Sunday Chicago

Sleep was disturbed and limited. I rose, showered, and dressed for a warm but comfortable day in Chicago. The hotel is quiet enough, and the room is cozy. I am on the executive 23rd floor and use an express elevator that stops only at a few floors. It is old school and still has the bench for the attendant. I learned this is the second Palmer House building, but much of the old style of the Civil War-era hotel. The original dishes used at a famous banquet to celebrate the Union heroes are in a case in the lobby and stores; according to the write-up, the rest exist in a vault.

Deborah is safe and returned home on Sunday night. We text now and then. I plan to see much of the Chicago Art Institute, two blocks from the Palmer house and towards the lake. Breakfast is at Goddess and the Baker, a local chain only a few blocks away. There, I selected, after a recommendation, the breakfast burrito filled with scrambled eggs and sausage with various veggies. I had coffee with that and found a seat on a shared bar-like table with a note for laptop users to limit their stay to no more than sixty minutes. The place is overflowing, and I write for only a few minutes before returning to the Palmer House. I find the place packed there as the weddings yesterday are now disassembling with folks checking out. I get a chair at a shared table with an older gentleman who I learned lives in Arizona and officiated at the weddings (and has another one in a few days), who agrees to let me share his space. We chatted, and I learned he missed the reception as he was in the ER for an infection, but he got the wedding done. He tells me he is better and soon heads out. A few less interesting people take his place and are soon replaced repeatedly as folks check out and head out.

I write the blog and soon finish it. I am a few minutes behind my plan of being at the Art Institute by 11. I published the blog and returned my laptop to my room, which is being cleaned. I hid the computer near the luggage, but the gal cleaning the room needed me to produce my room key. I do. She checks that it would have opened the door. It would. I thanked her for being careful and gave her a tip.

The Art Institute is full of stairs, and I am careful when using railings. My legs are stiff, and my balance, while not bad, is not outstanding either. I bought a ticket for the place and for the O’Keeffe show, O’Keefe’s New York, for $42. Annual membership costs $115, but purchasing the membership is not economical unless I return twice, but I always check.

I headed to the impressionists, and that did not disappoint. While Portland’s latest show, closed now, had a few of each, Chicago has a room full of each. The square footage in Monet’s paintings made me almost dizzy. I also saw that a few famous paintings are on loan but are replaced by impressive works by the same artists from another museum in France. There is a brilliant self-portrait of Van Gough. The bronzes are everywhere, too. I see a Degas that matches the bronze I saw in Texas, but this was the less successful nude. The write-up mentions the version I saw before. I have, in my mind, connected the two works. Excellent!

After the first hour of standing, my back started to hurt, which disappointed me as I had planned to spend the whole day in the museum. The area connects to European works, and the museum has a less impressive collection of older paintings, but still something representative. There is a brighter Rembrandt than the ones I saw in New York City and Amsterdam, which surprised me. Once out of the 1600s, I started walking faster.

I head to the modern wing to be turned around to find the American section, and I am lost—the place is enormous and a maze. I discovered that the Café is underground and near the American art in that it is in the same building. After taking too many stairs, I found a strange line and was given a menu; a light lunch was $20. You order and sit, and they bring you the food (tip was included).

I have the gazpacho and the side potato salad that was recommended. The soup was creamy, cold, and drizzled with olive oil. The red potatoes were still warm, and the dressing was a mix of uncooked garlic, onions, and capers. Strange but good.

I head back to the maze and soon find the American works again—rooms and rooms of great works. Night Hawks and American Gothic attract crowds. I liked a Whistler painting I have only seen in books: a misty harbor. My back is better after lunch, but I know the pain will return. I head to the O’Keeffe show as I am in the right location. This does not disappoint. I did not realize she had done paintings in NYC before the more well-known Southwest-themed work and that the lines in the more famous paintings can be traced to her paintings of NYC buildings. I also did not know that Batman Animation was hinting back at her works for the view of Gotham.

I next found the famous Japanese wave print, which was smaller and brighter than I knew. After that, with my back pain increasing, I headed to the German Arms display. Yes, swords, halberds, and mail filled multiple large rooms with two knights on horses jousting. Lastly, the gift store where I picked out something for a friend at a slight discount.

The walk to the Palmer House was mercifully short, and I could rest and nap for a while. Gino’s East was calling me. I rose and found another ten-minute walk was in order. I headed out and found the less polished parts of Chicago to reach the pizza. There, I got a table, and Spinach Margherita was recommended by the hostess and my waiter. I got 1/2 meat and half Margherita to go with my local lager. A proper pizza, deep-dish, and baked solid was delivered to my table, and the waiter gave me the Margherita first. It was bright and a perfect mix with the heavy crust. The cheese is baked but still stretchy. The meat slice was good, but the ham seemed underwhelming compared to the first slice, not as great. Either is good, but the Margherita was a marvel. I would order just pepperoni next time instead of meat. Often, this makes for a near-perfect deep-dish pizza. The pizza was excellent. I took two pieces back and will heat them for dinner on Monday. The executive level has a microwave and tables at which to sit.

It is Mexican Independence Day (15 September), and there is a mass of cars flying flags dressed out in Mexican and other country flags (some countries share the date, I learned) and colors. Soon the streets are choaked as the police coral the cars to some streets. Many honking cars and flags are waving as the roads grid-lock in Downtown Chicago. It is chaotic and loud, and fun. Nobody is unhappy, and the police, who explained this to me, are trying to slow the mess, but I can see they are smiling too. It is an extra-legal parade and party. A slow-moving and friendly riot. I only felt unsafe when there were some fireworks, as I could not tell if they were gunfire, but soon, they were safe again.