Category: Uncategorized

Today’s post brought to you by: diesel and electric engines

Grateful for: Dorothy letting me dump my 35lb bag at her apartment early

Trying hard to accept: I never watched ‘The Wire’. Laura and Kevin told me it was set in Baltimore. Although I did see an episode of ‘House Hunters’ filmed here. Same thing.

Beautiful, beautiful Baltimore.

Have lost track of which husband/divorce I’m up to – actually think I might still be married to Boudin Sausage – but Reno here I come (again) because am now madly in love with Baltimore.

Am writing this in the window of the incredibly hip Ceremony Coffee Roasters in the historic Mt Vernon neighbourhood.

Yes, the slab of walnut and oat loaf really is that big. No, I did not eat it all. As if.

That’s the sheriff’s car in the background. She stepped out wearing skin tight brown polyester pants c. 1978. You don’t eat at Ceremony Coffee Roasters when you’re forced to wear that outfit all day.

My Airbnb (look down) is just round the corner.

My host, Dorothy, is a professional voila-ist and violinist. Also a fan of wide-angle lenses because what looked like a living room that’d hold a symphony orchestra is barely big enough to fit a string quartet. Of three year-olds.

Despite all the dire warnings from the Trump crowd in Florida, I actually feel safer here than I did in the narrow, poorly lit, empty streets of Charlottesville.

The would-be muggers are also particularly stupid/blind there.

Striding along the main street in the dark last night this guy yells at me from across the road, “Hey sir, I gotta question for ya. Can ya come over here?”

Gee, I wonder what his question was: How much cash ya got? Can I have your phone? Have you considered growing your hair long and wearing make-up?

Further along I saw a pile of abandoned rolled-up newspapers outside an office building so grabbed one to read over dinner at Japanese poke bowl student place.

Ha! That’ll teach you for stealing, my inner voice chided as I unrolled The Most Boring Newspaper in the World, the ‘Wall St Journal’.

However, dear readers, do not judge a newspaper by its masthead because it turns out the weekend edition of the WSJ can keep you entertained longer than it takes to very slowly savour a bowl of brown rice, raw salmon, edamame, seaweed salad, roasted nuts, nori, and lotsa zit-fighting green things.

I’m sure I well and truly pissed off my Charlottesville host by getting up at 5.30 this morning to catch the train. Despite trying to tip-toe around/skate in socks, every time I stood on a floorboard it creaked. Loudly.

You’d think if you’re gonna Airbnb your spare room you’d fix your 150-year old floorboards first. Or maybe that’s putting cart before horse.

Had the whole Amtrak station to myself at 6am this morning. That place is so clean you could eat your grits off the floor.

Lucky for my boredom threshold, and your general knowledge, there was an informative pictorial history of Charlottesville on the wall.

Some fascinating facts for next time you watch ‘The Chase’:

• It was named after Queen Charlotte of Mecklenberg-Strelitz (imagine her email address), wife of George III.
• Founded in 1762. That explains the plumbing.
• First street names covered all bases of daily life:
  • Water St (ooooh, look, I worked out how to do indented bullets!!!)
  • Market St
  • Court St
  • Union St
  • Church St
  • School St
  • Green St
  • Hill St

Aside from the lovely but geographically-challenged congregation at Mt Zion church, and the stunning university campus, there’s not a lot in Charlottesville.

Although my Uber driver did tell me that madly-in-love brides and grooms-to-be have to wait 2 years to marry at Thomas Jefferson’s pad, Monticello (wonder what the cold-feet rate is). And there are more restaurants per capita than anywhere else. 97% of them must’ve hiding down unlit alleys because I never saw them. And if there’s one thing that never passes me by, it’s a food joint.

It was a grey old day as the train rolled through rural Virginia this morning. Brown fields, autumn leaves, red barns and two-storey white wooden farm houses everywhere my neck could turn. As homely as it was, it must be bleak there mid-winter.

In the boring bits I read about Johns Hopkins University where I’m visiting on Wednesday.

Old Johns Hopkins (Quaker, abolitionist, lifelong bachelor and philanthropist) must’ve gotten very sick of saying “It’s Johns, not John.” No wonder he set up a hospital.

His thoughtless parents named him after his grandmother’s last name. Luckily mine didn’t copy the idea in 1969 and call me Pluck Wilson.

