"Life moves pretty fast.

You don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
—Ferris Bueller 

The last weekend in December I traveled to Chicagoland for a family event.  I left work just after 1 on Saturday and got home around 3:30 on Tuesday.  So many things that could have gone wrong along the way didn’t, by the grace of God.  

I’ll admit that I experienced some stress while preparing for this trip, because if you’ve ever been to the Midwest in winter you know that it’s usually pretty cold, and it often snows.  I checked the weather quite a bit in the days leading up to the trip.  While snow wasn’t forecast, rain was; still, I wanted to be as prepared as possible while also not taking too much stuff.  As I contemplated my choices, I thought more than once of the time I went to Prague and wore the same pair of jeans for five days straight, though that was in the spring.  Alas, now that I am no longer a young adult with a big backpack, I feel that I ought to pack more than one pair of trousers for a trip.  The night before I left it was about as cold at home as it was forecast to be in Illinois, so I stood outside in a couple of different coats and combinations of layers to see how they’d work.  I’d hoped that a wool coat over my beloved Adidas track jacket would be warm enough while imparting the coolness of Bender from “The Breakfast Club,” but it was not to be, on either count. An old coat of Dad’s turned out to be the warmest and most waterproof.  It didn’t fit in either of my carry-on bags (one of which was a new spinner that Mom got me for Christmas), but no one objected to me just toting it along on the plane.  

My seat assignment on my first flight got changed at least once after I checked in, and for some reason I ended up in an exit row.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining; I’m just curious about what internal airline machinations led to this. 

In my great wisdom I decided that I would not take my digital camera, but my instant camera and a regular 35mm film camera.  This meant that I took a bunch more photos with my phone than I’d expected to.  It also made me wonder, to myself and aloud to Pal, “Am I a hipster?”  (No: see above about my lack of fashion sense.) 

Chicago seems most like itself when it’s overcast and cold.  It was dark by the time I arrived, but that was close enough.  Though the weather in the suburb all Sunday was drizzly and chilly, I was inside, with good friends and mango lassi.  The weather couldn’t possibly have kept me from enjoying the day.  

(While I was getting ready I caught part of Mass broadcast from Mercy Home for Boys & Girls, and it did my heart good to hear the priest’s accent.) 

As fulfilling as it was to attend the event and see friends I hadn’t seen in one whole year, it would have been a quick turnaround to come back on Monday or even Sunday evening.  I’d done a similar short jaunt before, and even though the flight is less than two hours, I found it rough flying so much in such a short time.  I also thought that fewer people might be traveling on New Year’s Eve itself, rather than the weekend or day before.  So I elected to return on Tuesday morning, meaning I had all day Monday to fill, alas.  I even roped Pal into coming to Windy City to explore. 

With her penchant for staying in historic hotels, Pal booked a room at the Chicago Athletic Association.  If you want to do anything in the Loop, you can’t find a better-situated hotel; it’s on Michigan Avenue, opposite Millennium Park, where the Christmas tree was still lit and a skating rink erected in front of the Bean, and therefore just a tiny bit north of the Art Institute.  “Labyrinthine” seems a fairly apt descriptor for its layout.  The Library of Congress actually has architectural plans for the building available online—they even include detailed drawings of some of the woodwork, tiles, and stairways. 

It seems to me that the present hotel must include some real estate that was not part of the original 1893 building, but I may be wrong about that.  Much of the interior design is inspired by the building’s sporting past: the parquet paneled-elevators feature the logo of the city’s fencing club of years ago, key cards are printed with photos and names of famous athletes associated with the association, and the guest bathrobes are modeled on boxers’ robes.  The view from the terrace of the bar on the 13th floor, while rather chilly at night, despite the fire pits, was a great one of Millennium Park, and down toward the Field Museum and the Shedd Aquarium.  They didn’t even make you buy a drink to check it out!

Though the forecast called for overcast skies, even as I lay in bed Monday morning, by the time we made it outside it was almost completely clear and sunny.  I appreciated the lack of rain and ice, and can’t deny that the cheerful weather was beautiful.  We’d gone to visit the Bean—Cloud Gate, if you’re being pedantic—the night before, but stopped by again to see it in daylight; then we proceeded to the lake, the great inland sea, which from the terrace the previous evening had been a disconcerting void beyond the city lights.  After a walk along the lakeshore we turned inland again and took the Red Line (sadly at an underground stop, though we were elevated by the time we reached our destination) to Cermak/Chinatown.  A few blocks from the stop is Ping Tom Memorial Park, dedicated to a local businessman who helped revitalize the Chinatown neighborhood.  The park has great views of the city, and features murals with traditional motifs.  While we visited, a group was practicing a dance with parasols, perhaps preparing for a Lunar New Year celebration. Props to Pal for finding the park. 

I, meanwhile, found a place to eat.  Chinatown Square is full of them, but we went to the enigmatically-named Saint’s Alp Teahouse and Gourmet.  I’d expected it to be more of a beverage place with incidental food, but it turned out to have a full food menu, with extensive drink options, as well.  Since they had scallion pancakes I had to get those, and decided that two appetizers would be a good lunch, so also ordered potstickers.  Pal got a normal meal.  While the scallion pancakes were not as good as I’d hoped (doughier and less scalliony than I wished), the potstickers were both really good and quite hefty.  I didn’t finish either and ended up toting them around for the rest of the day.  I also got a frothy milk green tea with boba that I kept thinking about after I’d finished it.  I have even now paused writing this to read a recipe on how to make boba pearls at home. 

We headed back to the Loop and stopped into the Chicago Cultural Center, where I waltzed right in, despite not having finished my tea.  The center has exhibition spaces, an artisans’ shop, and meeting rooms, but I think for most visitors the main draw is the dome.  They say it’s the largest Tiffany glass dome in the world, and it’s surrounded by mosaic work and quotes celebrating books and the written word—after all, the building was originally the city’s main library.  They just don’t design public buildings the way they used to. 

Once done ogling the architecture we walked back the block or so to the hotel, collected our bags, and got on the Blue Line to O’Hare (though after years of flying into Midway, I always immediately associate traveling to or from a Chicago airport with the Orange Line). Pal’s flight home was Monday evening, so once I dropped her off there I headed to my third hotel in as many days, where I ate leftover scallion pancake slices and a potsticker for dinner. 

Next time, we’ve vowed, we’ll go to Chicago when it’s a little warmer, and the days are longer, and we’ll have deep dish and time to visit Bohemian National Cemetery.  But I have complaints or regrets about this trip, much-needed and much-appreciated as it was.