chicago

I love long travels, and also weekend trips. A few days away, revisiting a city and a friend, contains much more in memory than in actual time. On Friday, I flew out on one of the very flights that had not been cancelled to Chicago. Someone in an air traffic control building at O’Hare airport had set it on fire, and thousands of flights departing from and arriving in the city were cancelled. Mine wasn’t, and I felt lucky.

My friend Pete picked me up in the car he had driven in high school, with a license plate that sported his last name and football jersey number. He drove us to a neighborhood that had been recommended to me earlier that day, Pilsen. I was struck by how the streets exuded both a big city feel and a cozy small town feel; there was a lot in the surroundings but it was easy to navigate. We had dinner at a place called Dusek’s, a spacious restaurant coated in warm browns and chic lighting. He had a flight of beers that also came with a shot, and I had a bourbon cocktail that was too strong for my taste but good. We chose small dishes, that did some of the things that I find most amazing about food: gave taste simply from being fresh and simple, and also packed a range of subtle array of flavors in compact spaces. Broccolini with a light sauce and white raisins, bay scallops sliced thin and buried below a too-bright delicious green sauce, charred baby octopus atop green couscous, and a dessert of salted caramel churros aside dark chocolate sorbet.

We then met some of his friends at a bar, which again surprised me with its space. It was an unseasonably warm September weekend, and tall good-looking girls wore short, low-cut dresses. The bar played good, popular music in short segments so everyone was dancing. We left after another drink, and hung out at his friend’s place nearby. It reminded me of med school, and the time we spent just hanging out then. These days, we go out to dinner, we do activities, we make plans; I realized how much I missed just hanging out, at our apartment, at the guys’ apartment. At his friend’s place, we drank a shiraz named the Butterfly Effect and talked about the butterfly effect and how the man who lit himself on fire affected the travel plans of thousands (except mine).

After the late night I slept in until noon. Pete’s loving mom made us breakfast, and we drove into the city. We had Dunkin Donuts coffee, which I haven’t had in years; I had mine with cream and sugar and savored it. We walked around Millennium Park, and I took pictures of the skyline and of the Art Institute, whose glass and bright white angles I loved. It might have been partly the weather and how gorgeous and big the clouds and sky were, but I felt that of all downtown buildings that I’ve known deeply (New York, San Francisco, Boston) I liked Chicago’s best. They felt clean and fresh and refreshing, less dominating and more comforting in their height. We wandered around the bean, gardens where a wedding party was taking photographs, and made our way into a market where we had too much sushi. After the food we decided to go swimming, so went back to his friend’s place which has an outdoor pool. There was a gorgeous view of all of Chicago, and dusk settled in with pinks and stray clouds holding their own against the setting sun. On the first lap across the pool I promptly lost one of my contacts. Pete and his friend wanted to race across the pool holding our breath, and despite being blind and having to close my eyes, I joined. This is how I learned how important vision is to proprioception; closing my eyes to avoid losing the other contact, I couldn’t swim straight and I promptly rammed myself into the side of the pool, bringing my breath back quickly.

Blurry eyed and disoriented, I left the guys and went to dinner with a high school friend who lives in Chicago, who will be getting married in California in a couple of weeks. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of years at least, but as with all revisits of this sort, it was easy and warm and made me happy. It was nice to see her happiness in person, and to have one-on-one time with her before the wedding, when you feel close but far from the couple because everyone else does too and there’s only one of them. Afterwards Pete and his friend picked me up to go to yet another bar, where I bit the bullet and took out my one contact so that my vision would match and spent the rest of the night virtually blind. It was okay because I sat and talked to Pete which didn’t require much vision, which reminded me of the ease of friendship. Back at home he tried to show me the genius of Comedy Central with skits of men impersonating sorority girls, and we found out I’m not hip enough to find this funny.

On Sunday I slept until noon again, and we took our time getting out of the house, eating breakfast, sitting in the backyard, then talking for awhile to Pete’s neighbors who are like a second family to him, playing with their chocolate lab and talking to the daughter about her first year of college. We made our way into the city again, and debated on how the best way to get to Lake Michigan and Lakeshore Drive. Finally deciding to bite the bullet and drive there, Pete got antsy being in the car for so long while it was gorgeous outside, but we were lucky to find a parking spot. At a fast food place we stopped to use the restroom and got a free falafel. With that in our stomachs we set off for a run by the lake.

I haven’t run outside in a long, long time and it was unreal, the clear blue and huge clouds, the waves quietly lapping the shore, the skyline in the distance, the ferris wheel past that. It was such a deeply filling place to run, and I felt so lucky for my legs and lungs (despite my weak speed and Pete flying by me). We stopped after a couple miles to walk the touristy navy pier, and walking all the way at the end we walked along an edge where no others were, and I was surprised and touched by the gardening there. There were heavy mixes of flowers all along the walkway, and I liked how varied they were (not just different ones next to one another, but a real conglomerate all in one space) and how carefully groomed they were, despite no one around to look at them. We ran another two miles back to our beginning, as the sky deepened in pinks and then faded into midnight blues. We then promptly treated ourselves to first creamy ice cream (I had peach biscuit cream and almond brittle) and then a whole chicken’s worth of wings (that was all Pete). I was wiped out from the movement and food and nature, so we headed home and we both skyped with M for two hours.

On Monday, I slept until noon for the last time, and we spent the last hours of my vacation at home in the backyard. We read stories by Murakami, Cheever and Eggers, and I taught Pete and his mom some yoga on the grass, and Pete’s mom grilled us tuna steaks before we sat in traffic to get to the airport and I almost missed my flight but didn’t.

It was the kind of weekend that stretches its fullness well past its three days, and I feel lucky for the minutes of its present and the memories I place here and have been placed in me.