Comparing Chicago

Two Homes
Going home to Northwest, Indiana sometimes feels like I'm going back into another world. Everything looks entirely different, feels different, sounds different, even smells different... (that can be both good and bad).

The South Shore Line takes me from Chicago to Indiana; a small, dingy, dated train that I have come to find almost as comforting as home itself. Perhaps it's because I know where it's taking me.
Within a few minutes of chugging along, the city begins to shrink...

HOME
When I go home to visit it's to get away from the shuffle and the buses and the taxis and the shouting as people hail cabs, and the sirens and the chaos that is living in a metropolis.
When I look out the windows at home, this is what I see:

My Backyard in Indiana

And I can also see:

A few of the 21 trees in my yard

If I drive just a few minutes up the road I can sit here and actually hear the water ripple and the wind skip through the wild grasses:

Sandy Beach, in a nearby neighborhood 

Sandy Beach, and my beautiful dog Lucy

Everything is peaceful. I can hear my own thoughts and I feel like I can breathe for a moment. As boring and lame as most people think Indiana is, it may be the only place I can really call home, no matter where I live.

CHICAGO

And then I come back to the city. And right away I can feel things pick up pace. I walk faster, I talk faster, I think faster. You have to if you want to keep up. And mostly, I don't mind because I get to see places like this:

And these are just glances from where I live in Chicago. You can see something magnificent around almost every corner, on every street, at any time. 

Both places are beautiful in their own way. Luckily, I can have both... for now. 

Walking Around Chicago On A Wednesday Afternoon...

Sometimes, it's just fun to walk around, or wait for the bus, or sit and people watch. Chicago is full of amazing sights and people and places... it's all there if you just take the time to look.

Wake Up Call. Chicago Style.

I've developed a routine in Chicago. Therefore I've been under the falsehood that I know Chicago. As if taking the number 4 bus and the Red Line constitute knowing the city, I should've known that. But I have been going on every week, taking my usual routes and seeing the usual Michigan Avenue and Loop sights, thinking, "Ah, I'm a Chicagoan now." Wrong.

Breaking my routine is something I try to avoid whenever I can. I suppose like many people, it's more comfortable staying inside the lines then venturing outward. But as I have started making friends in Chicago, the invitations to go to their apartments have also started. Uh oh... that means I've got new routes to learn. "This is going to be hard." Wrong.

The Blue Line
Chicago has done something to me. I am slowly, but definitely, becoming less directionally challenged and more competent traveling, and more importantly traveling alone. I hadn't really noticed this until one o'clock in the morning last Friday.

 Three months ago if I was invited to a friend's house in Logan Square I would've winced at the thought and embarked to my new destination with trembling hands and a transparent look of nerves on my face. But when faced with that exact task, I took it as a challenge.

Sitting on the Red Line going towards Howard I maintained a cement look of confidence, although I'm not sure where it came from. I waited patiently to hear the automated voice say the next stop would be Jackson and that would transfer to the Blue Line. That was my que to exit the Red Line and for the first time, take another line. My stomach was a little uneasy, but it felt more like excitement then utter terror.

I read the signs that pointed me to the under ground tunnel, which would lead me to the Blue Line. I had imagined the tunnel looking an archaic man-made cave, dripping with moisture and strewn with the bones of those that didn't make it to the other side, like some medieval feat that I'd have to fight to get through in order to reach my destination. That was obviously my imagination running wild.

The tunnel is brightly lit and designed with white and blue tiles that form lively patterns across the walls and ceiling. There is nothing foreboding or challenging about it, besides the pesky smell of urine. The sound of a rambunctious drum beat lead my feet and I expected to see a group of men wailing away on bongos and upside down buckets. Instead, I was greeted with a group of kids, no more than 12 years old, creating a symphony from makeshift drums and instruments. I wondered why they were down here alone being so young, but was nonetheless incredibly impressed.

Late Night Travels
I made it to my destination with no hiccups, mistakes or faults. It was easy. Traveling in Chicago was becoming easy for me. But after hours in Logan Square, it was time to head home. This brought a surge of worry. It was past midnight now, and public transportation was always a different breed late at night. I imagined there would be all sorts of strange people on the trains and the busses. Night creatures that stayed hidden in the daylight and only came out to wreak havoc in the night... or so was the impression I'd been given. Wrong again.

Traveling at night seemed to be more peaceful and easier than during the day! There were no lines to wait in or people pushing and shoving to get through the crowds. In fact it just seemed as though people in their twenties were out, going home or to the next bar. My worries blurred with the speed of the train. And I smiled to myself.

What are some ways you got used to traveling in Chicago? Or an unfamiliar place?

Night Owls

Saturday Night, Chicago
Chicago is always bustling, whether it be the middle of the work day or the middle of the night, there's always something to do. On the weekends, however, the city seems to come even more alive. There are hundreds of places to go, from clubs to dives to museums to galleries- whatever you're into, Chicago has you covered.

