Postcards from Chicago


Random thoughts on Chicago through the digi-lens…

A little magic…

Coffee and conversation…

Societal yin-yang…

Taking turns waiting…

Grant Park Triffid…

Taking it all in.


When Right is Wrong and Left Isn’t Much Better


One of the interesting aspects of traveling is the opportunity to bushwhack, or the art of finding one’s way without a bloody clue where you are. Some fine moments of serendipitous discovery have surfaced from these fearless jaunts into parts unknown, no doubt enhanced by the fact I’m a guy who adheres to the Guy’s #1 Rule of the Road:  don’t ask for directions. Thus, I can grasp that pure sense of victory, assuming I eventual find my way somewhere.

Last weekend my trip to Chicago ended with an “adventure” into parts of South Chicago I really shouldn’t have been. My brother and I decided to play golf Sunday morning before his plane, and we literally picked a course out of the yellow pages that was on the way to Midway Airport. As luck would have it, Midway and the course were in the general direction I needed to go, mainly heading south on I90.

After a brisk round of 18 holes, 14 or so on which we actually had the energy to play (the others being completed as a badge of honor, more or less), I dropped him at the airport and proceeded towards I90…or so I thought. I never found the on-ramp as shown on the map, and what signs were there led me in a big circle. 45 minutes later, I decided to bushwhack my way there whatever means I could figure out from within the confines of my car, which at the time consisted of my 10-year-old Rand McNally road atlas.

If you’ve caught my drift so far, then you realize I was cruising the ghettos and near-slums of deep South Chicago, driving along and taking turns as though I knew what I was doing (which I didn’t). I did eventually find a combination of streets to navigate that led me to an on-ramp some five miles away and a mere 90 minutes after dropping Bro off at the airport. I was finally Ohio-bound, another successful bushwhack notch to my credit “without asking for directions.” That would have been unmanly, unheard of, and unnecessary…despite the fact it would have saved me at least an hour’s wandering through parts unknown. Lessons Learned for next time? Nah, once a guy always a guy.

Blogging from Chicago


Blogging from Chicago…or more exactly, the Apple Store on Michigan Ave. Trying out the Macs with an eye towards getting one…assuming I can still run Windows (you can) to support old projects. Tried out the iPhone, almost bought it on the basis of what it does WITHOUT the phone part! Amazing. This place, the Apple Store, is a dangerous place. Suggest anyone with a weakness for cool tech toys stay away…far away.

Eating lots of incredible food, but fortunately walking my ass off as well! Doing everything by foot, and probably putting in 4-6 miles/day, although it feels like a lot more.

Serindipity highlight of the trip (so far) was stumbling onto the Newbury Library Book Fair, with some 100,000 books for sale. Those who know me are aware that books are opiate to me, so of course I had to stop and browse. Three hours later, a bag full of heavy books, and 15 blocks from the hotel! Not the best planning, but…

More when I return, the usual travel pix, and a report on our golf game Sunday morning (brother and I), at a course we literally just picked out of the yellow pages. Should be fun.

Victorian Sensibilities


The Dead Zoo

What do you get when Victorian-era zoologists and amateur collectors go crazy? Evidently Dublin’s Museum of Natural History, affectionately called the Dead Zoo by locals. Since 1857 this museum has been delighting young and old alike, at least those who enjoy walking among lots of dead, stuffed things. The crowded, three-story Victorian-adorned edifice is a treasure trove of animals, insects, and birds from around the world with a heavy concentration of Irish-specific species. The brochure states there are 10,000 specimens on display, selected from 2,000,000 in their collection. The experience of being there shows they couldn’t fit number 10,001.

Even though photography was forbidden, I managed (bad Gary) a quick snap from the third floor, shown above. Gives you some idea of how crowded the place is and the Victorianesque feeling. Visited twice, the first time arriving too close to closing time (5 o’clock prompt) to see much, but the second time arriving early enough to invest an hour sketching a few residents. The two sketches I managed (below) were drawn from ground floor (moose) and the narrow second-floor balcony (whale).

Bullwinkle's ancestor

whale bones

The Dead Zoo isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. But if you’re the type that enjoys museum dioramas and zoos, then you’re in for a treat. If you visit Dublin, be sure to save time for this unique flashback to an era that encouraged compulsive collecting.

