Chicago

As I stepped on the Greyhound at 1:45am of the late Saturday night I felt a bit of anxiousness knowing I wouldn't be seeing anything familiar to me for the next fifty nine or so days. The fact that two elderly people were having a cross-aisle shouting skirmish over seat position or who's bum outfit was more bomb or god knows what did not soothe this anxiety.

Stepping onto a crowded Greyhound, especially one at night and especially one Chicago bound, is not like stepping onto an STLF bus. People do not smile back to greet you and the microphone is not used for bus idol but to inform you that you WILL be left behind if not back from the station in time. I decided against asking if anyone wanted to start up a round of bus surfing as it was very late and most people were busy focusing on subtly not letting me sit by them.

Like STLF, Greyhound riders must pay to ride (though considerably less so you'd think the latter would be the cheerier crowd.) Also like STLF, there will probably be someone sitting alone that will kindly allow you to neighbor them. I've learned that who you sit next to is crucial to setting the tone for any trip involving buses and I almost always luck out with a good seat partner ("My name is Jill Chan"). Tonight would be no different. I never found out my window buddy's name but he did tell me of the six vehicles he managed to buy despite dropping out of college, his Palestinian heritage, immigrant journey to the states, and a bit about his city (KC) and his destination (Kalamazoo). Interesting guy. I fell asleep promptly by the quad cities.

After getting to Chicago at 6am, I walked outside and recognized the neighborhood I was lugging my stuff through as the one I'd stayed at early in high school for NYLF camp four years before. That was the last big multi-week adventure I went on and began with only the second of four times ever my mom cried when I left for something so you know it was big.

I asked a homeless man sitting by a stop light for directions to the subway. In my 40 hours of travel time from Chicago to Germany to India (three continents), only two of the fifteen people I asked for directions spoke incomprehensible English. One of them was in downtown Chicago. To his credit, he did come running and shouting at me to "ghaweljasfn" the other way when he saw me misfollowing his walking instructions.



I got on the blue line subway, then had to transfer to a bus for forty minutes due to CTA construction, then had to transfer to the L and rode into O'Hare. After waiting four hours to check in (eating a $28 breakfast at the Hilton I somehow managed to not pay and taking my sweet time on a McDonald's double quarter pounder Value Meal).



On the plane to Germany, I sat next to a Californian native who studied physics on the coast and now works as a lumberjack manager in southern Missouri. If your hard wood floors say 'Ozark Logging Company' or something like that on the underside, he probably oversaw their production, (this was told to me with a bit of over enthusiasm and I suppose I was impressed). Interesting guy. I fell asleep before the seat belt light dimmed.

Pictures:
View of the Sears Tower from near where my old NYLF dorm was at UIC.
The pigeons on the street I think the homeless man was using as a directions reference.
One of the many airport pictures I took while being bored for six hours.


That 5oz. glass of orange juice cost $5 at the O'Hare Hilton restuarant (didn't know that at the time of ordering). As I didn't actually have a room at the Hilton, John Gibbs of room 218 was kind enough to cover my meal.