Step Foot Back in Time Inside These Five U.S. Places

Downtowns feel intact and well-maintained, but also weirdly empty.

Come explore artistic flair, intriguing history, and cats sipping White Russians in saloons in this latest batch of towns — all stumbled upon during my stint as a Lyft driver!

Marysville, CA (Yuba County)

Back in 1857, Marysville was a prospering city — one of the largest in California, due to its proximity to so many gold-mining sites. Though it was slated to become the “New York City of the west,” flooding from the nearby Feather and Yuba Rivers stagnated it, as the city was forced to build a levee system that made additional city growth impossible.

As I walk through it, Marysville indeed seems frozen in time: a still-shot of the city it was meant to, but never did, become. Downtown feels ghostly — buildings intact and well-maintained, but also weirdly empty. Hauntingly quiet. my stroll around town brings me to a lake (where white ducks rocking feather afros gather in groups under the shade); past 1920s style cars parked in graveled driveways; and past numerous brick buildings, all of which seem emptied of any inhabitants.

First and Last Chance Saloon (Oakland, CA)

Paper boy hats, sports caps, top hats, helmets, and lifeguard inner tubes hang from the shredded ceiling of this bar that’s been around since the early 1900s. Years of smoke rising from the stove, lanterns, and cigarettes have given the ceiling a burned appearance.

Jack London used to come here after class to write. He’d take breaks to chat with the stevedores and sailors who stopped by for beers in between voyages. The 1906 earthquake left the floor permanently slanted, which makes for a precarious but adventurous sitting experience.

Since it’s Halloween month, ogre-like rubber hands three times the size of mine rest against the circular wooden tabletop to my right. One grips a butcher knife in between its long black fingernails. A rubber string barely visible in the dim lighting connects it to the ceiling. Every two minutes or so, the string causes the hand to move, sufficiently scaring the shit out of me each time.

Ideal if you like intimate surroundings, a little coziness and history with your bar, and the feeling of being tucked in.

Virginia City, NV (Storey County)

“This town was once home to the highest-paid miners in the world — but also the highest fatality rate,” the blond-haired middle-aged tour guide exclaims in his southern drawl, as he leads us up the creaky stairs. “So a lot of them didn’t live long enough to spend their money!”

I’m on a ghost tour in Virginia City, a town with a population of 779 located 40 miles east of Reno. Though peaceful, antiquated, and sparsely populated now, apparently in the 1800s Virginia City had more residents than Los Ángeles.

People on the tour drink from beer bottles as we walk through creaky rooms that smell like dust and cigarettes and wood. One person sips a “Buttery Nipple” (Butterscotch Schnapps with Irish cream).

“I’m kind of glad we didn’t do this at night,” a girl whispers to her friend, before we step foot into the funhouse room. According to the tour guide, the floors in here are “more crooked than our politicians.”

Towards the end of the tour, I do get scared — not by a ghost, but by a sign that says “this building is constructed using unreinforced masonry.” Like California, the Reno area is due for a massive earthquake, so this warning makes the ghost house feel indeed like a death trap.

The rest of Virginia City: Trump signs line front lawns on residential roads, deserty hills loom to the right of the main drag, and a man holds the reigns of a wearied donkey (is weariness just inherent to a donkey’s general aura though?).

Inside a large hall, slot machines line the wall while popcorn kernels litter the hardwood floor. Folk musicians perform for patrons (predominantly of the retired age) dressed in opulent Victorian outfits, who socialize beneath ornate glass chandeliers.

Ukiah, CA (Mendocino County)

Nice things people on Yelp had to say about Ukiah, a rustic town in Mendocino County with a population of 16,000: “The air is always sparkling clear (unless there are forest fires). Every night we can go outside and look up and feel as though we are camping in the Sierras — billions of stars! There are lakes and rivers close to us and the famous Redwood Forests are everywhere north and west.”

Exploring it for myself allows me to form some of my own impressions.

In addition to being somewhat outdoorsy, Ukiah retains olden-day charm. Brick buildings make up the majority of its downtown structures. In some parts of town I feel like I’m back in the 1950’s; for example, behind the window of one shop, tiny meadows and sheep the size of pinky nails sprinkle a board game that covers the entire surface of a large wooden table. Around it gather four men (all wearing fedoras), whose facial expressions communicate their serious level of engagement with the game.

The ’50s give way to the 80’s and 90’s in other parts of town, with songs like the Cranberries’ “Dreams” and Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn” playing at one (“Brazilian”) restaurant. A glimpse through the window affords a view of voluminous bushes adding texture to the verdant hills in the distance. Occasional small houses also (sporadically) speckle them, with flags waving at the entrance to some.

Kids jump inside a bounce house at the arcade downtown. Spiky-haired teenagers blast a navy blue puck back and forth across an air hockey table. Couples take turns launching rubber orange balls into basketball hoops.

A sign inside a brewery announces weekly drag shows, reminding me of my hairdresser (who’s from here) having told me not long ago that the town is “getting bluer.” Not only have the past few years seen an increase in LGBTQ+ acceptance, but also a wider variety of ethnic culinary options.

“I think in thirty years, Ukiah will be gentrified from spillover of people moving up from the Bay Area. It’ll keep getting more cosmopolitan, artsy, culturally diverse,” forecasts one reviewer on Yelp.

Logger Bar (Blue Lake, CA)

“White Russian — hold the alcohol, extra milk,” the orange cat shouts to the bartender, paw in the air to attract her attention.

Okay, so this isn’t exactly what went down when I visited Logger Bar in the former mining town of Blue Lake, California. Humboldt County’s oldest bar, Logger Bar opened in 1889. I did, however, watch an orange cat wash himself unabashedly at the bar, inches from an Australian man’s half-consumed Guinness. Kevin was his name, I’d later learn.

A dimly lit fireplace and a woodsy and warm interior contribute to a homey ski lodge vibe. Smoothed-out tree stumps, none a perfectly even circle, function as tables. Glued to the walls are three child-sized lumberjack saws, next to orange construction hats. Vintage framed black-and-white photographs cover the walls inside a room where scruffy men play pool.

Kevin later comes to sit in my lap. For about thirty minutes we coexist, neither of us inconveniencing or detracting from the other or detracting from each other’s experience. He purrs as I write. It is truly lovely.

Before you go, here’s a piece I read today that really lit my heart up:

This piece also struck a cord with me. I admire the author’s candor and wisdom. Aging is a topic I think about a considerable amount, as a woman in between young adulthood and middle age.

Lastly, this was one was an uplifting reminder on defining success on our own terms as Medium writers :)

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