A Trip to Chicago
Sunday, October 28
We left the house at 8:30 Friday morning, bound for Chicago via Milwaukee and Waukegan – not to mention two other locations before we even left the Madison area. We ended up driving through the
Isthmus at a time – post-morning rush hour – when the streets, even those in the University area, are lightly traveled.
“I don’t think I’ve ever crossed
State Street without encountering stop-and-go traffic,” I noted.
During the drive to Milwaukee, we ran into some rain – just a mist, actually, only enough to keep the wipers on intermittent periodically.
We made a pit stop in Hartland, both to relieve ourselves and to insure that we’d have to visit the bathroom in Andy’s apartment. Eddie and I drank our mochas in near record time. My excuse? It tastes better when hot.
Andy called us just before we entered the coffee shop. We gave him an estimated time of arrival – the same 11 o’clock that we had initially agreed upon.
Although Gretchen’s travel bag was with Andy, we still had to pick her up at her dorm on the
UWM campus.
“You see
those dorms over there?” Andy asked, pointing in the direction of two 15-story high-rises.
We couldn’t have missed them.
“60% of the students who live there leave on the weekends,” he added.
Even with a student body of more than 10,000, UWM is considered to be primarily a commuter school. The weekends are usually quiet on campus. The most popular options for those sticking around are the house parties where illegal beverages – at least for the majority of revelers – are eagerly consumed in considerable quantities. Andy and Gretchen don’t make a habit of attending these drinking fests, but Andy, of course, is not always the innocent bystander.
From Milwaukee, we made great time until we reached the Wisconsin-Illinois state line, where road construction brought us to a halt for five minutes. Even with this delay, we still had plenty of time to spare before the
METRA train left the
Waukegan station for Chicago.
I used some of the extra time to find a parking space for the two+ days that the Matrix would be left behind. Doing so made me a little nervous, but the four parking lots in the immediate vicinity of the stations are all designated for commuter use. Overnight parking is permissible, of course. It was just a matter of leaving enough receipts on the dashboards during our absence. Total tab: $6. We’d have spent five or six times that amount for hotel parking in Chicago. In addition, we eliminate the hassle of downtown gridlock.
By train, it took us one hour and 20 minutes, give or take, to make the trip to the
Ogilvie Transportation Center, just west of the
Loop. Had we continued the trip by car, we could have shaved at least a half hour off our arrival time, but I’ll take the additional stress-free time any day.
Shortly after leaving the well-worn Waukegan area, the train passes through the upscale
North Shore suburbs: Lake Bluff, Lake Forest, Highland Park, Glencoe, Winnetka, Kenilworth, Wilmette. The nicest neighborhoods – those where the McAllister family in Home Alone were supposed to have lived – are not within view of the tracks, but the homes and other buildings we saw, most of them situated along tree-shaded streets, look comfortable enough. What was most amazing to me along this route, though, was the lack of fall colors. The mostly green leaves on the trees made it look more like early September than late October – great weather to take in a game at
Wrigley Field.
Oh….one other thing about the parking situation that I neglected to mention before. I dropped off the others, and our luggage, in front of the station, since I had to drive to a remote area to find a parking space. When I clicked the “lock” button on the keyless access system, nothing happened.
“Uh-oh,” I said aloud.
The doors locked manually; I double-checked all of them, including the hatchback, to be sure. I was then able to unlock the doors with the remote device but still couldn’t lock them. This minor incident, worthy of being shrugged off, still gave me a weird feeling as I walked away.
The train pulled Chicago’s Ogilvie Transportation Center right on schedule at 2:38 p.m. Once we reached the street level, JoAnna wondered how we were going to get to our hotel.
“Should we take a cab or a bus?” she asked.
“Let’s go over this way,” I instructed the group, ignoring her question.
Earlier in the week, I had researched the downtown Chicago bus routes, trying to determining the most direct way to go. We found a bus stop at the nearest corner.
“When does the next bus arrive?” JoAnna asked.
I fished out the schedule I had printed and guessed that we were probably ten minutes away from the next bus.
“Let’s start walking,” I suggested.
And walk we did….all the way to our hotel, the
Embassy Suites… covering a mile and a half in the process. The boys and I carried our duffel bags on shoulder straps, and JoAnna pulled her little suitcase on wheels. After a few blocks, Gretchen complained about the weight of her duffel bag, but Eddie gallantly volunteered to carry it for her. Andy already seemed to be weighted down – probably because of the 12 or so t-shirts he brought along to maintain his fresh, layered look. It took us about a half offer to cover this congested ground, but we all felt invigorated by the bustle and noise of downtown Chicago. And the walk was a bit of an adventure in itself. It provided us with a
mini-course in urban architecture.
