Way back in April, I found myself on a walking tour of Belgrade, the capital of Serbia. These walking tours were a staple in my tour of Europe – they combined a fast paced exposure to the main sights and facts of a city with a chance to meet other travellers you could have a warble with and perhaps go exploring with later on. This tour of Belgrade turned out to be an interesting one for two main reasons: firstly, the city itself is one still brutally scarred by its recent history; bullet holes line many buildings, dancing their way across concrete clad monstrosities that help to keep the visceral image of its turbulent past fresh in your mind. The second was the chance encounter with Caitlyn, a Chicagoite (Chicagoian? Windyite?) who had found herself working for in Serbia (planting trees or being a TV star or something) and had popped to Belgrade for some time off. We ended up chatting throughout the tour, and exchanged numbers to organise a meet up later that day. Alas, a sickness bug struck me down and we never met again, a friendship
transient…[and the] time and relationships here…reduced to nothing more than a couple Facebook photos
(to once again quote Caitlyns blog). Apart from we didn’t take any photos.
Fast forward 7 months and I post that I’m heading towards North America. Caitlyn offers me a place to crash if I ever find myself stranded in Chicago, somewhere I’d heard of but knew little about. Some vague planning occurred and I decided to head from Buffalo to Pittsburgh on a Monday, and then head on to Chicago on the Thursday/Friday following. Having made precious few plans before this date, it should come as no surprise that this plan fell flat on its face following my day of pain (see the end of my previous blog for that fun story), and so I instead found myself in the centre of Chicago late at night on the Monday, booking myself into a hostel.
I decided to make use of the hostel facilities and took myself along to the walking tour that next morning, led by the friendly art-mad Paul. An esoteric walk around downtown Chicago saw us zipping into hotels, nipping through hidden stage doors in private clubs, and popping up to 12th floor swimming pools. A visit to the Chicago Athletic Club is well worthwhile, even if it is to just chill in the beautiful wood panelled lounge, sit in a comfy leather chair and steal their WiFi. A group of us from the walking tour later fulfilled our touristic requirements and headed to Giordano’s Pizzeria for a Chicago staple, the Deep Dish pizza (can’t say I was a huge fan). We saw the night out at Andy’s Jazz Bar with some classy toe-tapping body wiggling music – there’s something about Jazz which makes you feel at ease with the world and lets you just enjoy the incredible skill the players all have.
The next day saw a visit to the Museum of Science and Industry. Based in a set of stunning buildings originally constructed for the 1893 World Fair, my initial reaction when walking into the museum was that I had accidently walked into a convention of Primary School students – the little blighters looked like locusts upon a corn field, and it can be considered pure luck I didn’t bowl any over in my own wave of excitement. A particularly cool section was the 3 floor high series of jets and fans that turned water vapour into a tornado-esque vortex. You were able to walk into this vortex, initially disrupting the flow and then watch as the vortex reformed around you. In my head it was pretty similar to that scene in Twister where the two love interests have strapped themselves 
to the water pipe and are in the middle of a F5 tornado, minus the leather straps and marauding flying cows.
The whole museum was chock-a-block with interesting displays and hands-on activities, and I happily spent the whole day there. The one disappointing feature was the frankly appalling display they had on Climate Change and Global Warming. It looked several years old, and just consisted of a tiny piece saying how scientists couldn’t agree on whether global warming might have an impact, and what to do about it anyway. For an institute whose mission, inscribed in 10ft tall letters around the central hallway decries “Science discerns the laws of nature. Industry applies them to the needs of man” it felt incongruous that they wouldn’t have more on the most important issue facing mankind today, caused as it is by industrialisation.
The rest of the week in Chicago passed rather pleasantly – various meet ups with Caitlyns friends and family, much chai tea and wine drinking (not together), and introducing Caitlyn to the legend that is Louis Theroux (the swingers documentary of course). The Chicago Architecture Biennial is a series of exhibitions well worth viewing, particularly the Chicago Culture Centre; it was whilst I was wandering this Beaux-Arts treasure that I stumbled across a spoken-word/rap open mic session – also worth a visit if you want to delve into a different world of urban beats and thoughts. Another free treat is the Lincoln Zoo – considering most zoos around the world often cost upwards of 20 or 30 dollar to get into, this is a real gem in the crown of Chicago. It was particularly stunning during the holiday season as the whole place puts on their “ZooLights”, a 2 million-plus light show and display.
All in all, what was meant to be a casual few days where I might crash with someone I’d met for a few hours before turned into a week long exploration of a pretty exciting city with a great person. Whilst I feel slightly guilty about ruining a weeks worth of Tinder for Caitlyn, and stealing all her tea, it was one of those weeks that makes you glad you travel and put yourself out there when meeting new people.
