecue and drank a local beer while a busker played, and afterward walked the riverfront park where the Clinton Presidential Library sits like a bridge reaching over the water. We toured it the next morning — say what you like about the man, the building is a fine one, and the replica Oval Office charmed Lia enough that she pretended to take a phone call in it.

Up the Mountain

Locals kept telling us to drive up to Pinnacle Mountain, just outside the city, so on our last morning we did. It’s a proper little peak, and the climb is short but honest — we scrambled the last stretch over rock and came out on a summit with the whole Arkansas River valley laid out below, forest running to the horizon. Afterward we found the Old Mill in North Little Rock, a picturesque water mill that apparently appeared in the opening of an old film, and Lia photographed it from every angle while herons stalked the pond. A small, gentle, unhurried morning. The city’s whole character, really.

Getting There

Bill and Hillary Clinton National Airport sits just a few minutes east of downtown, with connections through the major hubs of the central and southern states. By car, Little Rock sits at the crossing of Interstates 30 and 40 — genuinely the crossroads of the region — which makes it an easy and rewarding stop on any drive between Memphis, Dallas, or the Ozarks. Two days is enough to feel its rhythm. Do Central High first, in the morning, before the day’s heat and while your attention is fresh.