A Day in Ann Arbor


Yesterday I took a mini road trip up to Ann Arbor to check out the Border’s Bookstore and venture into some of the used and antiquarian bookstores this liberal Michigan town has to offer. Fortunately I headed out early, arriving in Ann Arbor around 10:30 a.m. I say fortunate, because yesterday the University of Michigan football team and about 100,000 friends gathered for one of their typical, frenzied football Saturdays. Imagine my surprise to drive up South Slate and see a sea of maize- and blue-clad people marching towards football heaven. Note to self:  next time, check the football schedule before heading out!

Lunch at SevasThe upside of a football weekend in Ann Arbor is, of course, fewer people downtown. Borders was a bit disappointing (I quick-peeked in there last time and thought it was a huge store; turns out to be very wide, but very shallow). But I did enjoy Dawn Treader and found some Medieval gems in Motte and Bailey’s store. So the booking was good, as was my lunch at Seva, a vegetarian restaurant on E. Liberty a few blocks west of Borders. Their North African Cous-Cous with grilled tempeh (above) was delightful, accompanied by a cup of gazpacho and Red Zinger tea.

I did cut my visit short, unfortunately, missing out on planned writing time in one or more of the coffee shops in Ann Arbor. I was lucky driving up early, but I did not want to test my luck twice and risk leaving anywhere near the time those 100,000 friends departed en masse to points unknown. At least it wasn’t the Ohio State-Michigan weekend:  not even a 10:30 arrival would have avoided an impassable sea of maize/blue and scarlet/grey.

Ireland in Ohio



NOW I find this place:  the Claddagh Irish Pub in Toledo, Ohio (click here for the chain’s Web site). Here I flew all that way over to the real place to get some good stew and Guinness, and I could have driven 45 minutes up the road. Oh well…

Just kidding, of course, but to my surprise today I discovered this close-to-authentic Irish pub and restaurant (close as defined by how such a thing would appear in America, of course). I must say their Guinness is the best I’ve had stateside. After I ordered my pint, I overheard another table ordering Murphys. Murphys! In America! The blogger lads we met up with in Dublin did say that Murphys “traveled well,” so I’ll have to try a pint the next time. And although the Beef and Guinness Stew was mighty tasty, it wasn’t as tasty (nor as Guinessy) as the same eaten in Galway three weeks ago. Nonetheless, knowing this place is a mere two doors down from my favorite (ok, closest) Borders Bookstore is good news indeed!

Look Both Ways


Train signLook both ways, keep an open mind, try something different. Such are the attitudes de riguer when traveling to a different culture, at least, if one wants to grow by going outside the familiar.

When I ventured to Ireland for a horizon-expanding 10 days, I knew I’d experience things different from what I was used to here in the states. To me, part of the joy of travel comes from venturing outside one’s comfort zone, and with an open mind. Too many of us travel expecting all the comforts and conveniences at home, which if so, begs the question:  why not just stay at home?

We weren't the only tourists...I knew that Ireland was a “wrong side” driving experience, that they eat things like black pudding (tried it), and drink black beer. What I didn’t expect was some difficulty in being understood, or in understanding them. Even though English is the base language (some would argue we Americans speak American, not English), the varied accents made interpretation a challenge. I don’t think we ever understood any of the bus drivers, instead smiling and putting money in the till until the receipt printed out.

The highlight of the language wars had to be a visit to Burdock’s, THE fish ‘n chips place near Christ Church. As we ordered, the cook (owner?) asked if I was American, to which I said “Yes.” He then paused, and pronounced, “Texas?” Eerie. I don’t think I have much of an accent, especially since I’ve spent over a year up here in the Midwest. Yet there was proof of my true culture over the steam table of a Dublin Fish ‘n Chips place. Either that, or we stumbled onto an amateur linguist who actively practiced on unwitting tourists.

Heuston Station, Luas train and local transportation

All the differences and subtle twists on familiar things were a constant source of entertainment. From candy bars to kitchen appliances, signs, magazines, book covers, foliage, and oh yes, bathroom “pottys,” it was fun to see other possibilities. I’ll give Irish/British chocolate bars the nod, loved our host’s electric tea kettle (which I’m now the proud owner of one, Americanized of course, although surprisingly difficult to find), Irish stews, Shepard’s Pies, and do I need to re-mention properly “stored and poured” Guinness? But I’ll keep our driving style and bathrooms, thank you. The first pub we went into presented my first loo-dilemma:  what is the proper way to use the trough? With a fronting ledge too narrow to stand on, but too wide to aim over, I was a bit puzzled. Fortunately, as in most things of this sort, someone comes along to show how it’s done. Be grateful I didn’t have my camera with me, although even loos don’t escape the Irish sense of humor.

