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While sleep seems hard to find in hotels, I did manage to sleep after midnight. However, I woke at 5 AM, rolled over, and tried to sleep again. It seemed that an eyeblink later, it was 6 and then 7. I rose and started on the blog. Still, I did not request a coffee maker and thus wrote with just water and music. I would reach just below 15,000 steps for the day. My back did not start to feel and be painful until the final hour of walking, a thirty-minute walk from Navy Pier to Palmer House.

(Only one photo downloaded, sorry)

I intended to take some water tours today, including the architectural tour on the Chicago River. I wrote the blog for a few hours, knowing (I took a photo when I walked by the sign for the tour) that the tour was about 10. I thought the first tour was near the train station (that was where the sign was). I finished and published the blog and then quickly showered, shaved, and dressed in my room on the 23rd floor, 258. I headed out to find a donut and coffee towards the river and the building formally known as the Sears Tower. A small Dunkin Donuts near the tower supplied coffee and a pumpkin donut (they did not have an old-fashioned, my fav). There, I discovered that the tour was not even open on a Tuesday morning. F**k. I found a table, ate my donut, and enjoyed the warm coffee; the building security reminded me last time that you don’t sit on the stonework that is well seat level but may use their tables–so I followed this direction this morning. I did not comment when I was warned that if you value the stonework, why don’t you clean it (it was hard to find a place to sit as it was).

Nearing 10:30, a ship, a water taxi called ASAP, appeared, and I walked down the steep stone steps to the river level. They sold me a ticket for 11:45 for the tour and a water taxi ride to the tour, which was on Michigan Avenue dock, a twenty-minute walk away. I was the only passenger. I talked to a gal in a white shirt with officer marks on her shoulders, who I assumed was the captain, and a guy wearing a life vest who was the deckhand. They were friendly, and we chatted until we left. Then, the deckhand chatted (the captain was busy driving the water taxi) with me about his jobs in advertising. I was dropped off at the Michigan Avenue area and had just under an hour before the tour. I headed to Habor Eggs and had an excellent Eggs Benedict for a second breakfast and lunch. Omar, my waiter, was fast, and while I was rushed, the food appeared immediately, and the coffee, I definitely needed more, was supplied, American Mid-west style, in a small pot, allowing you to do your own refills. A to-go cup was provided, and I paid early so I could just walk out when done. I thanked everyone when I left and gave Omar a large tip. I walked by the University of Chicago Book Store and returned there after the tour, but it was just notebooks and gear for the school. I climbed down the three sets of stairs to reach the river and queued up with the other folks for the tour. Soon, I was seated on a folding chair at the top of the tour. Antonio was our tour guide, and he was excellent.

The tour lasted seventy-five minutes, and the boat had a bar and restrooms (heads). I mainly stayed in my seat and enjoyed Antonio explaining Chicago’s history by pointing out the different styles of its buildings. It was an excellent tour. Antonio told terrible jokes and mentioned places for ice cream and the best rooftop bars.

I returned to walking Chicago, unsure if I should take an Uber or walk back; I retraced yesterday’s walk, which seemed a waste of my time. But then I saw I was at the London House, a hotel. I went in and followed a couple on the same quest, and soon, I was at the rooftop bar. While only 21 stories, it was still a breathtaking view, and the same tour boat I had just left, which looked tiny, was back on the river. To the bartender, a friendly man, I said that Antonio, the tour guide, sent me; the bartender said Antonio was “a smart man” and made me an excellent Gin and Tonic from Bombay Saphire (the good stuff). I drank this slowly, standing, and looked out into Chicago. The day was warm and clear, nearly perfect. After finishing the drink and enjoying the view for twenty minutes, I thanked the bartender for making a lighter drink, as I was not affected and could find my hotel. With mocking sternness, he suggested he had failed, and if I had another, he promised I would not be able to find anything after that drink. I thanked him but left happy with only one drink in me.

The gin made the long walk pleasant. I found my way back, taking photos here and there. I even saw one of the Batman-style lights!