Our 16th-floor room provided a birds-eye’s view of
Columbus Drive looking south. JoAnna, of course, looked through this window from a “safe” distance. She hates looking down from a substantial height. And to her, anything more than a couple of stories is substantial.
We stayed in our suite long enough to drop off our luggage and determine the weekend’s sleeping arrangements. A couch in a 14 x 12 sitting room folds out into a double bed, but an upholstered chair, glass end table, small entertainment center, and rectangular wood table with 4 matching chairs provided no room for a rollaway bed. (The hotel doesn’t offer them anyway.) The slightly larger bedroom contains a king-size bed, two nightstands, an armoire that houses a second TV, and vanity. Between the two rooms is a small area where a microwave, refrigerator, and another sink are located.
JoAnna and I more than made up for the walk we didn’t take on Friday morning. From our hotel the five of us took a 15-minute stroll to
Millennium Park, a public space that has become one of Chicago’s most popular, must-see tourist attractions.
Two storytelling events took place on Friday evening, one for families and much scarier offerings for teens and adults. When JoAnna suggested that we attend, the boys offered up a unified, vociferous protest.
Food was a priority at the time, and the events didn’t start for another two-and-a-half hours. As we crossed Michigan Avenue, I pointed to a neon sign on a nearby building.
“What about
Pizano’s?” I asked.
It didn’t appear to be a chain, and when we checked a menu posted next to the entrance, we found the prices to be extremely reasonable. Best of all, since it was just 4:30 – none of us had eaten lunch – we were immediately seated at a table. While the rest of the group opted for pizza, I selected an entrée called Robert’s Special: Mostaccioli sautéed lightly in fresh garlic, butter and olive oil, tossed with a spicy Italian sausage and finished off with parmesan cheese and parsley. Both Andy and Eddie eyed with envy the huge bowl I was served.
“That’s what I should have ordered,” Eddie lamented, his eyes still focused on the bowl.
Even though pizza received uniform rave reviews – JoAnna was particularly impressed with the pastry-like crust – I didn’t sample a piece. The boys and I had already shared a spinach-and-artichoke dip appetizer, and I wanted to save the remaining portion of my stomach for the main course. Try as I might, I couldn’t finish it, but the boys made sure there was nothing left over to take back to our hotel.
The total bill came to $79, including 2 drafts of Blue Moon (currently my favorite brand of beer) and 2 glasses of wine. We’d have been hard-pressed to find a better bargain in Madison.
On the way back to our hotel, we walked an 8-block stretch of Michigan Avenue. The sidewalks were thronged with people – a mix of locals (primarily) with a sizeable number of tourists. It was easy to tell the difference.
Would I want to live in this kind of constantly over-stimulated atmosphere? I asked myself.
Surprisingly, the answer was not a resounding “no”. Of course, to live in any of the condos in downtown Chicago requires a level of wealth that JoAnna and I will never achieve.
On Saturday we focused on attention on three of Chicago’s best-known museums.
First stop:
The Art Institute, just a half-hour walk from our hotel.
I thought Andy, not exactly in the best of shape not much more than a year out of high school, might suggest alternative, less taxing, transportation., but he offered no objections from the start.
We arrived at the museum at five minutes before its scheduled opening (10:00 a.m.) and were entertained by a middle-aged black man – possibly homeless, although his appearance and clothing didn’t look all that dirty and shabby – exhorting people in line to buy some type of brochure for $1. He cradled a stack of 20 or so in his left arm.
“Otherwise, you will be subjected to listening to my bad jokes,” he warned us.
Example:
What is Beethoven’s favorite fruit?
Banana-na-na. (The punch line was sung to the opening notes of Beethoven’s 9th symphony.)
Sidelight: We encountered quite a few homeless men – but no women – throughout the weekend. They use the same method of panhandling, as though sanctioned by the city. They stand on a corner or against a building and shake a 16-ounce paper cup that contains enough coins to make a loud jingle. I suppose they hope it’s enough to shake lose the feelings of compassion of those walking by.
With JoAnna leading the way, we first headed for the
Impressionism galleries on the second level of the museum.
“Why are we going up here first?” Eddie asked, clearly frustrated.
The Art Institute owns a substantial collection of paintings by
Monet, JoAnna’s favorite artist. The most dramatic painting we saw in this area, though, was by
Gustave Caillebotte.
I’d previously seen reproductions of it but didn’t realize it’s such a monumental work.
During our 2½-hour visit, we meandered through most of the galleries. The American Art wing is undergoing a renovation, so most of the painting exhibited there are in storage, although a small, representative sampling are on display elsewhere. I was particularly interested in finding the paintings of a group of mid-19th century landscape artists:
Frederick Church,
Albert Bierstadt, and
George Inness.
