I am sitting atop the roof of my cousin’s condo in Chicago, Illinois. There is a slight breeze and church bells chiming, both coming from the south. My view is of downtown Chicago: Sears Tower, the Hancock Building, countless skyscrapers between the two in this birthplace of the skyscraper. My time in Chicago is nearly over.
My cousin, Bryan, lives west of downtown. Only a couple of miles. A walk and a half, as i learned the other day. My legs are still feeling that walk. Not because i’ve never walked before and not because it’s a treacherous walk with great hills or stairs to climb. The walk was relatively flat. But the combination of having sat in a car for 4 days and the amount of walking around that i had done earlier in the day led to the soreness i am now experiencing. Like my time in Chicago, this too shall pass.
There is a beautiful brick church to my left, a block away. As it’s Monday night, the church is empty. A lone car is parked in front, but their destination is no doubt a different place. Any which way i turn my head from here i see city. City pouring out of city pouring out of city. A garbage truck is on its rounds, though it’s after 6pm. Other than that the only sounds i hear are passing cars.
Bryan’s condo sits in the neighborhood known as River West. His building is a renovated industrial warehouse converted into condos, like so many older buildings in large cities are these days. It has maintained some of the industrial charm, with diamond plating in the elevator, a tall chain link fence with barbed wire guards the residents’ parking lot, exposed wiring and pipes in the lobby. The lobby has a sweet smell, like something is baking in the oven. The “L” train (blue line, if i’m not mistaken) passes by a few streets north of here.
Chiacgo offers a lot to do, especially for tourists. Especially for tourists with money. I am not one of those tourists, so i was displeased with walking around Michigan Ave. and its endless stores with high-end merchandise. But yesterday offered a taste of Chicago that i am glad to not have missed. Dim Sum in Chinatown for breakfast with Bryan. The Art Institute of Chicago featuring Cezanne, Dali, Degas, Max Ernst, Matta, Gauguin, Van Gogh, Juan Gris, Paul Klee (i loved his piece, Fleeing Ghost), Monet, Manet, Man Ray, Henri Matisse, Renoir, Rodin. I found the most breathless to be A Sunday on La Grande Jatte by Georges Seurat (you wouldn’t believe how big it is), The Old Guitarist by Pablo Picasso, and Georges Braque’s Landscape at La Ciotat. The Art Institute is known as the Louvre of the U.S. Never been to the Louvre, but oh man. Dinner with Molly in Andersonville was amazing and perfect and delicious French-Algerian cuisine. Drinks and live blues at Blues Chicago was that proverbial cherry on the sundae that Sunday, with Molly getting hit on by the guitarist from the band even though he is a grandfather of six. His name’s Chuck, by the way.
And that’s how you do Chicago. I’m off in the morning, so to bed go i.