I rested for a while at the hotel, still under my 10,000 goal for walking with all the boating. I cleaned up and shaved again. I put on a dress shirt and a tie loosely around my neck but in my button-down collar. It was now late afternoon when I reached the street level near the Palmer House and soon had an Uber taking me for $30+ to the Navy Pier. Chicago charges for rush hour ($1.50) and to be dropped off at a special site ($5), knocking the price up. The trip was in messy traffic, and I tipped well. I walked to the end of the pier, looking at places to eat and seeing Antonio’s recommended ice cream place (I passed).

I selected Bar Sol because it had a line of chairs looking out at the pier and the waters of Lake Michigan. My waiter, Louisa, was happy to let me eat and drink slowly because they were not too busy on a perfect September night. They had no coffee (that is when you know you are not in the Pacific Northwest) and only made it in the morning. Sparrows made a show for me as the little garden near me was their dusting location. I threw them a chip; I had chips and salsa to start.

I ordered their seafood mix and accepted Lousia’s warning that it was a little spicy (it was a lot spicy). When it came, it was enough for two (or even three) and intimidating. And the price now made since it was a lot of seafood. I decided to ignore prices at my last dinner in Chicago (I will likely get something at the airport on Wednesday). I managed to eat about 1/3. Henry V (put on by the local Shakespeare Company on the pier) was at 7. I paid and walked about 1/2 of the pier to find the playhouse.

The playhouse was lovely, small, and intimate, reminding me of a playhouse in Washington, D.C., and theaters in the round. No storyteller was in their version, but they all shared this role, which moved from actor to actor. The dress was tired, dirty military, with sweat-stained t-shirts, and the king and others wore various countries’ uniforms as the play continued. The battles were Korean War or early Cold War, styled with machine gun fire and explosions. The actors ran through the theater, sometimes on the balcony next to the audience. When the storytelling restarted, the actors would remove their uniforms or additions to their costumes, return to sweat-stained plain military dress, and speak with the role passed between them. This created a page-turning effect and allowed the audience to imagine the next place. The play was excellent, and the words made me tingle, and when the King addressed the audience as his army, we were ready to face the French and wanted not one more man (or woman)!

For the intermission, the actors played music and sang songs. These songs slowly changed to all French, and the play restarted in the silly French scenes almost seamlessly. The play ends with the sad memory of Henry V’s early death, and soon I was headed out.

I walked the thirty minutes back, some in the dark as not all the lights were on by the lake shore. I was not scared, and it was the perfect night to walk. I was soon back in my room and could not sleep until midnight, but at least I was asleep before 1!

Thanks for reading!

The morning started with me rising around 7ish in the Palmer House, 23rd floor, room 258. A one-bed hotel room that is comfortable though a bit small. The one window looks into a building quite taller, and I am glad not to have to use 23 floors of metal fire escape just outside my window! I hear the subway, which reminds me of a sea surf as it approaches and leaves. I never got a coffee maker for my room, meaning I wrote the blog before breakfast and decaffeinated. Monday (I am writing this Tuesday morning) took not long to write as I will not try to describe paintings and art. But the labyrinthine Chicago Art Institute is one of the most excellent museums I have visited. I was done by 10ish and headed to a Dunkin Donuts for a simple Mid-Western Breakfast (and cheap, too).

I started walking in a direction on Wabash I had not gone before and soon found a small Dunkin Donuts that made their coffee too hot, but I could get an Old Fashion donut there, which was excellent. I ordered an Uber to drive more than six miles to the Industrial Arts Museum and home to U-505. The lovely white car arrived within minutes, and soon, I was enjoying a fast trip along the lake. The view was excellent, and I saw Chicago from the shore.

The museum has been updated and revised since I was there as a kid and is much larger. The underground entrance, hallways, displays, and home of U-505 are all new. The place is a learning center and a magical place for families with kids to learn science and industrial history. School was on, and it was Monday, so the place was not busy. The price, including extra for the U-Boat and 007 James Bond Science show, was still less than what I paid at the Chicago Art Institute! I should have bought a membership, as the 10% off for members would have been close to breaking even by the time I did the giftshop and lunch.

Concerned about how long I could last today, I headed to an early appointment for the U-Boat first. The displays on the way were well done but left out the code-breaking on the British side and the fact that the designs of the code-breaking machines came from Alan Turning. I was impressed when I turned the corner and saw that a whole U-Boat was pointed at me and looked fresh and ready.

