Wednesday 22nd April 2009 – Irish Pubs and Catholic Boys and Drinking Heavily

Chicago isn't just called the 'Windy City', it's also called the 'Second City'.  Like all 'second' cities, it nurtures, nurses and flaunts its culture at you.  There are huge sculptures everywhere.  There is a Culture Centre, an Arts Centre, an Opera Centre and a Symphony Hall.  I was told by a lady truck driver on the train coming here that there is also a thriving fringe theatre scene.  One of its most famous creations is the Second City comedy theatre company, now spread to many other cities. 

It's architecture is quite distinctive.  One sees echoes of it all over Canary Wharf in London.  I was struggling to find a way of describing it, but it turns out it's mostly described as 'Chicago School'.  There are almost no old buildings in Chicago, since it was burned down in a great fire in 1871.  It is therefore pleasingly harmonious.

Union Station is one such neo-classical rectangular boxes.  It comes in two halves: the even tracks point south, and the odd tracks point north.  The track entrances, no doubt for the benefit of the blind, shout their numbers at you constantly.  Since there is a single entrance for each pair of tracks, the effect is an odd cacophony of ladies shouting, variously, "Track Nine", "Track Eleven", "Track Thirteen", "Track Fifteen" (all of which you can hear at the same time), as though they were ladies of the night, vying for our favours.  If my memory serves me right, and it often doesn't, this form of trading is known as 'Open Outcry' and originated in the Chicago commodity markets.  So perhaps the natives think it's quite normal.

Talking of cacophony, I had settled in a nice quiet local bar with my book and a beer when a new member of staff turned up and decided that the music and its volume were not to her liking.  So it suddenly got loud and throbbing, like a disco; all the customers fled; an odd way to run a pub.  So, although this is a heavily Greek neighborhood, I ended up in a nearby Irish pub watching the Calgary Flames beating the Chicago Nighthawks (Ice Hockey).  I fell in with a couple of recent graduates of the local posh catholic high school, who were clearly having a drinking lesson (it's something catholics have to do, and is definitely better done in the more understanding Irish setting).  They insisted on listening to my Glasgow story, and insisted on buying me beer after beer after beer. I got my own back by instructing them on their responsibilities in life.  As the beer flowed, I distinctly remember the barmaid, who was called 'Jen', falling deeply in love with me and wanting to take me home.  I had a bit of a head this morning.  I hope the boys were suffering too.