Johns Hopkins is spread across several campuses. This is the one near my Airbnb. It’s a music conservatory and as I walked past the opera singers were practising. Stroke of luck.

Same can’t be said about His Master’s Voice. It was so bad I almost climbed up and shoved dog’s head down the funnel.

We had to sit out a long delay in Washington DC as the train engine switched from diesel to electric.

This is an electric engine. That is a train carriage. That is an Amtrak engineer. That is a yellow line. That’s how bored I was.

They kicked us all out of the lounge car so the cleaners could whirl through like tornadoes.

Not wanting to return to the stifling stinky carriages I asked the first class steward if I could hang out there. “Good try, gorgeous”, she laughed.

Forced back into my assigned seat I watched with disbelief as people who said they were taking the train because they were too large to fly struggled down the aisle with 3 enormous bags and 2 slightly smaller bags apiece.

Rule # 1 of travel: do not take more bags than you can manage by yourself.

One woman told everyone who would listen that she was taking the train to Denver (a mere 2-day trip) for “climate reasons”.

Flippin’ ‘eck woman, the plane’s going there anyway. You not flying is not going to reduce any emissions.

My first view of Baltimore – the beautiful Amtrak station. Knew I was onto a good thing when I saw that.

Right, time to go explore more of Mt Vernon before it snows later. Yes!!!

Money is slipping through my fingers faster than snowflakes so went to one of Baltimore’s first grocery stores (opened in 1944 and still has that super friendly mom and pop-ness) and bought food for breakfast, lunch and dinner for next 3 days. Tonight is steak with country chicken gravy mix. YUM.

Today’s post brought to you by: the restorative powers of an hour in Panera Bread

Grateful for: choosing the best Airbnb in town

Trying hard to accept: my body’s evil streak.

Ironically one of the scariest places in downtown Baltimore is the police station.

It’s surrounded by sex shops, homeless mentally ill people lying on the ground hurling abuse at passers by and boarded-up shops.

Cop shop. Takes up 3 blocks.

I use the words ‘downtown Baltimore’ loosely because I don’t think it exists. Unless it’s that one block of office high rises and banks I walked through.

I walked and walked expecting to suddenly find a row of familiar shops and cafes but the only thing I’ve seen all morning is Marshall’s department store and I can’t go near that place because my crippled body cannot carry any more stuff.

Have now taken refuge in Panera Bread in the dodgy downtown area to (a) get off the scary streets (b) sit down (c) use wifi (d) charge phone (e) drink free decaf refills.

Baltimore is tiny. I covered the inner harbour in 3 minutes and what I assume to be downtown in 15.

The inner harbour is pretty pretty. That’s Barnes and Noble to the left – super cool inside – and that big white thing is US Coastguard Taney which is the last surviving vessel still afloat that saw action in Pearl Harbour.

On the grounds that there is not much (read as: nothing) here aside from my Mt Vernon neighbourhood, and everything outside Mt Vernon seems to be very old, very rundown and pretty damn scary in parts, I’m now looking for a city hall to file an annulment.

On the recommendation of some sadistic City of Baltimore tourist guide I hiked for miles to Fell’s Point, south of downtown.

In summary, it’s like Chicago. Don’t go south of downtown if you want to stay alive.

The promised historic and eclectic shops and cafes of Fell’s Point were not the trendy arty establishments I was expecting.

Not sure how the city considers boarded up restaurants, tattoo parlours, men loitering in groups on corners, auto body shops, tiny family-owned Italian trattoria and Latino grocery stores to be tourist magnets.

At least I found my much-needed medical marijuana clinic. Two of them in fact. At one a police officer was escorting a client off the premises.

Frankly I was just glad to see a police officer.

I was out of Fell’s Point PDQ and back in search of the elusive downtown.

My body told me very clearly at mass (when in Rome) early this morning that there is no way on this earth I am allowed to become a Catholic.

Although it might be a good idea to start praying for its forgiveness because clearly it’s out for revenge.

To add insult to injury I’ve somehow (hmmm, backpack + 45lb + steep train steps + overhead luggage rack + walk + walk some more) managed to pull the sciatic nerve.

I cannot bend, reach, kneel, pray or sit for too long. Needless to say I sat out the endless up, down, up, down, kneel, up, down, kneel, walk, kneel that is a half-hour mass.

Google quickly answered my question about whether medical marijuana was legal in the state of Maryland. Wonder what the travel insurance co’s view on that’ll be. I’m guessing the answer starts with n. Or g. As in get real.

Despite my inability to fully partake in mass (at least I was able to join in on the Lord’s Prayer), the chapel at the National Shrine of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary was the most incredible place I’ve ever prayed in.

Thankfully a fellow mass-ee saw me wandering the grounds trying to find the front door. Without him I never would have known to go deep underground to a 200 year-old crypt.

It was the first Catholic cathedral built in the US. To honour that fact I cleverly got the US flag in the background. Move over Ansel Adams.

I snuck a photo when they were all faffing around after communion. But it doesn’t show the extent of the passageways and arches and the candlelit eeriness.

As if the crypt experience wasn’t enough I had the most amazing experience straight afterwards.

Walked up to the Lexington Markets which have been here since cowboys were riding into town. Had expected something akin to the Queen Victoria markets in Melbourne – you know, rows and rows of fish, meat, fruit, veg, deli stalls. How wrong I was.

Baltimore is 63% African American people and 98.99% of them were outside the Lexington Markets this morning.

I was there at morning rush hour and hundreds of people were pouring out of train and bus stations or hanging round outside the markets.

I was the only white face within a 5km radius. It was incredible. Inside the markets I found fewer fruit and veg than I eat in a week and endless ethnic food stalls.

Realising I hadn’t eaten eggs for ages I found the bargain of the year – 2 thick slabs of toast holding scrambled eggs, sausage and cheese for $2.12.

As I was waiting, a homeless man clung to me like a limpet. Wasn’t sure what to do so grabbed my sandwich and slunk away to eat it.

As I ate I watched another woman with same sandwich give half hers to another homeless man so I went back to find my man and gave him half mine. The look in his eyes almost made me cry.

I’m so tired now and am running out of things to do (Johns Hopkins tomorrow) I’m going to go home for a sleep or to the magnificently stunning library.

Outside the library

Inside the library. That’s about one-twentieth of it.

So back to yesterday (when love was such an easy game to play).

Peter, I’ve put our names on the waiting list for Monticello – Thomas Jefferson’s wee shack in Charlottesville.

No, not to marry each other! This ain’t Alabama.

We’re having a double wedding (saves money). You can have Melissa from Charlottesville and I’m having Dorothy, my Airbnb host here.

For the simple reason that she’s got a set of Cuisinart copper pans.

Oh and a nice apartment. Plus, she and her string quartet buddies can play at our weddings for free.

While Dorothy was out at rehearsal last night I cooked up a storm of steak with mushroom country-style gravy, roasted Chinese eggplant, roasted broccoli, and stir-fried mushrooms and Brussel sprouts. Plus I figured out how to use the basement laundry app. Most impressed with self.

My body went into shock. More veg went down my digestive tract in that one meal than in the last 23 days.

Before whipping up my culinary masterpiece I wandered round Mt Vernon in the bitter cold.

Everywhere I turned there were old brick row houses, more wrought iron detailing than you could throw an anvil at, and old metal-framed windows lit up with golden lights.

After being wowed by my Mt Vernon neighbourhood and then underwhelmed and a bit freaked out by everything south of it, I’m crossing my fingers (the only part of my body that still works) that Charles Village and Johns Hopkins campus will restore my faith in this city tomorrow. Because I’m afraid that all the mass services in the world won’t be enough.

The south remains the winner of my affection.

Best food ever invented. In the grocery store/café/deli down the road from my Airbnb you can get macaroni, spaghetti or fettuccine made out of tofu. Guilt-free carb comfort for $1.99. Bet nobody’s ever served it with mushroom country-style gravy though like I will be tonight.

Second best food ever invented. Another $1.99 miracle. I love Old Bay. I love salmon. I love crab cakes made with salmon. I love anything that costs $1.99.

Breakfast in the best seat in the house. Watching all the poor buggers trudge off to work at 6.30am this morning as the rising sun cast a golden glow over the brick buildings.

