The plane lands in the morning after an all-night flight after 5 local time. The Chicago airport is busy, and I walk the long distance and a few level changes to get to the baggage claim. As usual, I waited ten minutes for the bags to arrive, found my black case, and followed the signs to the subway. I will be too early for the hotel, so I decided I could try the inexpensive way to get downtown, the subway.
The distance is impressive, and if it had not been for the other people headed in this direction, I might have been concerned. This is the Blue Line that originates at the airport. I get to the subway station, which resembles an odd mix of NYC new lines and Washington DC Metro cards. I bought a one-way pass as I didn’t plan to use the subway except to get to my hotel and downtown Chicago. I asked for help from a police officer at the info desk. He, putting on a show, demonstrates how to use the card. Only a tiny light shows you that you paid, and no sound, and then you push through the turnstiles. “Don’t be that guy who just stands here for an hour; go through,” the officer says. I do. My gym bag fell, but I managed, and the officer was happy. The transit people were watching the show and didn’t smile. Well, it was fun.
As the officer explained, I headed to the “Next Train” platform, following other people with roller bags. They headed to the first car, but the back cars were the only ones open. We backtrack, and I find a single-seat chair and place my roller bag and gym bag next to me. For the next twenty minutes, people crowded into the car. We start, and soon, every stop adds more and more people. The subway rolls back and forth, and sometimes, the wall hits my arm with force. It is not as smooth as Portland or Washington DC’s trains, but it is not as loud and avoids the stops and starts of NYC’s aging system. At first, it seemed slow, but the miles fell away. I watch the sunrise before the train tracks change to being below ground. I felt safe the whole time; people in the cars are the usual no-eye contact subway travelers.
As we approach downtown, the cars are standing room only and then start to empty. Monroe Street is my station, and I exit there with some folks politely getting out of the way and even making eye contact. There are no NYC musicians or people who you have to aggressively ignore. This is a crowd of working people.
Monroe Street station has no elevator, that I saw, and only stairs. I haul my bags up free separate sets of stairs. I reach the streets, and it is a comfortable, windless morning! I asked a chef smoking a cigarette near the subway station, obviously about to start his day in clean, starched chef whites, and we agreed that the Palmer House is nearby. I use the iPhone, which sends me a different direction than I thought, and I soon walk two blocks, cross, walk two blocks, and then two back. I am not far from where I started and see I am a block away. I cross the street and enter the maze that is the Palmer House’s first floor. I take an escalator to the second floor and lobby. There, I learned I could have a room and pay an extra day, wait until 9, pay $25 for early check-in, or wait until noon for complimentary early check-in. I give a tip the bag guys on the first floor and have breakfast in the hotel restaurant. I need coffee! The bag guys also gave me directions to the Amtrak station.
When I got the biscuits and gravy I ordered, they were not piping hot and were not spicy. The biscuits were good, but the eggs were overcooked for poaching. My waiter, Seth, constantly refilled my water and coffee, which was welcomed. I wrote the blog while eating. This being a work day and some convention was happening (the lanyards giving this away), folks were quickly in and out for breakfast. One table switched twice while I, going at my retired speed, ate slowly and wrote.
Next, I headed out with my laptop in my bags, waiting for a room. I decided to try the walk to the train station to determine if we could hoof it back or if it was a taxi/Uber trip. I walked away from the Great Lakes and headed for the Chicago River. Susie (my late wife) and I took Amtrak from Portland to Chicago some years ago to meet family for Christmas in Michigan, and I spent some time at the station in December as our connection failed to Michigan.
The walk was six blocks long and pleasant. I found more places for dinner and some aggressive panhandlers to whom I gave a buck. I was two hours early when I arrived. I walked through the maze on the lower level with the train platforms and got lost a few times. I slowly worked out the layout. With an hour to burn, I left the station and headed to the nearby former Sears Tower. I asked the staff in the lobby, and an hour was not enough time to do the view from the top. I headed back to the station and read for a while.
Deborah’s train, the Wolverine, ran nearly on time and arrived at track 18. We met and then walked back to the hotel. We put her bags in storage, too. We then went to Miller’s pub, and I had a too-large Greek salad with chicken, with Deborah trying the chowder (New England) and a small Greek salad. We then walked around and decided that $32 was a lot for only two hours in the museum, and a walk in the parks was better for us anyway. We found the Bean and other art attractions, sat, and chatted for an hour or so. We walked back to the Palmer House, checked in, and dressed in our respective rooms (me showering and shaving) for a show and maybe dinner.
Next, now decked out for The Book of Morman at the Cadillac Theater, we stopped by Potter’s Speakeasy in the hotel, had drinks (thinking sober was not the right mindset for the show), and had a small plate, too. We chatted and were soon more relaxed (both of us were out of practice, so one drink was good). We then walked six blocks and waited for the show to open. Once inside, we waited again for the house to open. There was no coffee, which seemed a shame. The songs “I Believe,” “Man Up,” and “Off Switch” were the most memorable and included high-energy dancing and some seldom-seen now tap. The irreverence towards religious beliefs was breathtaking and fun. I would recommend The Book of Morman. I wore my ruby red vest with a conservative tie but saw I should have had a pink vest with sequins for “Off Switch.”
I nodded off during the show as the theater’s hours, walks, drinks, and comfortable warmth overtook me. I reawoke and did not miss any of the show—just a few words. Deborah loved the show and laughed nonstop. Tired and stiff from sitting after walking all day, we walked back and said good night, with a planned meeting on Saturday at 8.
I finished unpacking and disassembling my suit, which included suspenders and a pocket watch. I was soon resting and asleep. The 16,000+ steps hurt my legs for a bit.
Thanks for reading.
Alohawild (Michael Wild's) Website 