I never wanted to be responsible or productive again. The first book I read twice was “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.” I was 12. “We read ‘Prince and the Pauper’ a few times every week.” I see one kid is wearing a white Mark Twain wig and cotton walrus mustache. Tourists buy all sorts of Samuel Clemens stuff. “This is Mark Twain’s hometown, but in a way, it is America’s hometown.” “People come here to see how America used to be,” says one guy. I am on North Main, sipping cheap lager, watching tourists on sidewalks, darting in and out of the precious few storefronts that are open today. Thankfully, the local beer joint is open, and that’s all that matters to this writer. Even though it’s a tourist destination, these merchants have real families, and real lives. Which is unheard of in a tourist economy.Īnd that’s the beauty of Hannibal. It’s Monday, for example, and all the shops are closed. You won’t find any deep-fried Oreos or CBD shops here. It feels like the aftermath of a gift shop explosion. Just yesterday I met people from Norway, Australia, and Japan.”ĭowntown is quaint and touristy. And you meet tourists from all over the globe. “It’s great because it’s charming, and it’s actually affordable. “This is a town so small both city-limit signs are nailed to the same post,” says one merchant. There is a riverboat docked at the landing. In the distance, a barge drifts along the Muddy Mississippi, moving at a tortoise pace. I am beneath the mistress’s spell this afternoon as I hang out on Hannibal’s sidestreets. “My wife calls her my mistress, because I spend more time with this river than with her.” “This is a beautiful river that can kill you,” says the captain who has been a commercial pilot on the Mississippi since the early ‘70s. I’m at a bar called “Rumor Has It.” Beside me is a riverboat captain. There is a flood warning in effect right now, wind gusts are clocking in at 33 mph. The gray Mississippi eases along Hannibal at 5.8 miles per hour, moving ever southward. On the way into town, my GPS kept getting confused in rural Missouri, and at one point I ended up in-this is true-Illinois. I can’t even find the beaten path anymore. Actually, Hannibal is a LOT off the beaten path. Hannibal, Missouri, is a little off the beaten path.

Mark twains adventures