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Driving home from a two-week road trip that had taken us to the Chesapeake Bay and then to Michigan's Upper Peninsula, Dan and I picked Cairo off the map. It was about halfway between Michigan and Florida, and I had never seen the Mississippi. It didn't matter than we'd have to go about half an hour out of the way to see it and that the roads we would travel between Cairo and Paducah would be two-lane. Cairo was a place of geographical significance. Our love of maps and rivers and my newfound appreciation for the interior of the U.S. was enough to send us searching for something we couldn't quite explain.

In the cruising guides, Cairo (pronounced Cay-ro) is either brushed over or not listed at all. This isn't surprising, considering that there are no marinas. Skipper Bob, in his Cruising from Chicago to Mobile, claims that you can park your dinghy ashore, cut through the scrub up the bank (as long as you are armed, he says, with mosquito repellent), climb over the levee, and, after a 45-minute walk, find well-stocked grocery stores, a pharmacy, banks and cafes. This, by far, is the most detailed information available.

We arrived in Cairo at 1:30 in the morning on a Sunday. We passed by the Holiday Inn just off the highway, looking for a hotel that would be closer to the center of town and hopefully closer to the rivers. A police officer in an old cruiser pulled out behind us and kept a few hundred feet back as he followed us through downtown. At this time of night, he and a few stray cats were the only life we saw. Buildings hung in precarious states of disrepair, boarded windows facing the street in blank stares. Broken glass and garbage lined the sidewalks. We lost the trailing cop when we drove across the Ohio River and into Kentucky, just to see what was on the other side, but picked him up again when we returned.

The population of Cairo in the 2000 census was 3,632. In the 1990's, the population decreased by 25%. The per capita income is $16,220, which is 33.5% below the poverty level, and 14% of the people are unemployed. If those were the conditions in 2000, one can only assume that things have gotten worse. Cairo is a city that has been torn apart by racial tension—during the civil rights movement, shootings and street riots forced many residents away. The city has never fully recovered, and is beset by poverty and depression. For two twenty-somethings who live in South Florida, where the waterfront is studded with megayachts and multi-million dollar homes, it's easy to forget that there are places like Cairo.

The police cruiser followed us on a different route through town, this time down the main business road where a dance club was celebrating its grand opening (although it looked like it had been opening and closing for years). All the people we hadn't seen on our first drive through were gathered on the street, dancing, drinking and being rowdy, packed so thick that we had to slow the car down and wait for the street to clear before we could pass. At another bar down the road, only a half-lit neon beer sign and a pickup truck indicated that there was any life inside. We were too tired to stop, and neither of us could shake the feeling that we'd driven into a ghost town. Had we really just seen all those people? Driving through Illinois, we'd talked about how there were probably several hotels in Cairo, because it was at such an important river junction. It must, we had assumed, be somewhat of a tourist town. We pulled in at the Belvedere, a quiet motel with a few cars parked out front, and the police cruiser slowed and pulled into an empty lot across the street.

After the Civil War, during which Cairo was a strategic base for the Union army, the population of the city increased steadily. In 1886, due to riverboat traffic, the city was considered to be one of the richest in the U.S. Combined river and rail shipments that year for Cairo were valued at $60,000,000. The waterfront catered to riverboat men, with saloons and casinos, and the wealthy lived a short distance inland in mansions along what was called "Millionaire's Row." By 1920, the population of Cairo was 15,203.

At the Belvedere Hotel, a room cost us $35.00—less than a tank of gas—and the dog was welcomed (well, we didn't ask, we just snuck her past the office and into the room). We slept late the next morning, and then set off to explore Cairo in the daylight. There wasn't much to see. Barges lined the river, and mosquitoes and gnats swarmed in the heat. At the Fort Defiance State Park, we walked across the rocks and down to the edge. We stood at the Ohio-Mississippi junction with our feet in the water, which eddied and moved in swirls of mud. I knew there were things I was supposed to be thinking and feeling as I stared down the Mississippi: Mark Twain's River, the River of America, Johnathan Raban, Big River, stream of consciousness. I thought them all, fleetingly, then tried to push all the preconceptions of the river out of my head. All that was left was a lump in my throat, because I'd never known this part of America before and because it was so beautiful. Beer cans and old sneakers lined the shore, and the gnats were so heavy that it was hard to avoid breathing them. I thought about all the boaters out there traveling the "Great Circle," and how wonderful it would be to see the rivers that have shaped America. I couldn't think of a better way to see what this country really is. In South Florida, sometimes it's difficult to remain patriotic. But in Cairo, Illinois, I remembered how much I loved my country.

Note: If you enjoyed this, please remember to check out my Short Story column in the September issue of Cruising World!