Finding Leisure on Business: Chicago

Ferris Bueller. Pizza. Oprah. Hot dogs. Barack Obama.

Ok, that’s the list. That’s all I knew about Chicago before I landed at Midway. Terrible, isn’t it? Food, a fictional character, and someone who wields more power than most countries combined (I’m talking Oprah, not Barack).

I’ve flown via Chicago many times, but for all the landings and take-offs made at O’Hare and Midway, I never stuck around to explore the city itself. Up until June, my only views of Chi-Town were through the eyes of Steve Urkel in Family Matters or through the eyes of an E.R. in well, E.R..

Cue the Internet Retailer Conference & Exhibition.

Earlier this month, my company sent me to Chicago for the IRCE—a gathering of about 7,000 nerdy internet-lovers who sell random stuff online (from scuba gear to underground swimming pools, wrestling shoes to jewelry). Though I spent most of my time in an overly air conditioned McCormick Place convention center, I did manage to escape at night and do my duty as a travel blogger.

Our hotel, the illustrious Downtown Travelodge, was about a 20 minute/$30 cab ride from the airport. Not to say I highly recommend it. Reading reviews the night before proved to be a mistake, as they lamented the place for the bedbugs and rude staff. I was on edge all night, wondering if the mysterious little bed monsters would attack, but luckily, there were neither bedbugs nor discourtesy. But keep in mind, the place isn’t exactly Shangri-La.Its one saving grace was the excellent location—smack dab in the middle of the Columbia College scene, the area was brimming with youth. With a Starbucks around every corner and a group of twentysomethings carrying lattes around every other corner, it was a fun vibe. Restaurants were everywhere and the Hilton up the street had a shuttle to the convention center (I lusted after the glorious Hilton, clean and lavish and out of price range).

Though you’re surrounded by brilliant architecture and honking cars, you’re also not far away from nature with Lake Michigan splashing up on the shores of downtown. Leafy green parks abound and there’s an odd sense of calm throughout the third busiest city in America. Until, of course, the Blackhawks win the Stanley Cup and all hell breaks loose.

I started to fall in love with Chi-Town as soon as I took to the streets—they were clean and seemingly familiar, with interesting storefronts lined up along the broad avenues. Even abandoned spaces for lease were interesting, as they became makeshift art galleries for local artists. And the people? Couldn’t be more pleasant. It seems like a half-hearted, lackluster statement, but honestly, Chicagoans were incredibly nice. But before I fell completely head over heels, I had to sample the food. …and it passed with flavorful flying colors.

From deep-dish pizza at Lou Malnati’s to a pub-style dinner at Miller’s, from heaping bowls of pasta at Oprah’s favorite downtown haunt Pizano’s, to delicious green curry at Tamarind, the food scene was delectable and affordable. Every meal tallied under $20, including beer or wine, and nothing fell short of the high expectations I assigned.

Chicago is also home to a few eminent entities: the Cubs, the White Sox, and my friend Anna of blogging fame—we might be the only two people from our senior capstone class to keep up with our assignments; see her awesome music blog at http://popapocalypse.blogspot.com/.

Anna and I met up at the overpriced, over-the-top, over-hyped BIG Bar in the Hyatt Regency hotel. The view was spectacular, the inappropriately named “big” drinks were not. We risked looking like the sorority-type girls we disdained in college and ordered cosmos. At $13 a pop, you’d expect a bucket of booze, but when the rinky-dinky martini glasses arrived, it was a reality check that we were in the middle of a city. Of course they were $13 a pop. Of course they were tiny. It was downtown Chicago and happy hour isn’t in a hotel bar’s vocabulary. We switched to beer and I was grateful for my per diem.

I always appreciate being in a place where you can hail a cab the minute you step onto the sidewalk (especially after a martini or two, no matter how small they are). Chicago was chock full of cabbies, but had several alternatives to the typical taxi route. Downtown was certainly manageable to walk, and even though the CTA trains had a knack for waking me up every hour on the hour, the benefits of such an extensive public transportation system didn’t escape me.

You could rack up dozens of culture points in Chicago, with the Museum of Contemporary Art, the Museum of Science and Industry, and here in Chi-Town, even improv comedy troupes could ramp up your cultural score. The Second City comedy enterprise originated in Chicago, and churned out the likes of Steve Carell, Chris Farley and my personal hero, Stephen Colbert.


Going on a trip without any prior knowledge of the city you’re landing in (beyond the fictional and celebrity-fused tidbits you pick up throughout a lifetime), is actually a refreshing concept. I’m so used to rigorously searching Wikipedia and planning details from beginning to end online, that doing it the old-fashioned way was fun and invigorating. Perhaps, that’s just the “Old Chicago” way.