Today’s post brought to you by: medicine

Grateful for: art

Trying hard to accept: American Airlines stuck me in middle seat for 2 hour flight to Chicago tomorrow. That’s what you get when you refuse to pay extra for a seat.

Johns Hopkins is H.U.G.E. Never mind a village, it’s a city in itself. It goes on and on for blocks.

There’s more here than in downtown Baltimore. And what’s more it’s stunningly gorgeous with the old buildings set among the big trees and carpets of autumn leaves.

Only complaint is the cramped Starbucks. But I’ve managed to squish into a big shared table of 18 year-old medical students.

Lucky I look 12. The child genius medical student.

Am about to recreate a scene from that Peter Greenaway movie ‘The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover’, swipe everyone’s laptops aside and lie down the middle of the table, like a human table runner.

“So kids. Starter for 10. What do you call the nerve that runs down the back of your thigh – the one that causes crippling pain if you mysteriously damage it? Bonus question: Want a free pumpkin spice grande latte? RIGHT. DO SOMETHING ABOUT MY PAIN. NOW.”

(Actually they’re all shooting me filthy looks right now as I sing along to Band Aid’s ‘Do they know it’s Christmas?’ You can do that in a city where nobody knows your name. Just like you can go to your local Starbucks at 9pm in your pyjamas.

Oh and on that – in this county of 329.45 million I finally found the one other person from NZ. Well actually only one-quarter NZ but I’ll take anything. ‘Twas a slow night in Starbucks last night as I ordered my Earl Grey tea and met Erin the server who was born in Auckland to NZ/US/Australian parents. Talk about born with a silver residency spoon in your gob.)

It’s funny. Well not funny exactly but trying (and failing) to see the humour in everything.

When I arrived in the US I was in constant pain from unfortunate falling off ladder incident.

A week later the wailing tailbone was but a memory as two bruised ribs screamed for my attention.

I thought that was bad enough. But hey presto! The ribs are barely making a squeak now the sciatic nerve has bullied its way to the top of the attention-seeking list.

It really is fascinating how pain in one area can so suddenly disappear once something new comes along. It’s a bit like drug addiction (I hear) – you need stronger and stronger doses to make the pain go away.

I got to Johns Hopkins via two art museums. Both free (naturally) but couldn’t have had more contrasting experiences.

The staff at the first one, Walters Museum, a stone’s throw from home/morning coffee shop were so friendly I thought they were going to ask me out for dinner.

Then hiked all the way up here to the Baltimore Museum of Art and got told off 4 times before I’d even left the bag check.

This post is going to be full of museum pictures so you can pretend you were standing beside me sharing the blame for everything.

Walking here through Charles Village – another misguided recommendation by Tourism Baltimore – I felt so uneasy I ducked into a CVS with a police car parked outside.

Being the opportunist I am I ‘bounced’ (in my mind; hobbled in reality) up to the very good looking pharmacist, asked him for his number and recommendation for painkillers.

In summary, forget it. Return to hospital and get something on prescription.

Hell. Freeze. Over.

I started out this morning in my usual way. Up before dawn (took 8 minutes to work up courage to actually move leg), then oatmeal (tick), flax seed (tick), Greek yoghurt (tick), banana (tick) and Starbucks coffee made in the big brother to your machine Kevin, eaten on the apartment window seat.

Then 2 hours in Ceremony Coffee Roasters with all the beautiful peeps of Mt Vernon.

To get there I passed groups of teenage girls lingering on the corner with their knee-length shaggy boots on.

Turns out they’re students at the Baltimore Leadership School for Young Women.

It’s a prep school modelled on one set up in Harlem to take girls out of the poverty cycle and into careers in maths, technology and science. Subjects, which as you know, girls tend to run a mile from.

Even though my nightmare stints at Ministry of Education quashed any interest I had in schooling, I wish I could be here for the school’s open day next week. Would love to see inside.

I particularly like these school pledges. They sum up how I want to live my life:

• I respect myself and others.
• I am kind and courteous.
• I am responsible for my behaviour and its consequences.
• I evaluate my choices, learn from my mistakes and persevere through challenges.

Right now I’d probably get a C minus for # 3 (food consumption on this trip). But an A+ for # 4.

Ok it’s getting dark and need to find Mom’s Organic Market and then walk home. Not going back the same way I got here that’s for sure. Might call an Uber friend.

