A Swift Trip and a Marathon

I love Gulliver’s Travels. I loved teaching it and re-reading it every year I taught AP Lit. You probably know of Gulliver and the Lilliputians, but he “discovers” three other fictional lands as well. In his final voyage, he encounters Yahoos, a race of disgusting and degenerate folks known mostly for their savage habits, including eating their own excrement. Gives you new insight on the web browser with the same name. I digress.

Me and Johnny Swift, both travelers to distant lands. Both of us writing about our exploits, though he was the more successful of the two of us. No little people or giants on my journey, but here’s my version of a travelogue.

Day 1: Melanie and I flew out of Love Field in Dallas, best known as the final airport JFK flew into in 1963. It’s small, easy in and out, and is used almost exclusively by Southwest Airlines. The single terminal is lemon-squeezy. Our Uber driver, a transplant from Idaho, but judging from his accent, he definitely was not born there.

That theme of foreign-born drivers was repeated several times in the trip. Each time, we played “Guess where the driver is from!” The driver who picked us up at Midway in Chicago, that guy hailed from Afghanistan. Despite our fatigue, we engaged him in smalltalk, mostly because Uber drivers rate passengers. We have to keep up our five-star rating, so we heard all about his journey to the US and his yearly winter hiatus in San Fran. His favorite word was “absolutely.”

The downtown Hilton provided a sweet view of the Chicago River from room 1608. We fell asleep to the sweet tunes of sirens, street noise, and squealing tires.

Day 2: We breakfasted in the hotel restaurant, served by Jasmine, a feisty Chicago native. Stay on her good side as she don’t suffer no fools. She don’t care your age or color or status. You play by her rules or you won’t be served. Two young bucks didn’t play and walked away empty-handed. We played, and we enjoyed the omelettes and potatoes.

The city was busy (more on that in Day 4), tons of people speaking every language imaginable, like I was channel-surfing at the UN. The buildings seemed taller than I recall, more impressive and beautiful. From Wrigley to Water Tower to the Tribune building, everywhere you look is splendid architecture. Perfect weather every day, that brisk October chill ideal for walking.

Chicago hasn’t changed much from what I remember. Cars whiz past, horns emphatically honking, the language of the city. I’m sure I heard more horns in a single day than I’ve heard in Texas in the past year. We crossed the streets at our own peril, pedestrian Frogger at every intersection. A new element to the game is the electric bikes. They are everywhere, and they are fast and usually silent. I even saw one dude wearing a helmet. Just the one.

That night we saw The Lion King. Long on spectacle and song, the familiar plot was overshadowed by the amazing costuming. Actors on stilts for giraffes, flocks of birds from stringed puppets, herds of gazelles dancing on poles. When I see professional theater, I have that jaw-dropping reaction, knowing I’m in the presence of immense talent.

Scar stole the show. I know, I know, he’s supposed to be the villain. But that smug smile, his dialogue infused with double meanings, nobody did it better than Scar. Alas, even the great ones fall. Just like the movie, Scar eventually plummets to his demise; Hail Simba, the new king!

Day 3: More leisurely wandering, plus a Wendella architectural boat tour. Gotta love seeing the city from the Chicago River. We cruised south for a bit and then chugged past Navy Pier into Lake Michigan. Again, spectacular views on a sun-kissed day.

The only drawback was the narrator. Sure, he was knowledgable about buildings, but he never, ever shut up. Too many words, too fast, too loud, there appeared to be no Off switch to the Energizer nozzle spewing verbiage like a broken fire hydrant. For the record, nobody cares where he thrift shops or why he prefers thin-crust tavern pizza over deep-dish.

But the views–oh my.

We topped the day off with Lou Malnatti’s pizza, the kind you can’t get in Dallas. Buttery crust imbued with Chicago flavor.

Another Uber driver, this one with a thick African accent and a Green Bay Packers shirt. Good times.

Day 4: More galavanting, this time walking out to Navy Pier. Sure, it’s a touristy spot, but at the farthest point, you can look back at the Chicago skyline, warm sun and cool breeze on your face, surrounded by water on three sides. The thin crowd gave us plenty of room to lounge and soak up the sights and sounds.

Not many folks on Navy Pier that day because they were all congregating near the NBC building and all over Michigan Avenue. Here’s a travel tip for you: when you visit someplace, determine if there are any big events happening. I knew our weekend wasn’t ChicagoFest or Lollapalooza. No Bears game, no worries.

We didn’t know it was the weekend of the Chicago Marathon. Holy cats, the marathon draws over 50,000 runners. Of course, they all arrive with their entourage of family and friends. It’s a circus. Even the day before the big run, downtown was packed with visitors. Registration appeared to take place in the heart of downtown.

That afternoon we hoofed it to the Shakespeare Theater for the Q Brothers show, Rome, Sweet, Rome. Their hip-hop version of Julius Caesar is difficult to describe. I know, it sounds lame, maybe strange. Let’s go with funny, thoughtful, clever, wise, quirky. I could go on and on with the adjectives. I’ll add one more–genius. If you ever get a chance to see any of their shows, drop your dollars and snag a ticket. Totally worth it.

Day 5: The marathon completely dominates downtown Chicago on raceday beginning at 7am. Police, barricades, orange cones, crime tape…it’s a massive production all over the city. Our dilemma: how do we escape and get to Midway?

We asked all over. Forget what the hotel workers and cops say. They said it couldn’t be done. But surely the entire city isn’t held captive. We knew there had to be a way.

Our answer was simple, really. Find a savvy taxi driver who knows all the ins and outs of the city. Melanie found the guy. “No problem,” he said in broken English. We loaded our stuff and buckled in.

He drove like a bat on RedBull, twisting and turning through the underground labyrinth of Chicago streets and on to Midway. He was Chicago taxi driver through and through. In a Jamaican dialect, he chatted on the phone with a friend. This wasn’t Uber, so no rating (thus no conversation) for him or us. Hotel to Midway in 21 minutes. Boom!

The remainder of the day, it was just airports and enduring the teeming masses at Midway and the cattle car of Southwest until we finally arrived home.

I’ve heard that travel makes one wiser. Probably true. St. Augustine said, “The world is a book. Those who do not travel read only one page.” I like that one too.

Travel also makes you tired, but it’s tired with a smile. One thing I have figured out over time. Gulliver would have had much better luck on his various journeys if he had a buddy.

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Coming soon! Tales from the Deli, a collection of short stories.

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