New York: At Night

When your high school buddy/college roommate is planning to get married, an epic pre-wedding bash must go down. I was lucky enough to be a bridesmaid in my friend Whitney's wedding (it was amazing by the way, but more on the Ruidoso weekend in the next blog post). Being a party-throwing specialist, the duty of arranging a legendary bachelorette weekend rested upon me. After a flurry of e-mails with fellow bridesmaids and a rigorous debate about the desired location, we all agreed on New York City.

There’s a vibe in NYC that keeps you electrified. A buzz, a current, a momentum you can’t feel anywhere else. I used to think that was bullshit, but a couple nights in the city for the bachelorette shin-dig changed my mind. I’m still not a Big Apple convert; my favorite cities remain to be London (Big Ben), Toronto (Big Tower), and Paris (Big Museum)…no big apples in sight. But I’ve warmed up to the city that never sleeps…it might be lukewarm, but that’s still better than ice cold.

Last time I hit the streets of NYC was the summer of 2007, so it was due time I returned to get my decent pizza fix. On Friday we all swarmed the city at various times from various directions. A delayed flight in Minneapolis due to a broken plane (yikes!)* got me in around 6 p.m. so I headed straight for the taxi line. I chose to fly into LGA on account of the cheap $230 flight I booked via Expedia.com and its proximity to our hotel. One $25 cab ride later and I found myself at the Eastgate Tower Hotel.

*props to Delta, who not only gave each person a $100 voucher due to the inconvenience, but also provided us with free wine once we finally made it to 32,000 feet.

A small lobby and an old-fashioned interior had me worried at first, but then I laid eyes on our two-bedroom suite booked for around $340 per night: a kitchen, large living room with full dining table, two bedrooms, and two bathrooms. For eight girls, we had just enough bed space to be comfortable. And the best part? Location, location, location! We were a brief walk away from Grand Central Station and had we all worn sensible shoes, we probably could have walked to Times Square.

After a quick post-plane make-up check, we hopped on the subway for $1.25 one way. If you plan on using the subway throughout your stay, invest in a multi-trip metro card for the duration. But also keep in mind that taxis? Not that expensive. Really…they’re not. Especially if you’re on the subway, realize you’re going in the wrong direction, and need to use up another one-way ride. Mistakes like that can add up, whereas taxis know where they’re going (usually).

Times Square screams consumerism. There’s glitz and glamour and a whole lot of electricity pumping through the veins of the heart of NY, and it’s all worth it for the utterly stupefying scene. Once the sun sets, wander around in awe among the throngs of people. You can spot the tourists straight away—they’re the ones with their mouths open and heads up, staring at the modern age in all its ridiculous glory. Stop in to the Times Square Visitor’s Center and catch a glimpse of the not-so-massive-in-real-life New Year’s Eve ball.

Tickets to a Broadway show were close to sold out, so we spent $30 on an improv comedy act at HA! LMAO (163 W 46th Street)—well, somehow I got in for free, but don’t count on sneaking in with a gaggle of girls who already pre-paid. There are tons of criers along Times Square shouting at you to attend (here’s a hint to shut them up: say you already went the night before and it was hilarious). It was surprisingly funny, albeit brief, but the best part was the $10 long island iced teas with at least $20 worth of booze inside. We appreciated the improv guys calling on our bachelorette to join them on stage, but due to the family-friendly atmosphere, the content was fairly tame. If you want to rock a riskier comedy club, I recommend a late-night show that isn’t afraid to drop an F-bomb when necessary.

Per the advice of one of the stand-up comics, we hit up Bourbon Street (346 West 46th Street) a few blocks off Times Square. The joke was on us because this wannabe-trendy bar looked like a hyped up TGI-Friday’s with louder music and a restaurant vibe. We did an about-face and wandered a bit aimlessly through the streets of NYC (during which we encountered delicious pretzels, nice old ladies, and plenty of amused stare-downs considering Whit was in her bachelorette veil).

Just when we thought our meandering was fruitless, we stumbled upon the coolest place to be in New York City; a new, hip bar? No. A crazy dance club? Nope. A fusion of the two? No way. It was the FDNY at 51st Street and 3rd Avenue. We only wanted directions and ended up staying an hour; what a sight to see: a massive group of dolled-up gals in heels chatting with real life NYC firefighters. Passersby were taking pictures of us, as we snapped pictures of one another sliding down the pole and posing on the truck. One of the guys even walked us over to a nightclub and got us in past the huge line. Now that’s service.

The night led us to Bar 515 (515 3^rd Avenue), a crowded bar with decent Cape Cods and a forgettable atmosphere. The most memorable part about this place was the bouncer—a guy who grew up 10 miles from my hometown and played basketball with my brother. It’s amazing what you can discover with a little chit-chat while checking ID’s.