This past Saturday I attended my first piano bar, Howl at the Moon, a dim lit, jam packed fun house that serenades you all night with piano renditions of your favorite songs. Bars aren't known for being quiet places, but this one amplifies that fact with full on sing-a-longs that are likely fueled by the alcohol selection (Howl at the Moon sells buckets of mixed drinks). And yes, they played Sweet Caroline...twice.

After hours of belting out tunes and taking down beers it was time to go. Walking out onto Hubbard Street late on a Saturday night is like walking into an overcrowded flea market of cabs with crowds of people bartering for a ride. Crowds stand on the sidewalks, which by midnight are so full of smoldering cigarette butts and wobbly legs that you have to guess where to step. Catching a cab here is like a fight to the death. Everyone exchanges glassed over glares over outstretched arms; the first hand to the yellow handle reaps the glory.

~

Back to Reality 

It's Monday and time to get back to the salt grind, as my mother would say. There won't be time for Sweet Caroline today. But the next time I get that itch, I know there's tons of places that are just minutes away. 

Developing A Thicker Skin

City folk are tough. I've seen a man walk across State Street in the middle of rush hour traffic, somehow effortlessly dodging cars without so much as a wince. I saw a woman miss her bus, run after it punching the sides and actually convince the driver to stop mid route so that she could board. I witnessed at least fifty people waiting in line for a bar to open the day the Bears played Green Bay in sub zero weather, some of them with nothing but blue and orange paint as shirts (though that may be bordering more towards stupidity). And I've seen a man fall to the ground in pain after a young woman punched him in the face for supposedly trying to steal her purse. People just seem to be a bit on the badass side.

It's been even more apparent over the winter months, just how tough Chicagoans can be. The buses don't stop when there's a massive snowfall, people don't just stay in when the temperatures drop to unfathomable levels, many women still sport their fashionable stiletto boots even when the sidewalks are riddled with ice and I've yet to see the streets completely barren. Except for last week, which will surely be the known as the infamous blizzard of 2011. That's the only time I've seen the city lose its toughness and it was only for a couple days at the most.

It's crazy, the things I've seen the city goers do and it's admirable and it's rubbing off on me. Thank goodness, because around here you've got to grow a thicker skin.
I'm not quite as fearless and walking when the little man isn't lit up, even if there are several people crossing, I wait, but I have developed bits of city dweller attitude. If the second 'excuse me' doesn't cause a reaction, then I feel no guilt in squeezing my way through on the buses or the trains and it doesn't phase me anymore when cab drivers come close to hitting me as they speed through red lights. Because around here, to become a Chicagoan, you've got to be tough.

The CTA

I've been living in Chicago for about four months now, and I still don't feel at home. There are so many things that take getting used to, and you'd think after four months I would be. Nope, not yet.


Learning To Get Around Chicago

Take public transportation. It seemed simple enough to me. Wait for the bus. Get on the bus. Get off the bus. Done. However, it hasn't gotten to that level of simplicity for me quite yet. I wait for the bus, often times I somehow miss the bus I set out to catch and end up waiting for ten to fifteen minutes in the brutal Midwest winter. I get on the bus and try to find a seat or at least an area that isn't jam packed with people. I say excuse me and smile at my fellow CTA passengers while trying to ignore the jerks who don't bother to use the same common courtesy; they instead choose to shoulder bump, grunt or simply plow through the crowd to get through. I sit with a nervous feeling in my stomach that I will miss my stop and travel much further than necessary or worse, somehow be on the wrong bus. That may seem ridiculous, but both instances have happened.

Like the first time I took the bus home from my night class.

I waited at what I thought was the correct bus stop and boarded what I thought was the correct bus. Unfortunately the bus I boarded had a route that took me out of the city, on the highway and thirty minutes away from where I was supposed to be. Getting off at the first stop I could, I briefly looked around, saw nothing familiar, went to ask the bus driver how to get back only to have to doors shut in my face. I guess the driver was in a hurry. It took me over an hour and a half to get home. I wish I could say I bravely found my way back via the public transportation system, but I didn't, with my tail between my legs, I called for a ride to pick me up.

In getting used to public transportation as my means of getting around, I've not only had learn to get over being directionally handicapped, which I didn't know I was until I moved here, I've also had to get used to the fact that every now and again I will come across a stranger who is beyond strange. Like the woman who used my leg as part of her seat, and when I pointed out to her that she was basically sitting on me, she proceeded to move even more of her weight in my direction, or the man who sneezed on the window and left it there, or the woman who appeared to be asking me questions, so naturally I answered only to be surprised when she yelled back at me, "I ain't talkin to YOU!" I remember thinking how embarrassing, she was probably on a bluetooth, until she turned around and clearly wasn't, or the man who seemingly urinated on the seat next to me, although I'd still like to pretend that one didn't happen. Yes, the public transportation system is challenging to get used to, and I am still not... but hey, at least this is my new backyard: