Uffdah. Uffdah?

Janice and I strolled under the trees around the small island and across the bridges that link it to downtown and the old St. Anthony area. You also could ride a bike down the scenic boulevard on the east bank of the river, into St. Paul, past the University of St. Thomas, then cross over to Minnehaha Park and pedal back on West River Parkway. Catch your breath at one of the overlooks and contemplate the occasional river traffic. (The river is navigable even this far from New Orleans, courtesy of the Army Corps of Engineers and a series of locks and dams.)

I had forgotten my ninth-grade Minnesota history course, but relearned much of it during a pleasant afternoon at St. Anthony Falls. Young guides from the state historical society walked us out to the edge of the falls and helped us visualize what the area must have looked like when it was first settled. The city of Minneapolis was born here, as Minneapolis on the west side and St. Anthony on the east. The west-siders were quicker to exploit the natural power of the falls for grain and lumber milling. (That's why today what we call the Twin Cities aren't St. Anthony and St. Paul.) The towering grain elevators were the city's first skyscrapers, and they remain, even though the milling now is done elsewhere.

Back on what once was Main Street of the old St. Anthony, we enjoyed the Museum of Questionable Medical Devices--machines that were supposed to enlarge whatever was too small, reduce whatever was too big, grow hair on whatever was too bald or otherwise cure whatever ailed you. But they didn't. Of the displayed devices, only the shoe store X-ray machine really did work. (Unfortunately.)

At Janice's urging, I sat under the spiky hood of the phrenology machine while it assessed my supposed mental strengths and failings based on the shape of my head. According to its printout, I am deficient in "acquisitiveness" and "should cultivate a desire for possessions and a sense of material values."

Later, while I catnapped at the inn, Janice hiked back to the falls and across the Stone Arch Bridge, an old railroad span built in the style of a Roman aqueduct. The tracks are gone now, and it makes for a dramatic walk toward downtown. She reports that there were performance artists doing a mime routine on a sandbar below the falls--how symbolic of modern Minnesota. And--how typical of the Minnesota I remember--no one paid any attention.

Minneapolis has other, more traditional cultural opportunities, although few have anything to compare with the phrenology machine. Right by the river is the university's new Frederick R. Weisman Art Museum, a Frank Gehry creation in stainless steel that houses a contemporary art collection. On the other side of downtown is the Walker Art Center, another museum of contemporary art, with its famous giant spoon-and-cherry in the sculpture garden. And the American Swedish Institute's South Minneapolis mansion reminds Minnesotans of their Scandinavian heritage.

The Cities also have enough live theater to keep you busy for a long time, from the classics at the Guthrie, to experimental drama at the University of Minnesota, to Broadway and walleyed pike at the Old Log dinner theater.

The Minneapolis music scene would astound any returning baby boomer who last saw the state in the late '50s. True, Dylan lived there then, but he couldn't wait to get out. The biggest star was a polka band leader named, so help me, Whoopee John Wilfahrt. Now Minneapolis is known as a proving ground for national music trends, including the innovations of Prince. (At least Whoopee John never labeled himself "the Artist Formerly Known as Wilfahrt.")

When Charles Kuralt used to do his CBS "On the Road" pieces, it seemed that every string collector, bee-beard wearer and bridge-mix eccentric that he featured was a Minnesota resident. Maybe Minnesotans can revel in their quirks because--not to be smug--they are confident deep down that they really do have it together on the things that matter. So that when a movie like "Fargo" comes out and makes fun of their milk-house accents, they can shrug and say, "Now, that was different."

Maybe that's why Aquavit, a nouvelle Swedish American restaurant with an Ethiopian chef, can celebrate "herring week" and feature delicate sushi and sashimi crafted from the much-maligned fish that traditionally occupies the shelves next to the pickled pigs' feet. The restaurant's namesake Swedish liquor is served in frozen glasses and offered in multicolored flights spotlighting infusions of caraway or fennel or star anise and juniper berry. It's a long way from sharing swigs of peppermint schnapps at the side of the feed lot.

And maybe that's why Minnesotans can afford to elect a pro wrestler to the highest office in the state. Minnesota gave the world Northwest Airlines and Target discount stores, Cheerios and Post-It Notes, Gene McCarthy and Poppin' Fresh. So why not do something that the rest of the world thinks is a little nuts?

And when nobody is looking, you can laugh to yourself. And then go fishing.