Three hours into the eight-hour flight I decided it was probably safe to start talking. The hours flew buy and I even managed to bring myself to watch a few films.
We landed in Chicago and a wall of hot air hit me as I stepped onto the hot tarmac, heat waves rising off the runways in the distance. Walking back through the airport many different smells and noises greeted us, our senses heightened by the arduous task of sharing oxygen with the same people for eight hours.
As we drove into Chicago in the semi-light the enormous skyscrapers loomed over the city as if protecting it. We drove over Michigan Avenue, a road with eight lanes going each way. We turned down the sixth block and pulled up on the pavement outside a fairly large building, we would soon come to know this as our home for the next two weeks; the Chicago Hilton Hotel.
An average build man with pearly white teeth opened the door of our taxi and insisted on carrying our bags off into the foyer.
Looking back now, we must have looked like something out of a really awful film. Typical English tourists!
All of us were sweating, dressed in jeans and thick jumpers (fresh from the English summer we had left so far behind that day) and two of the four children were in tears, exhausted after the flight. My sister and brother-in-law were loudly arguing over whose fault it was that the pram had been left behind at Heathrow airport and just to make matters worse Leona and Jim Cross had consumed one too many of the complimentary drinks on board and were in no fit state to deal with any of the squabbling that was going on.
It was at this moment that I realised just what responsibilities I had taken on for this holiday. With these thoughts in mind I marched our entire group through the revolving doors which I can assure you was not as easy as it may sound.
Before we got into the foyer I had been panicking about what the clerks on the desk at reception were going to think when our “motley crew” entered, however all my prayers were answered when the silence I had been longing to hear suddenly fell.
The floor of the reception was black marble, it was gleaming, so shiny it looked like water was being passed along it. The porters stood in their red and gold uniforms waiting for someone to need their help. At the back of the room stretched a long mahogany desk where four young receptionists sat in their pristine outfits each one trying to out smile the other.
Everybody was in awe of the whole situation. It could not have been more perfect, the heat may have made us drowsy and the time difference had confused everyone but this was absolutely perfect.
“ Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Are you wishing to check into the Chicago Hilton Hotel today?” came the smooth American accent of receptionist number three.
I could get used to this.
The views from our room were spectacular; understandably as it was on the twenty-ninth floor. We could see out onto the lake or down to the shops on the avenues that ran far below. Wherever we looked there was something happening.
That night I stayed in and baby-sat for my niece. A few hours passed. I was happy enough ordering room service food and renting out a film from the hotel shop. At some point over the evening I went to check on my niece asleep in her room. I walked over to the window on my return and could see mist and clouds approaching the city, coming off the lake. I went and sat back down and thought nothing of it until…Bang.
Never mind thunder, I thought the world was coming to an end. A huge fork of lightning flashed through the sky and another hit a conductor on the other side of the street. Never in my life had I seen or heard anything so spectacular and frightening. “Great start,” thought I, “back into the shaking and cold sweats mode again!”
It still pains me to say that Lilli, who was only one at the time, slept soundly throughout my battle with the elements.
Days in Chicago were spent living the “city lifestyle.” We ate breakfast in Starbucks and we shopped at the mall. I could write an essay in itself about all the designer boutiques on Michigan Avenue. My sister and I spent many an afternoon coveting the exquisite colours and fabrics in these shops, knowing full well in order to pay for any of them I would have to stop going to school for a couple of terms.
My favourite part of Chicago however was the atmosphere at night. It didn’t matter if we were dining out at a fancy restaurant or “snacking” at Subway, the people were always welcoming and friendly and we always had a good time. The neon lights lit up the bars, steak houses, delicatessens, take-aways and coffee-houses. Street vendors stood on corners selling hot dogs and doughnuts, their enticing smells urging us to fill up with the fatty, greasy but “oh so tasty” snacks.
I never tired of hearing, “Oh my God, are you from England? That is so cute! I totally love your accent!” or the occasional, “Have a nice day Ma’am!”
The lasting image of Chicago that I will always take with me was given to me on a trip to Navy Pier. Navy Pier jets out into Lake Michigan and is home to a Ferris wheel modelled after the very first one, which was built for Chicago's 1893 World Colombian Exposition. The wheel stands at one hundred and fifty feet high. After much persuasion Tomas and Jessica persuaded me to take them on. My attempts at pretending I thought it was going to be boring were in vain; everyone knew that I was also incredibly afraid of heights. Yet another chance to show off the now perfected shaking and cold sweats: to tell the truth I was becoming a bit of a laughing stock.
The lock on the carriage clicked and we slowly raised to the highest point. My eyes were clamped shut, my knuckles were white and Tom was complaining about not having circulation in his hand anymore.
However as I opened my eyes, slowly I began to realise why I had put myself through this. It was so beautiful. the skyline was iluminated by the setting sun and the evening mist had settled between some of the buildings. An occasional light twinkled on top of a skyscraper. I was reduced to tears by the scene. It was amazing what an impact an underestimated city like Chicago could have on one person.
Leaving Chicago was really difficult for me. I had fallen head over heels, completely and utterly in love with the place. However the beauty of a vivid memory is that I can go there in my thoughts whenever I want to. I can walk down the avenues or sit in that same carriage, knowing full well that the important things will not have changed when I go back.