Speaking of which, have done much research and worked out how to get to airport at 5.30am (!!) tomorrow on light rail for $1.90. Compared to $25 for My Friend Uber. And probably $125 for My Friend Taxi.

Don’t judge a mushroom sauce by its sloppiness. No this is not cat food, it’s actually a super delicious, super cheap, 86% healthy dinner I made last night out of the ‘But wait! They’re actually tofu!’ macaroni noodles. With mushroom gravy, real mushrooms, baked broccoli and baked eggplant. I was super impressed.

Super lucky to stumble across a Charles Rennie Mackintosh exhibition at Walters Museum. Didn’t know he painted as well. Quite the clever chap, and very dashing to boot.

There was an exhibition of 12 graders’ work. For obvs reasons this was my fave.

18th C diamond rings. They were the size of giant cockroaches. Handy for punch-ups in the parlour of a Sunday afternoon.

St Joseph waiting to see a doctor at The Villages Hospital ER department in Florida

Mary Magdalene waiting for the Amtrak service from Boston to arrive

Tiffany glass, 1897. I particularly love the art nouveau strip at the bottom. I had to lean on a table holding an 18th C urn to take this shot, freaking out I was about to set off an alarm.

Detail of stained glass, c. 1520. 1520!!!

Gate house of William Wyman estate, 1897. He gave all his land to Johns Hopkins University. Nice bloke.

Took this one in Mt Vernon for you Penny. You might have to zoom in to see what it says.

Today’s post brought to you by: Maryland Transportation Authority, American Airlines, Chicago Transportation Authority.

Grateful for: my big feet – which I seem to land on time and time again.

Trying hard to accept: they call this winter.

I’m here:

In Chicago Grind in the Edgewater neighbourhood where I’m staying.

Not the best photo but that guy behind me is about to walk over and shove my phone down my neck.

It’s only 2pm but I’m ready for sleep, having fallen out of bed (easiest way when unable to sit up … try it some time) at 4am, flown here and lost an hour along the way.

And miracles of all Christmas miracles I think my nerve has finally realised it’s not going to get any attention and is slinking back into place.

Although I think they heard me yelp all the way up in business class when the plane landed with a massive spine-dislocating jolt this morning.

Which brings me nicely onto getting here.

I’m so proud of myself. For a total of $6.90 for two trains and two buses (oh yeah and the small matter of $100 seat + $30 baggage + $1.25 yoghurt chucked in airport security bin) I got myself, 40lb of bags and moaning body from Baltimore Airbnb to Chicago Airbnb.

AND survived a long and lonely walk down Baltimore’s mean streets at 5.30am without being mugged or shot. Obviously, because I am writing this now.

Steak knives time … but wait, there’s more!

Am also proud of ability to choose best Airbnbs. Well that’s not so much an ability as perseverance.

I know some (99.97% of you) secretly (tell me) that my over-planning takes all the fun out of travel but I politely beg to disagree (I’m right, you’re wrong, get over it) because without my hours and hours of research I never would have landed on my feet like I have.

I’m staying with John and Terry in an 1890s Craftsman (do you realise how long I’ve drooled over Craftsman houses and now I’m staying in one!!!!) in the tree-lined neighbourhood of Edgewater with its endless streets of houses that look like these:

I’ve been thinking which style of house I’d like to live in WHEN I move here. As much as I love these ones you see in Chicago, Baltimore etc they have no yards. So winner winner chicken dinner is something just like Laura and Kevin’s in Wilmington, North Carolina. You cannot beat that setting.

I’m on the third floor in an attic room with little windows like you see in fairy stories.

It’s an acorn’s throw from the train station, Wholefoods Market, quirky shops and cafes, the Waldorf School (whose Christmas fair I’m going to on Saturday morning) and Andersonville.

I bought a few of these for my front yard Christmas display. Can’t fit them in my bag so they’re sitting next to me on the flight home. At least they won’t hog the arm rest, fall asleep on my shoulder or drool on me.

When in Sweden … eat at Isabella’s Guatemalan cafe. Cheesy Central American grits wrapped up in corn husk. Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm.

No prizes for guessing (the answer’s above!) where every shop, cafe and person in Andersonville hales from. Clue: if I looked up and saw an Ikea with a car park full of Volvos and ABBA flash mobs inside I wouldn’t die of shock.

