"I'm sure there are good things about Chicago, I just can't think of them."

Addition to September 2^nd:

Woopsie. After I posted last night (like a week ago.) Brandon kept asking me “Oh, did you mention ________ or ________?” Well, shit no.

So here goes the missing bits:

Remember when I talked about the large storm I sat through in the laundry room? Well, I suppose I should mention what Brandon was doing at this time. Wearing only flip flops and shorts he ran back to our camp site to get the blankets and things out of the tent and pack the tent up before the storm got too big. By the time he got to the tent it was already pouring thick, heavy drops that felt like hail against the skin. He took cover under the porch overhang of a cabin and watched as he was sure the wind was going to take our tent across the camp site. He hurried over and started throwing blankets and sleeping bags in the car, then he pulled the stakes from the tent and just started shoving the tent into a garbage bag. The wind kept filling the tent up like a balloon so shoving it into the small bag was almost impossible. He was finally able to and he threw it into the roof box, then he got in the car, dripping,  chattering and shivering before driving over to the laundry room. All while I pleasantly chatted with a nice couple about God and adoption and writing to you guys.

September 3^rd, 2011

This is a long one

The night before we’d discovered the tragedy of the trunk. We’d forgotten to plug the cooler back up and the melted ice had completely soaked everything. My purse, Brandon’s, the carpet. The worst of them all, though? My copy of Brideshead Revisited was nearly destroyed.  (It’s still not dry yet. I’m looking sadly at it right now, damp and coverless.) Anyone who knows me understands the loss of a book is a tragedy.

Yesterday we left for downtown Chicago around 10am. We left the Regency feeling filthy and as if we each needed another shower to clean ourselves from the first showers in the grimy, smelly bathroom. Really, we probably contracted diseases. It took about half an hour to get to Lincoln Park, an area outside downtown. We saw a hot dog joint and agreed it was the perfect breakfast. I was surprised to see they had duck and alligator hot dogs. It does sound disgusting, but I’ll admit intriguing. After breakfast we headed to the Lincoln Park zoo - a free zoo in the middle of a large park. Did you hear me? A free zoo. What is this, and why don’t we have it? They really had everything. Tigers, lions, and bears. Oh my? I’d never seen a lion before so that was thrilling. For my nineteenth birthday my ex took me to the zoo and I was so excited to see the lions they’d recently added but the exhibit was closed. Who would have thought I’d see a lion in a park in Chicago before in my own Portland zoo?

Afterwards we drove to Millennium Park, where they have Cloud Gate (the big metallic bean) Parking was insane. We went under the city and it felt like a city under a city. A layered city, like an ant hill. After we parked and got above ground we really felt the heat. It was 90* or so, and we haven’t had a day that hot yet. It was nice, but exhausting. The metallic bean was amazing (yes. Amazing) and so much bigger than I had expected it to be. There was also a huge stage and grass lawn for summer shows and beyond that, a huge city fountain. The names of both have escaped me.

At this point the city was growing on me but, in all honesty, Chicago was by far my least favorite place we’ve seen. (At this point it was. Turns out Detroit is just as terrible as they depict it to be. ) We walked through downtown and to the Willis tower (fun fact: it hasn’t been the Sears Tower since 2009). It was a two hour wait to reach the top to the sky bridge so we didn’t wait. Instead we did what I had wanted to do all day – PIZZA. We weren’t going to puss out on the best part of Chicago, right? Of course not. I didn’t care how fattening or expensive, we were getting deep dish and we were going to the best place in the city. Giordano’s was the place – voted the best pizza in the US. Title rightfully earned. Though the wait was nearly an hour, when our waiter was walking towards our table with that pizza everything was worth it (yes, I really do feel this strongly about pizza. It’s freaking delicious).

We left Giordano’s stuffed and not wanting to trek back to the car. It was raining and Portland-esque and we were a mile from the car. A mile isn’t too far, but after consuming the most delicious, unhealthy pizza pie a mile was a marathon. On the way back we realized Brandon needed his bumper sticker and I needed my shot glass for Chicago so that  added to the venture to the car, as we had to go to five shops to find a sticker.

We decided not to stay in Chicago and drive straight up through Indiana, Michigan and into Canada that night. An ambitious goal, but we disliked Chicago so much that we were ready to be anywhere else, really. Chicago was filthy, smelly, and just downright upsetting.

Indiana was depressing, at least what we saw of it. I’m sure the pouring rain didn’t help but even still, it felt barren and sad. We stopped at a mall and it was desolate, and half the stores had closed down. Workers waited eagerly in the doorways of their shops or behind the counter of their food joints. The music played in the walkways and the games were all on in the arcade, but no one was there. It was eerie, really.

After finding a post office we drove straight to Detroit. What do I have to say about Detroit? Despite only being in it for about 45 minutes, I can say with good authority that Detroit is a shit hole. America’s anus. Sure there wasn’t a whole lot of hype, but Jesus, Detroit, make a fuckin’ effort. Buildings were rotting at their foundations, there was trash everywhere, and four cops showed up at the gas station while we were getting gas. As we were leaving, so was one of the cops and I noticed something that struck me as very strange, because I’d never before seen a cop with his seat kicked back, his window down, blasting gangster rap. Seriously? Seriously. It’s too bad this is the impressions Canadians get when crossing the border.

With Detroit it was a sort of a “lets get the fuck out of here” deal. (especially after Brandon drove on the wrong side of the road, DUDE :P) We stopped at the Duty-Free zone before crossing the border. I’m pretty sure neither of us had seen so much alcohol in our lives. It lined the walls (and it was a big place) and it covered shelves all in the center. “Brandon, why is there so much alcohol here?” He shrugged “I have no idea.” Well, it turns out it’s because it’s nearly IMPOSSIBLE to get alcohol in Canada, and when you do finally find it, it is outrageously expensive ($12 for a 6 pack of average 5% beer).

Once crossing the border we drove around for a good hour before stopping at a gas station.

“Hi, do you know where we can get alcohol?” I asked.

The gas station attendant smiled and said, “you guys are from the States aren’t you?”

“Yes, why?”

“You can’t get alcohol this late, and we can’t sell it in grocery stores or markets.”

“What?”

Turns out you have to buy alcohol from the Liquor Control Board of Ontario (LCBO), completely government run and controlled. The way Ontario controls the liquor consumption of it’s people is amazing.

Instead, the gas station attendant directed us to a small motel down the way that was only $40 a night. We arrived and, though it had a certain stench to it, it was significantly cleaner than the Chicago motel and we fell asleep without worry of bed bugs and diseases.

Enjoy every minute,

Mary