I walked into the hotel, and a well-dressed woman took one look at me, dripping wet, and turned to her husband. “We’re taking a cab.”
Chicago didn’t live up to the horror stories about the weather, on the whole. It was sunny and bright most of the time, and rained instead of snowed the rest. And in other aspects, it more than lived up to its rep.
I got off the plane and went straight to the opera. Taking the L through the city, I was amazed at how beautiful it was. Shiny pretty buildings and bridges, and the river winding through them.
Chicago Lyric Opera is in a big, gorgeous Art Deco building that, I am informed, was built to look like a throne. It’s certainly very palatial, incredibly ornate without feeling overwrought, and the performance (of Puccini's Girl of the Golden West) was outstanding.
Somehow as I arrived and left I completely failed to notice the Sears Tower, which you’d think would have been tricky, given that it’s almost the tallest building in the world. But that’s why I hope never to witness a crime,--I am well aware that my powers of observation are not exactly at the Sherlockian level.
From there I met my friend Julie and we headed off to see As You Like it at the Navy Pier--also excellent. First thing next morning was the Art Institute, which practically left me breathless. They have outstanding examples of...everything. El Greco, Rembrandt, Monet, Manet, Cezanne, Pissarro, Seurat, Van Gogh, Turner, Constable, Whistler, Sargent, Kandinsky, you name it...
Due to loitering in the art institute for too long, I missed our appointment at the Robie house. Which ended up being fine by me, as the cultural marathon was impinging upon our eating time, so I took some time to have lunch and go shopping. Chicago has great shopping. It’s amazing what you never knew you wanted until you’re in a place with great shopping.
The food situation kept looking up that evening, as we had pizza at Giordano’s, which absolutely lived up to the reputation. A big, chewy, symphony of crust, sauce, chese, and sausage. We followed that up with jazz at the Green Mill. The doorman’s welcome (with a rich Chicago accent) was along these lines:
“Cover is 12 bucks, no talking, no moving, no flash photography, no cell phones, no texting. The first set just finished, and people are moving, so you might find somewhere to sit. If it isn’t moving, sit on it.”
We actually found great seats in a booth with a local couple, and listened to a fantastic band that converted Julie to the genre. We failed to find Al Capone’s table, or to be involved in a shoot out of organised crime bosses, but I was only a little disappointed.
Sunday was when the rain started, with considerable enthusiasm, it seemed. We got soaked every time we stepped outside the building, but still managed to fit in (besides a nap and tea at the Drake) a visit to the Contemporary Art Museum, which was a fun mix of adult playground, clean and creative artwork, and taking-one’s-art-way-too-seriously pretension, followed by thin crust pizza at Pizano’s (delicious, but we voted thick crust as the winner), followed by take-home cheesecake at the hotel, which we ate with much giggling using coffee stirrers as chopsticks, because the waiter didn’t put in any forks.
Julie was a delightful travelling companion, and put up with my teasing and childish humour admirably:
Me, cocking an ear: Ah, the classic Chicago song.
Julie: Isn’t this “New York, New York”?
I loved the trip, but once again found that travelling never seems to allow me to check a place off the list for good. I want to go back to Chicago. Maybe next time I’ll make it to the Robie House. And look up and see the Sears Tower.