Joshua Tree (513 3rd Avenue) next door was far more raucous, with a rockin’ 80’s theme and plenty of sing-along dancing to go around. It was that perfect balance of bar and club, in that I didn’t mind being there and the bouncy girls that joined me seemed to hit their dance quota for the night.

We got a late start the next day, had our caffeine fix at a Starbucks up the street, and then headed to the MET. Here’s a tip: it’s free to get in, but there is a $10 suggested donation for students; and in cases such as these, I’m always a student. Funnily enough, I saw the same exhibit the last and only time I was at the MET, and that was the Egyptian mummies in 1995. But it’s always a pleasure to wander through the MET.

After receiving some cultural points, we hurried over to the event of the day: the Sex and the City Tour. It had everything you would expect: a long line of trendy girls, a peppy tour guide, and stops around NYC that were featured in the TV series and films. It included a free cupcake and there were discounted cosmos at “Scout,” a bar seen in the show. If you’re a die-hard fan, I’d recommend it. If you’ve only caught a glimpse of SatC, skip it and save your $40 for a cute pair of shoes (Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha would all approve).

Back to NYC nightlife. The main event ended up being the most disappointing; we had 10 p.m. reservations at Lucky Chengs (24 1st Avenue), a drag-cabaret-dinner show. Oh yes…all three, wrapped into one. There were hoards of people up front and we weren’t seated until 10:30. Being there were ten of us, we were forced to select from a family-style menu of mediocre, heart-burn-inducing food. The “show” itself consisted of a screeching transvestite reiterating expletives and lacking any wit. They primarily relied on audience participation and awkward lap dances ensued. Lucky Cheng’s is not for the faint of heart. It’s also not for a boozed-up bachelorette party, apparently. An exorbitant bill confirmed suspicions that this place is a huge rip-off and should be avoided like the diseases one might find in their lackluster bathroom.

Surviving Cheng’s called for a major change in atmosphere, and we got one at Ella (9 Avenue A) in the East Village. A long, narrow bar up top and a small, crowded dance room below brought about an interesting mix of people. Up the street, we came across One and One (12 1st Avenue), another bar/club combo that could appeal to all tastes within our party. While there, I met up with Alana and John, two friends I grew up with in Morris, NY. It has become somewhat of a tradition to rendezvous in the city, and I appreciate their effort to find the random bar I happened to be in.

Only in NYC can you meet friends at 2 a.m. and proceed to bar-hop into the morning hours. There are two sister bars on 1st Avenue that are worth checking out; one is called Karma, the other is Sutra. We tried the latter and discovered it was also a hookah bar, allowing for a quieter, more relaxed ambiance.

But truly the best experience came in the form of late-night NY-style pizza. There’s nothing else like it the world over; I wake up in the middle of the night craving the cheesy, crusty, carb-loaded stuff topped with pepperoni that overflows with pools of grease. If you’re the type to dab your slice with a napkin to soak up the extra oil, don’t waste your time on NY pizza. If you like to load your pie down with buckets of toppings, rendering it more like a glorified stir-fry, skip NY pizza. If you find Domino’s and Pizza Hut pay homage to truly authentic Italian cuisine, NY pizza is not for you. Any of the aforementioned faux pas are insults to New Yorkers.

By 4:30 a.m. the streets grew a bit quiet, but there was still a palpable buzz. People roamed the roads and occupied taxis flew by in a whir. We hailed a cab and jumped in; my outdated logic of carrying around stockpiles of cash was debunked thanks to the handy credit card swipe machine in the backseat. Oh, technology. You rock.

As I made my way into the dark hotel room, I crawled into bed and stared up at the ceiling. I was jazzed. Electrified. Completely and utterly enamored. Had I just fallen in love with New York City? No…it’s not possible, is it? I’m an upstater through and through. We don’t like the island to the south, it’s not our thing.

But I knew I was in trouble when I even enjoyed my time at La Guardia airport. That just borders on insanity, but it was true. The lines were organized, the crowds tame. The workers even smiled in my general direction from time to time. Reading the New York Times at an airport Chili’s never felt so relaxing—not a word commonly used in conjunction with NYC airports.

The whole two-day trip was a bit of a blur, and that’s probably why I enjoyed it so much. I didn’t have time to notice all the things I typically hate about NYC. The key to a successful trip? Keep it short. One day too long can ruin a good city; I’d rather not have enough time and crave more than have too much time and never want to return.

But no matter what your opinion is on NYC…that buzz? Can’t be denied.

Santa Fe: The Jewel of New Mexico?

Santa Fe is just dripping with history and culture. With an overpriced art gallery on every corner and adobe homes that date back older than America itself, this Southwest city is a place many artists call home and many tourists call heaven.

