Chica-go

Chicago deep dish pizza. Chicago franks. That's what I was looking forward to.
Off we went, back through the cornfields. There were very few landmarks, save this one:

Aurora, Illinois.
Yep. Somehow, I always thought that Wayne and Garth lived in Aurora, Ontario. But of course not. I am often dumb.
So as we approached the Big City, we could see the famous Sears Tower.

That was what distinguished the city as Chicago for me, as I knew very little about it (apart from the aforementioned food associations). As we came in to the city, I felt a bit surprised that it wasn't busier. I was expecting extreme hustle-and-bustle and had been mentally putting up defenses, but it was relatively manageable. Of course, I was glad Jo was driving, because she's got the traffic-dodging skills. But all in all, I felt a lot more comfortable than I'd anticipated.
When we came into downtown--or,what I thought to be downtown but was actually only half of it--we headed straight towards the water (lake resembling ocean, as all the Great Lakes do) and parked ourselves at the Navy Pier.

Navy Pier is what Eau Claire dreams about at night when it's all alone in its bed, thinking, 'I coulda been a contender.' Not only are there indoor market stalls, an IMAX, a food court, and outdoor food vedors, but there is also a carnival,

yacht tours, a children's museum, live entertainment, etc., etc. Unfortunately, when we were there, the place was CRAWLING with children, strung out on sugar and roaming in large groups, which makes one's shopping experience decidedly aggravating. We found refuge outside, staring into the foggy lake:

But eventually the fog burned off, and we had a cool view of downtown:

Most importantly, though, Jo and I had Chicago hot dogs. YUM. And we tried our hardest to get ourselves a deep-dish pizza, but the goofs put the vegetarian one on a flat crust!
Sigh. Well, some Ben & Jerry's lifted our spirits.
We drove back to the hotel, passing one of Oprah's residences on the way (it's big and black and curvy, har har har). The hotel was decidedly weird, but had a classic Chicago view from the window:

After some chillin', we strolled over to Marshall Field's, Chicago's big fancy department store. As it was Memorial Day weekend, they were celebrating emphatically:

The store is amazing, with all its little niches from 'flea market' (overpriced exotic-looking knickety-knacketies) to the gourmet fudge shop(pe, I assume) to the unbelievable candy store. We found some appropriately-named dishes in the housewares department

and then took ourselves upstairs to the designer floor. Yes, designer--like real designers. Not your garden-variety Liz Claiborne or Bianca Nygard; no no, dear readers. We're talking Stella McCartney, Michael Kors, Marc Jacobs, and (my favourite) Jean-Paul Gauthier. For real. And those are just the names I remember! Much to H's chagrin, Jo and I had a fun time gawking in horror at the prices (I seem to recall a garment pushing the $10 000 range...do you remember more accurately, Jo?) My inner Jeannie Beker was having an absolute field day. A Marshall Field day, yuk yuk yuk.
After carefully selecting our hoity-toity chocolate treasures from the candy counter,we took the El train to N. Clark street in the Lakeview district where we found delicious delicious shopping. Unfortunately, the amazing shoe stores were closed early, but we did find a great store to toodle around in, whence came the best flip-flops ever:

and an amazing bag, bought by H, coveted by me, and subsequently sent to me as a birthday presnt. Hooray!
We found our way to a restaurant that Jo had visited on one of her previous Chicago trips. Leona's: an italian family restaurant with an organic food philosophy and an extreme gift in the delicious department. We ordered way too much and left with a grocery bag full of leftovers. We were also lucky enough to enjoy the presence of the wackiest Cubs fan in the known universe. I mean, I know Cubs fans are devoted, but seriously. Dude was a little excessive.
The purpose of our trip to Lakeview was to catch Southern Culture on the Skids at Schuba's. Sadly, we are small-town folk and didn't have the presence of mind to preorder tickets. We caught a glimpse of the posters showing the many amazing bands who played there (reminds me of the scene where Lane's band gets booked at CBGB but no one shows up, so they get sent back to Stars Hollow). We made the best of it, though, by making a pit stop at 7-Eleven for some hilarious American "candy bars" for Bjorn, as well as a massive copy of the Tribune and some Slurpees.
Back at the hotel, much chillin' ensued.