Galway traffic

Just Like New Orleans


One fond memory of pre-Katrina New Orleans is the street statue performers who plied their art in hopes of earning a few coins from tourists. These artists were remarkably skilled at remaining motionless for long periods of time. On Grafton Street in Dublin, I watched these three similar performers work their magic to woo spare Euros from the passing crowds. Watching these Irish artists work their magic made me miss New Orleans and wonder if we’ll see such sights in New Orleans again. But in the meantime, it’s good to know such artistry is alive and well in Dublin, Ireland.

This post also serves as my submission to Photo Friday’s Challenge:  Silver.

When in Dublin…


Lori captures the evidence:  a pint and a glass...…do as the Dubliners do, which in our case meant enjoy the pubs! While the Irish generally bemoan their reputation as drinkers, the fact is they have a pub culture that serves them well both as social gathering spots and places to find really “lovely” brews. No doubt much of Ireland’s great literature first flowed from pen to paper in many of these establishments. If I spent more time over there, I’d do a great deal of writing in the cozy comfort of these places. Not sure it would do my liver much good, but most likely my muse would be happy.

Although I never personally liked Guinness before, on this trip I discovered this oversight was due to only tasting Guinness here in the states. Guinness pints poured in Dublin pubs bear little resemblance to what American bars attempt to pass as Guinness. Ostriches love GuinnessThis grave dilemma is not entirely our fault, since Guinness is brewed in Dublin and thus far fresher, and worshiped fanatically via attention to details that make all the difference in the taste. On our return to the states we tried three different places in Keene to see if the black, velvet-headed wonders available locally compared favorably to those we enjoyed in Ireland. Sadly, the American version is weaker, lacks body, and in most cases, has an unsettling metallic taste. In Dublin, a very active Guinness Quality Team, who drives about in snappy black vans (see below), ensures clean keg pipes while no doubt flogging publicans who pour the black improperly. When the love of the brew approaches (nay, rivals) religious fervor, no detail is too small, apparently.

Quality Team

Had a delightful evening one Saturday night in Dublin’s Market Bar visiting with Irish bloggers our host had assembled. While the conversation ranged topically all over the map, one interesting side discussion evolved around the Irish pub culture compared to American bars, clubs, and beer joints. Pub culture seems intrinsic in Irish life, not only evidenced from how many there are, but in how they serve as gathering places on the way to other evening delights (as well as pure destinations). One way or another, a typical Dubliner’s day includes a Pub somehow, somewhere.

Click for a bigger image...We saw plaques festooned with James Joyce’s likeness on quite a few pubs (click to see a larger image to read the text), and laughed at the irony of “A good puzzle would be to cross Ireland without passing a pub.” Fact is, it’s hard to walk down even a Dublin street without seeing at least one pub, and likely two or three in close proximity to each other. I’m not sure what constitutes an “authentic Irish pub” other than being in Ireland and serving Guinness, but some criteria exists since these plaques weren’t bestowed to every pub we passed, just a lot of ’em.

Mind the cliffAn interesting part of traveling into another culture is seeing how they use graphics and signage to inform locals of dangers or provide useful information. Mind the harborSince drinking seems to be a national pastime in Ireland, it’s no wonder some of their signage seems to be intended for those citizens who might have a “wee too much” of their beloved Guinness or whiskey. Mind the stepAlthough non-drinkers certainly can trip, walk off a cliff, or drive into the harbor, it seems more likely the happy pubber needs this extra level of protection from these accidental activities.

And as the rest of the pictures show, we enjoyed the locally brewed Guinness whenever possible, and took advantage of the delightful pub food whenever possible: comfort food at its finest. Whether we enjoyed Irish stews, Shepard’s pies, or beef and Guinness pies, all tasted wonderful and sated our desire to “eat locally” whenever we could. Nothing is quite as depressing as visiting a place like Dublin and bumping into McDonald’s and the like, which I try to avoid like the plague (always prefer to taste local fare whenever possible). But the best part, to me, of pubs in Ireland is that they are now all smoke-free, which made for delightful visits without leaving smelling like an ash tray. Wish our bars here in America followed that same sane approach, although I’ve yet to visit one that had the ambiance and pull that enticed me to come in, sit down, enjoy a few pints of cold, properly poured, Guinness with hot comfort food, and maybe even pen a few pages of that one-day-a-great novel. Such delights are for the having in a good Irish pub.

Pub with Toucan

All empty

Galway pub

Another Galway pub