When I last visited, U-505 was outside and was rusting. Although I knew the curators had placed it inside a building and repaired the boat (submarines are boats, not ships), it was still impressive to see it. The sides of the U-Boat are opened to allow access, and the first compartment, the floor, was lowered to allow for more comfort, but much of the boat is left intact and appeared to have aged well. They have put in sound and lighting to give a feeling of fighting and being depth-charged in a German WW2 submarine. There were fewer than ten of us, and I was able to take some interesting photos. U-505 is the only surviving version of its type, with three newer models also surviving, but I don’t think any are in as good a shape as this one. An awesome display.

It was lunchtime, and after looking at a few displays, including a giant HO-scale train set that reconstructs some of downtown Chicago and Seattle, I found the kitchen and had a Chicago-style hot dog. Next, I head to the 007 show. This is a collection of cars and gadgets with even some interactive displays. There was one of the sharks, great whites, with a note to touch the screen if you dare. I was ready, but the shark image that suddenly attacked from below and “broke” the glass made me jump back.

The golden gun, the Spectra poison knife shoes, and the tux made me smile. It was always the little things that made Bond movies work for me. The scuba gear from “For Your Eyes Only” made me smile as I remember how fun that movie was (it brought the Bond movies back from the well-deserved oblivion of terrible SciFi attempts). Q got many displays and even some screen time as the show was about the science of 007. The little things that made the show special for me, like James Bond’s JB cufflinks. Many displays showed how technology has reached the same level as the show, including a real working jetpack next to the “Thunderball” movie jetpack. I got Dondrea and Z a few items, and some Christmas presents for others.

 

I was happy that only my feet hurt today (though I was only at 3,500+ steps) and continued to look at the various science displays. They have a 727 mounted on the second floor, and the wheels come out, and the wings change for landing. Most of the displays come with something that works. With a reconstructed Wright Flyer, the flight display has various simulators for $5 a ride. I passed on that. I did sit in First Class in the 727.

I discovered the transportation displays in the basement hallways, and there was an impressive set of models and displays. While I have put my models away for now, I want to build a few sailing ships, some from wood, but we will see if I can get back to that. There is so much to do and much Python to code!

I watched a movie demonstrating how to mix the same ingredients to make a commercially available lemon cream pie without natural cream or real lemon. It got its point across about food science sometimes going too far. The place is not a corporate takeover of science.

I walked the third level and decided that 3ish was good to get back before rush hour. The museum shop had no detailed books on U-505 or plans, saving me some money. I found a taxi line outside, and the ready taxi guy said he had been waiting for me. He was happy to get some business and return me to the Palmer House. I accepted and soon cruised the lake shore in a yellow taxi, which cost me less than Uber. The lake looked lovely.

I took my goods back to my room, rested, and read for a few minutes. I headed out and towards the lake shore. I walked again for hours, with only stiffness and not pain, and enjoyed the lakeshore and the river walk. I was tempted by street tacos and tiki bars, but the pizza from last night was in the frig in my room. I did a giant loop and found the bean again. The Mexicans were still parading through the streets but with fewer cars. One could easily fall in love with Chicago Downtown on these warm, dry September nights. I decided I would be back soon.

I returned to my hotel, my legs stiff but no pain. I did re-discover that downtown is one story or more higher than the rest of the town. I had to climb stairs from the river to get back to the street level of Downtown. I know that Chicago raised its streets a story or two years ago, so there are streets and tunnels under the usual roads.

I use a microwave and eat my leftover pizza, which is mostly hot. I don’t want to get it too hot because I have no knife and fork, but it is still wonderful. I eat in the executive spaces to not stink up my room. I return to my room, talk to some folks, and then read. Despite 13,000 steps and no coffee except for breakfast, I still get tired. I go to the bar, have a beer, and watch football. I return and still can’t sleep. Jetlag still. I managed to fall asleep at nearly 1AM.

Thanks for reading.

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.

I was soon back in the room, reading and trying to sleep. The time difference is still hard on me, but I manage to sleep after midnight.

I rose before my alarm and was dressed by 7ish and writing a blog. Deborah said I need only ask for a coffee maker for my room, yes! But I still had to go without coffee on Saturday in my room. I was dressed and waiting for Deborah, who would soon appear in the lobby. We headed for the hotel restaurant; Deborah had a voucher. We chatted and had very supportive waiters who did not mind being ignored. They did supply us with almost unlimited coffee. I had a pile of bacon with two poached eggs and an English muffin. I have spaced what Deborah had.