From one random meeting to another, marginally less random meeting. During my European travels, I’d stayed with one of my best buds from Uni in Istanbul. He was studying for his Masters at Sabancı University, and was living on the Asian side of the Bosphorous. One of his housemates was another American, going by the name Megan. Hailing from the exciting state of Ohio, she had also kindly offered me a place to stay if I needed it, and when Christmas came knocking on the door of December she suggested I join her family and appreciate a real American Christmas. A Greyhound bus to the thriving metropolsis of Cleveland got me most the way there, and we snuck a visit into the Cleveland Museum of Art – somewhere that I had frankly low expectations for but really shocked me with the volume and quality of their collection. A drive back down to Megan’s family home in Ashland saw me get my first real experience of small town America. Most hilariously for all involved was my first sighting of an Amish buggy, tootling down the main road without a car(e) in the world. Upon seeing this I exclaimed how surprised I was, as I genuinely thought that they all lived on reservations in their own special land. This greatly titillated her, and everyone else from Ohio that she told the story to.
Ohio is Amish country, with over 50,000 in the state. My knowledge of them was pretty scant – I knew they shunned electricity and modern life but little else. It was much to my surprise that, on my first trip to Walmart (a trip which elicited similar feelings to how the original adventurists must have felt when exploring the African bush), I saw the Amish shopping amongst everyone else. I was informed that Walmart and other stores even provide hitching posts so the horse and buggies are safe when they are shopping inside. A trip to Amish country was a particular highlight of my week in Ohio, especially the section in the book store put aside for “Amish Fiction”. I wondered what provocative scenes might be found in these romantic novels, but was too confused by the global warming denial books nearby to fully concentrate (the normal mix of controlling Jew/Liberal/heathen leftists trying to control the world). One particular amusing exchange occurred when we entered a shop selling blankets and nick-nacks, and after having spoken to the shop owner for a few minutes and explained how I was from England, she then asked “So do they speak English over there?”. I was temporarily stumped; does she think we speak Esperanto? Ancient Greek? I regained my composure and confirmed that, indeed, we do speak English in England, much to her surprise.
It was always going to be interesting being with a different family for Christmas, and so it proved to be with Megan’s family. Of course, America and Britain are very similar culturally, and so the vast majority of traditions were similar between both. A nice touch Megan’s family and friends have is the delivery of baked cookies and biscuits as Christmas presents between friends and neighbours – a tradition no doubt helped by the fact that the family had a rather marvellous baking ability shared across them all.
One part I was particularly interested in was how different the church service was going to be. Having been raised Church of England but no longer being a person of faith, I imagine I am quite common in that one of the few times I still go to church is at Christmas. The church that the family attended in Ashland was of course based in a modern building (no 16th century stone buildings here), with mood lighting and a projector instead of hymn sheets. There was the stereotypical guitar duo playing modern religious music, and the Pastor read his service from an iPad. However, even though the set of services that week had a loose theme of Star Wars and the fight against the Dark Side, the general message that was being shared was similar to what would be delivered in the UK. The one main difference I could tell was the sense of personal conflict that the Pastor himself had passed through – on numerous occasions he informed the congregation of his own failings and the struggles he continued to have, something I can’t imagine from any CofE vicar I’ve ever seen. It was interesting to see, but I was somewhat comforted (/disappointed!) that this was not one of those intense Evangelical churches I’d read so much about, and that small town America has something of a reputation for.
One other main theme of my time in Ashland was the playing of card games, particularly Taboo. Having played once before on Thanksgiving when I was in New York, I was feeling confident of my abilities. These were quickly dashed when the game began – I was paired with Megan’s sister, and despite getting on well we just could not decipher each other’s clues. Some cutting words may have been shared by myself (for which I was quite embarrassed by), but my dignity was slightly redeemed in a later game in which I was paired with Megan and we managed to win. Just. A new phrase “To pull a Betty” was born on Christmas day, where one of the family’s guests (a fiesty, hilarious 89 year old neighbour) flat out refused to play Taboo and made us change game, so at least I didn’t do that.
The whole week was a very enjoyable return to a more normal “home” life – surrounded by family in a loving environment. I even managed to sneak a 17 mile run in on Christmas Day – something I was happy with until I realised that my equipment of mountain hiking shoes, netted swimming shorts and cotton thermal underlayer had managed to give me blisters, rip my legs apart and rub a rather tender area on my chest. Anyone who has run long distances before will know what I’m talking about here. But all in all, I couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas. It was however with excitement that I then packed my bags once more, flight ticket to Vancouver in hand, and headed to the airport. Would I be allowed into Canada? If I arrived would I then break my legs on the slopes of Whistler Blackcomb? All this and more in my next post.
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