February 16-18, 2008

I traveled to Illinois again in February in order to attend my interview with Northwestern’s Medill School of Journalism in Evanston. I was leery about making the trek in February thanks to Chicago’s notorious weather, but it actually turned out to be pretty mild. My previous trip to Chicago in October was great but had some major downsides as to unnerving inhabitants and only tolerable transportation. I found I liked the city much more after this fleeting visit, however. Just why is hard to pinpoint; I think it helped that driving my own car there, which enabled me to travel at my own pace and go directly to my friend’s apartment, instead of the bus dropping me off in the middle of downtown loaded down with all my overnight bags, made the whole trip easier. (Actually parking my car was a nightmare, but I only needed a spot for a night.) I also remembered a great deal from my earlier October visit, so in the end it felt more like I was returning to a somewhat familiar part of the world instead of a massive unknown city.

The day before my interview I ventured into the city to meet my friend for lunch. Catching the bus wasn’t a problem, but paying for my ticket was. I didn’t have time to purchase a day pass before heading out, so I had to pay in exact change, which was fine because I had plenty left over from paying tolls. Simple, right? No, of course I managed to get hopelessly confused.

First I asked the driver “Can I buy a ticket on this bus?”, remembering that some buses in London and Poland require you to have purchased one beforehand. His response was “We don’t sell tickets on the bus anymore,” which I at first took to mean the London example, except my friend had very explicitly told me I could pay in cash on the bus, so I was instantly befuddled. I actually half turned away to get back off, but then the driver said “No, you can pay here,” so I pulled out my fare, very much relieved. Except then I couldn’t figure out how to put it in the machine. Somehow I totally missed the dollar bill slot and was trying to force my dollar into a completely different slot, and I had to tell the driver “I’m sorry, it’s not taking it,” and he had to say “Uh, it should,” and we went back and forth and at one point I was ready to give up on bills and switch entirely to quarters, but then by some miracle I figured out my mistake and at last successfully submitted my fare. This whole show, meanwhile, was acted out in front of everyone else sedately seated on the moving bus while I braced myself against a pole.

I turned away, overjoyed to finally be able to find a seat, but swung back immediately. I remembered when I got on the bus from Krakow to Auschwitz I paid the driver my seven zloty but then just charged down the aisle to a seat, totally forgetting to get my ticket, and they had to pass it down all the people sitting in front of me and it was very embarrassing. “Oh!” I said, “Don’t I, uh, need a ticket?”

“No,” the driver said, with truly extraordinary patience, “we don’t give out tickets on the bus anymore,” and I realized he was saying that Chicago buses don’t print out paper tickets at all, even if paying in cash. By this point the driver was looking at me with great concern and making a few kindly meant comments. His exact words, and I am not making this up, were “Have you ever ridden the bus before?”

Ha! When I am in London I become confused by Japan; when I am in Chicago I am confused by London and Poland. The problem is not that I’ve ridden too few buses but too many, in too many different countries. They’ve all got multiple different systems and it’s impossible for any lone person to keep them straight. Impossible, I tell you! Luckily I got on the bus near the beginning of its route and so there wasn’t a lengthy line of irate people waiting behind me while I got a crash course in how to ride a bus in Chicago.

Amusingly, even after that debacle I still feel more charitable toward Chicago transportation than I did in October. It helped that my bus took me straight down Michigan Avenue to my friend’s workplace on the corner of Michigan and Wacker, overlooking the Chicago River. Yes, that location really is just as amazing as it sounds. We went to a yummy bakery/sandwich shop down the street with a prime view of the new Trump tower, and I told my bus story in great detail. Afterward I trotted several blocks down Michigan Avenue to Millennium Park to while away the afternoon.

I wandered all over the park and happily took lots of pictures of famous landmarks I’d missed on my previous visit: the Cloud Gate, the skating rink, the Jay Pritzker Pavilion. I got a big kick out of the Pavilion because once again it was something I’d written about while at my summer internship in London. In fact, I even corresponded with Chicago city planners to get a print-worthy photo of the Pavilion to put in the issue, so it was fun to actually be taking my own photos.

Of course I loved the Cloud Gate; who doesn’t? What a fantastically unique, trippy and fun sculpture. Watching people of all ages wonderingly approach the sparkling curved surface never gets old. The warped Chicago skyline reflected on the outside was incredible, but my favorite effect was walking beneath: the many twisting hollows produce image after fractured image of the people below like ever receding funhouse mirrors. Wild!

The sun disappeared about 4 p.m. and Chicago’s famous winds picked up. I ducked back into the bakery for hot cocoa before boarding what I thought was my correct bus home. Unfortunately, my friend had forgotten to tell me that the bus routes change in the late afternoon to deal with rush hour. Oops. The bus terminated its run wayyyyyy before my friend’s street. This actually happened to me fairly frequently in London – my normal buses would just have different final stops throughout the day. I never could figure out why; there appeared to be no schedule. It was exasperating but never really a problem with no shortage of buses and Tube stops in the center of the city. Here, though, there was no nearby train and I had no more money for bus fare. So I walked.

I knew if I followed the road I was on I would eventually reach my friend’s street. I just didn’t know it was much further away than I thought. Hmm. So I ended up a woman walking alone at dusk in not one of Chicago’s best neighborhoods, which was not an ideal situation, but I just turned up my fast-steady-know-what-I’m-doing stride and finally made it home safely. However, I now have yet another bus rule to remember (and be confused by): unannounced route changes.

The following morning I drove to Evanston for my interview. The two cities are really only 20 minutes apart, but it took me a bit longer as I figured out the route for the first time. I found the school, found my building, found a parking spot, but couldn’t find the restroom and so I madly brushed off lint on my suit in a random dim hallway. But I was on time and my interview went splendidly. I said nothing too cringe-worthy in relating my past accomplishments and I really liked what the admissions counselor had to say about Medill’s program. Crazily enough I almost didn’t apply to Medill because I wasn’t sure they offered exactly what I was looking for, but my personal visit utterly changed that notion.

Afterward I took a brief spin around the campus. Northwestern rests on prime real estate next to Lake Michigan, and the journalism building is located right on the beach. It is seriously amazing and reminded me very happily of my home in northern Michigan on Lake Huron. That accomplished I directly plowed through the hours-long drive back to Ann Arbor for my next big trip starting the following day.

I will be visiting Chicago again in April, however, to attend Medill’s Open House: because I got in! I got the good news two weeks after my interview. Medill is one of the absolute top journalism programs in the country, so that is enormously exciting. I’m not decided yet on whether I will attend Medill – I have to hear back from the other schools I applied to – but either way I’m looking forward to another Chicago trip.