Deborah had a 2-ish train to catch back home. We had limited time, and paying $30+ for a big-name museum for a two-hour rushed visit seemed a waste. I discovered the free Museum of Design, and that worked. We enjoyed the modern art (well, some of it) and some excellent modern paintings, which were pointed out by a desk person who had us turn around and see them. There was some across the street in the cultural center. The desk person then explained the building, the tours available in Chicago, and the displays. We took the elevator and started with the Paris and Chicago photo exhibit. We later found a room full of bowls representing the student debt crisis in the USA (something that appealed to Deborah and me).

We were running out of Deborah’s visit and headed to Elephant and Castle, a British-style pub (a local chain), after my phone got us turned around a few times. We ordered pies for lunch. I went with a bubbly Diet Coke, as I think my colon was reacting to too many salads. There were no accidents but a close call at the hotel earlier. 

(At this point, I lost my connection and was forced to use an other editor)

After lunch, we walked to the Amtrak station and arrived forty-five minutes early and then another ten to locate the waiting area. I saw Deborah connect with some nuns and a college student all headed back on the Wolverine, the name of the train. I headed back to the Palmer House. I was already at 9,000+ steps for the day and could use a nap.

I enjoyed the day’s warmth without winds, and the town is quieter on non-work days. I rested and read in my room on the 23rd floor, 258. I also collected some caramel corn and chocolate-covered almonds at the train station, and I munched on them. Deborah kept me up-to-date, and she was fine on the train. 

I dressed in my suit and soon out the door for my evening. I had got a few hours of sleep, at best. I decided on the German place nearby as it was on the way to the Lyric Opera, which was not in the theater district but mixed with all the banking buildings. I think it was there first. Susan was my waiter, and I found a small table. Soon, I was supplied with locally made German-style Dunkel beer; I went for a smaller glass (it comes even in liters) as I wanted to be awake for the opera, Rigoletto, tonight. This is the song you, dear reader, will know here. I went with the cheapest seat in the theater (still about $100 with all the extra charges). 

Susan, my waiter, discussed the menu and decided on the Hungarian Goulash, which I also make, but with spaetzle instead of mashed potatoes. I don’t make spaetzle. It was good, and it had more pepper spices than I used. It did not have the ground rye seeds I am used to using. I think mine was better, but it was good to try it and compare. Also, my tastes are still off from the surgery and the resulting thrush infection. Still, it was great, and Susan gave me coffee to finish with and helped me enjoy the opera. 

I met a couple from the UK at the German place who were popping down by train from visiting relatives in Michigan. We agreed that the USA trains are disappointing but cheaper than the UK trains (something I did not know about). They would be headed to the art museum on Sunday. I recommended, the guy was a retired Royal Navy, the U-boat at the Industrial Arts, too. 

The Lyric Opera House was five blocks away, and my dress shoes and stiff legs and hips were a challenge that I rose to. As I got closer, I noticed that the dress style was becoming more formal. I was feeling better about my clothing choice. It was opening night for the opera!

The place was packed. The crowd was visibly excited and an even mix of younger and older people, something I had not seen before for an evening show. My seat was the last row on the first balcony and about the same distance, or even shorter, as my more expensive seat on the second balcony a few months ago in New York City’s Met. The sound was great, and I could not read the distant translation except for a few words. I could watch the stage or read. I decided to just enjoy the show and only tried to read once in a while. The leads and action were excellent. The staging was minimal and less than I used to, but I think it worked. The chorus was terrific, and the singing was as good as it gets. I am a poor judge, but the audience seemed to love it, too. 

I was happy to have spent the evening at the opera. The walk back was fifteen minutes or longer, as my pace was reduced to a stiff walk. The street crowd consisted of skin-showing young people, middle-aged folks in formal wear from various evening weddings, or older folks in suits and nice dresses. The hotel was rocking with the bar full and the speakeasy closing. I found my room, got in my PJs, and could not sleep as it was too early (my two-hour time difference caught me). I finally slept and woke up often. I am tired this Sunday and stiff.

Thanks for reading. 

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.