Driving to Santa Fe provides a view like no other. Endless turquoise skies meet varied desert landscapes—and it’s not all cacti and tumbleweeds; spots of green can be seen for miles and blue-tinted mountains stretch across the background. Crossing from American soil to Indian reservation land is seamless, but a discreet sign will let you know when you’re passing through Indian territory (that and a not-so-discreet casino or two). The scenery could easily be that from a movie set—one is just waiting for the cowboys and Indians to come galloping around the corner. And depending on which exit you take upon your arrival, the magical aura presented by Santa Fe will stay in tact. But more on the disillusion later.

It all comes together at the plaza—the heart of Santa Fe and arguably the heart of New Mexico. The plaza is where state politics and traditional art converge, where spicy street food meets authentic mariachi music, and where genuine Indian jewelry collides with roaming tourists.

The Roundhouse—the official hub for New Mexico politics, Governor Bill Richardson, and my brother Mark—is a graceful building that is just modest enough to be an appropriate venue for this state. Legislators and senators roam the halls undisturbed, as the hustle and bustle pace seen in Washington DC politics isn’t quite the same here in the land of mañana.

The oldest church in America sits along a side street, often paling in comparison to the cathedral and the church with the winding staircase. All three are worth an exterior photo-op, but not all are worth going inside. The Loretto Chapel charges a $5 entry fee and in the words of my friend Caitlyn, I don’t pay to see houses of worship.

Restaurants serving up local fare in this area are typically overpriced and on the snooty side of things, but don’t despair! Affordable delectability is within reach. Santa Fe is a culinary mecca, ranging from the über expensive to the more reasonably priced grub, there’s a fit for every craving and wallet size. Here are some of my favorites—all for under $20.

Del Charro at the Inn of the Governor (101 West Alameda Street) is one of my all-time favorite spots worldwide. You’ve got to stop in for a legendary margarita ($6.50) and ignore dietary restraints for a flavorful bite of the nachos ($7). Whether you reside fireside in the cozy interior, or enjoy the enclosed porch with heaters blazing in the winter, you’re bound to enjoy a meal at this charming stop.

Craving Indian? I’ve been going to the Indian Palace (227 Don Gaspar Avenue) for as long as I can remember—even way back when I detested Indian food (oh, what a misguided child I was). It didn’t take long for me to fall in love with Indian cuisine—the papadums and mango lassies helped charm me into a food-induced trance that has yet to end. A friendly owner, atmospheric interior dining room, and spacious patio setting will get you to stay, but the food stirred, simmered and cooked to perfection will get you to go back for more.

There’s a fair share of decent pubs throughout SF, from the Marble Tap Room (60 East San Francisco Street) brewing the best of Marble beer overlooking the plaza, to the Second Street Brewing Company (1814 Second Street) on the railroad tracks, you can get a hoppy buzz all over town. My favorite watering hole is The Blue Corn Café & Brewery, with a combination of excellent beer on tap and killer food and all at a very un-Santa Fe price, this is the five-star brew pub in my book. But beware! Don’t go to the dark and moody downtown version, instead make the trek to the southside and visit 4056 Cerrillos Road for your Blue Corn experience.

New Mexico is the only state with an official question, so be prepared to answer “red or green” when you hit these must-have Mexican restaurants: Tia Sophia’s (210 West San Francisco Street), The Zia Diner (326 South Guadalupe Street), and best of all, Tecolote (1203 Cerrillos Road). And if you have time to head off the beaten track, visit Harry’s Roadhouse (96 Old Las Vegas Highway) for some decent diner food with a Mexican twist that was featured on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives (and is allegedly Gene Hackman’s favorite local haunt)!

Art fans will enjoy the Georgia O’Keefe museum (217 Johnson Street) walking distance from the plaza. You’ll discover the intimate details of O’Keefe’s life and inspirations, along with the majority of her personal work. But if you can’t spare $15 a pop, check out the Lifetime movie.

St. John’s College provides spectacular views and a cozy college feel. I toured this place while in high school, but was instantly turned off when they described that not only would we dissect a cat for the scientific value, but we’d also discuss the philosophical implications of the death of that cat. Um, no thanks. St. John’s tends to produce a lot of overly-educated, philosophically-inclined, about-to-be-unemployed existentialists with rich parents. And even their graduates will tell you that.

There’s certainly an allure to Santa Fe, but to truly understand it, you need to think outside the box; in this case, the box is the plaza. Sure, it’s magical and all that nonsense, but it’s also slightly sketch. Explore the Wal-Mart and you’ll see what I’m talking about. There’s a not-so-shiny side to the jewel of New Mexico, but I don’t recommend you look too deeply into it. I don’t want to burst your allusion of this artist’s haven in the middle of the desert. So go…explore the plaza, eat the food, enjoy the atmosphere. But between you and me? It’s overrated.