We walked through
Grant Park ato reach the
Field Museum of Natural History, which has been in its present location since 1921. It first opened its doors in 1893 as the Columbian Museum of Chicago as part of the
World’s Columbian Exposition, which was held in
Jackson Park, five miles to the
south, at what was then the edge of the city. The Museum is best known for
Sue, the largest, most complete, and best preserved, Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton. As soon as we purchased our tickets and walked into the huge main gallery, Eddie made a beeline for this towering exhibit as though it were 1998.
With the Field Museum closing at 3:00, due to a special event taking place in the main gallery, the nearby
Shedd Aquarium received lots of spillover from those who midafternoon itinerary included a visit to the Field. We waited in line for more than 15 minutes before inching our way to the ticket counter. The Shedd’s special exhibits featured close-up looks at lizards and Caribbean reefs. We also managed to catch the final dolphin show in the
Oceanarium, a glass-enclosed Pacific Northwest habitat that provides a panoramic view of
Lake Michigan.
The general exhibits, the same fish tanks that I first studied in
1960, still make up the core of the Shedd’s program. These areas of the museums were thronged with visitors, many of them parents with small, frequently fussing children. One of these young’uns kept
shrieking for her daddy, who acted as though the kid didn’t exist. We tried as best we could to keep our distance from this family.
As a result of my research, we took a CTA bus back to the hotel. At $2 apiece, a taxi would probably have been about the same cost – and much quicker.
The Embassy Suites provides a breakfast buffet for its guest in its spacious, well-lit atrium It’s possible to waddle away extremely well-fed, if not gorged. Every item imaginable is available, including cooked-to-order omelets. JoAnna and I – up and out of the room before the boys and Gretchen – settled for selections from the vari
ous warming pans: scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash browns, french toast.
On Saturday, for convenience sake, we ate lunch at the Field Museum’s cafeteria, which is outsourced to the
Corner Bakery Café, a Texas-based chain. The food was much better than we anticipated and held us over nicely until a late dinner.
Andy insisted we eat at the
ESPN Zone, a sports bar/restaurant which allows the cable channel to extend its reach into its sports fans’ pockets. It seems to be working. Andy called for reservations during an early evening rest break. In fact, he had to make numerous efforts to reach a live person. Eventually, he was told that the restaurant doesn’t ta
ke them – and that there was a one-hour wait for a table. When we arrived, we learned that the wait time had doubled. Much to his disappointment, the rest of us agreed to move on. JoAnna recalled a nearby restaurant at which she had eaten during one of her “girlfriend” trips to Chicago:
The Rock Bottom, a brewpub/restaurant. The wait here was a reasonable half hour, and the large, noisy bar area provided dozens to large-screen TVs to keep current on the progress of the
Red Sox-Rockies World Series game and the Ohio State-Penn State football Big 10 match-up. Red Sox and Buckeye fans predominated.
The food was good, if not spectacular. My
Texas Fire Steak – I suppose you could call it my birthday meal – tasted a little bland. Based on the description --
seasoned with crazy pepper and served sizzling with our smokin’ jalapeño butter – I expected the need to have a tall glass of ice water always at hand.
By the time we returned to our hotel – it was close to 10:00 – we were all ready for bed. All that walking – to and within our various destinations, had done us in. Andy had developed a case of crotch rot by the late afternoon, which caused him to walk funny on the way to and from the Rock Bottom. Not showing any sympathy, we all gave him a rough time – in the spirit of family teasing, of course. We told him he should pull up his pants.
“It’s probably the sagging that causing the chafing,” JoAnna noted.
Surprisingly, he actually followed through on her suggestion.
This morning we had originally planned to visit the
Adler Planetarium, but we didn’t get an early enough start. On Sundays a train leaves for Waukegan every two hours, and we had selected a 12:35 departure time. Had we arrived at the Planetarium right at its 9:00 a.m. opening, we’d have been OK, but by 10:10, Andy and Gretchen were still eating breakfast in the atrium. We thought we might be able to catch the 10:35 train, but our cab didn’t get us to the station until 10:40.
What to do for two hours?
Well, first of all, we didn’t want to carry our luggage around. We were directed to the
Union Station, two blocks south, where the Amtrak trains arrive and depart, to find temporary storage lockers.
With the
Sears Tower nearby, we decided to visit the
Skydeck – everyone except JoAnna, that is. She preferred to remain on
terra firma. During the hour it took the rest of us to buy our tickets, view a 10-minute movie on the building’s construction, ride a
fast-paced elevator to the 103rd floor, and take in the expansive views on a picture-perfect day, JoAnna passed the time by reading a book in a small park across the street. By the time we boarded the train to Waukegan, we had ten minutes to spare.
All in all, a most enjoyable trip, one that I’m sure the boys will always remember very fondly.
neutral and tan. (OK, so I’m not being very helpful here.)
