I'd said, after being here for a few months, that Beijing, and by extension, major (Tier 1) Chinese cities, aren't that crowded. Sure, there are lots of folk around. Always. But, that's life in the big city, sure! Returning to Chicago reminded me just how skewed my perspective had been.
First, on the El down from the North Side on Friday morning. I was severely ill at ease with the mortuarial silence on the train: no screaming into cell phones, no coughing/hocking/spitting, in general, lacking the noise and hum of more than 5 million people per day. It wasn't until about the Belmont station, when it got crowded enough that a young upwardly-mobile gal's handbag occasionally brushed my arm, that I began to relax. Second, the sidewalks. Sweet Merciful Crap! they're huge. And, despite their hugeness, they aren't crowded with tens of thousands of bikes, and trees, and underground passageways that take up a full 90% the width of the sidewalk, forcing anyone staying aboveground to squeeze, lemming-like, around the edges of the ramps and stairs. Third, where the happy-hell were all the people? It was a lunch-hour on Friday by the time I got downtown. And I could walk nearly a full city block and pass only a dozen people! What the what!!! This is the second biggest city in the country (nice try, Los Angeles, you have to be a "city" to qualify as a city), and I could actually stretch my arms and twirl. Were I so inclined. Which I was.
I've since realigned my thoughts: Beijing is crowded.
Anywhatnot...
The stay in The Big Shoulders was a whirlwind of food, family, and babies. So many babies. And so much food. From late-night donuts and Big League Chew, to pizza with the cousins (credit to Jon and Christina for the idea), to buffalo burgers straight off of Cornsey's grill, to the best-slash-grossest-slash-awesomest bagelwich I've ever had, to the better-than-just-pub-grub at Bar on Buena, to Mom's french toast, to smiley-face cookies, and ending, of course, with a visit to Greek Islands. Bob would be proud. Did I forget anything? Prolly. But, I just got full typing that sentence, so I'll call it quits there.
Sure, there was the near-constant stuffing of our faces, but there were also visits to and from little people. Like, babies; not Little People. Boys, girls, twins (boys and girls), newborns, older infants, younger toddlers. All totally kick-ass. Except you. You know who you are, and you know why you didn't make the list, you baby. But other than that one kid (icy glare), seriously, all parental units should be seriously proud: you have made excellent humans. We look forward to noting their development electronically, if not occasionally in person.
There were older babies, also known as "kids", as well. These "kids", most in the form of cousins of some removal, crowded into Maw and Paw's basement for a Harry Potter and throw-the-toys-around fest. We mostly avoided said basement for fear of having to clean up said toys. Also, for fear of sitting down and losing three hours describing who Bossk is, and just what kind of bounty hunter scum he hangs out with.
Special shout-out to N-squared. Those two dudes get cooler every time we get together. (Next time, we're riding dinosaurs!)
And then, it being Chicago, we made sure we scheduled in at least a day of liver-punishing. Thanks to the aforementioned Bar on Buena on Saturday, our gracious hosts on Wellington on Tuesday, and Taste, Bandera, and Vertigo, the rooftop bar of Hotel Dana, we punished our livers quite thoroughly and quite severely.
We were happy to bring a blast of warm weather for you, Chicago. We were also happy to bring you snow. Ahh, Chicago in Springtime: perfect weather for the schizophrenic. (Apologies to schizophrenics who do not actually suffer from multiple personality disorder, as they certainly are distinctly-different diseases, but "perfect weather for the person who suffers from multiple personality disorder" sounds pedantic and dumb.)
Below is evidence of babies and liver damage. The food part, you'll just have to trust me:
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