I’d probably die of glee though. But only after I’d bought everything I could possible cram in my backpack.

Not only are John and Terry incredibly kind and generous but this is their kitchen. I almost fainted for a fifth time when I saw it.

John has more Kitchenaid – or should I say Kok*aid – appliances than I’ve ever seen on one bench. That red one on the left (hey, get it? red; left) is actually a coffee maker. * Swedish for kitchen.

And a sixth time when I opened the fridge and took so long gawping at the range of food in there that in my imagination John suddenly morphed into Dad and started shouting “Shut the bloody fridge door!!”

To say John likes cooking is to say I like eating.

I also lucked out – but can’t take credit for this one – to be squished this morning between two of the nicest people I’ve ever shared a US domestic flight with (and I told them so).

Deano en route to Maui to hang out with his buddy (an unspecified “contractor” — read as: anything with 3 letters: CIA, DEA, FBI, IRS, LOL — for US government who gets posted all over the world. (Ha ha, ‘posted’ — no he doesn’t work for UPS).

And Pam from rural Maryland en route with 5 others to Reba McIntyre concert in Las Vegas. She was the sweetest country music fan in the world — next to Dolly Parton — and didn’t even get mad with me when I spilt a cup of ice all over her.

In between talking, spilling and yelping on the flight here I was building up my armour ready to deal with the harsh rudeness of Chicago.

Needn’t have bothered because everyone I’ve dealt with has been as helpful and friendly as you can imagine.

I even got personally escorted to the L train station at O’Hare by a Chicago Transportation Authority guy who took one look at me and decided I didn’t understand English.

Nice guy but not the sharpest knife in the deli because he kept talking to me very s…l…o…w…l…y even after I talked his ear off in faultless English.

At least he didn’t think I was a man.

Recognise this Martha? And guess what? It’s for rent. You can go back in time!

So remember I bought that Old Bay crab cake seasoning for $1.99 and said I was going to use $1.29 tuna to make them? Well feast your eyes on this little culinary feat. If you didn’t know any better you’d think they were the real McCoy. Guess what I’m cooking again for dinner tonight? Even John’s gonna be blown away. ‘Tis the Windy City after all.

Today’s post brought to you by: The Red Line to Chicago and State station

Grateful for: Bockwinkels grocery store

Trying hard to accept: I used to think Martha Stewart was the best thing since sliced challah

After another insomniac night of watching:

• Leave it to Beaver (that’s actually a great show)
• Martha Stewart showing me how to make choux pastry (that’s not)
• Escape to the Country (the UK one unfortunately; was hoping for an American version where they set up a bootleg moonshine operation in the back blocks of Tennessee
• Yet another doco on the marriage of Queenie and that ratbag Phil (with all the usual royal commentators telling us stuff we already knew)

I finally fell asleep at 4.30am.

Well I presume it was 4.30 because of course I was asleep.

News headlines upon waking: teacher stabbed in Chicago neighbourhood, sub-zero windchill on its way, Uber passengers getting sexually assaulted.

If it wasn’t so painful to move after lying down I would have stayed in bed all morning.

However, being the brave soldier that I am (read as: couldn’t work out how to use the coffee machine) I caught the L downtown.

Before the train gets to the underground downtown stations it passes through neighbourhoods of rows and rows of decrepit brick apartment buildings.

Not high-rises, but what would be called ‘townhouses’ if they were in neighbourhoods where people don’t tend to get shot.

My god, they were so depressing. And they weren’t even anywhere near the worst of Chicago’s housing.

Tiny dirty apartments with back balconies that looked like they’d collapse under a dumping of snow, and dodgy-looking staircases so steep and narrow I couldn’t imagine how anyone gets a sofa up them.

I imagined how residents probably catch the 5am train to some below-minimum-wage job for 12 hours a day just to afford to live there. It made me sad. And incredibly grateful I wasn’t born into that.

Emerged onto the main drag, Michigan Avenue, and was once again left cold.

It could be Park Avenue, NY. Looks exactly the same with all the same gold-plated, massive and massively overpriced stores. And sticky trees draped in Christmas lights.

And gawping tourists everywhere.

I tried to join in the spirit of things. Ducked into the three-storey gold and marble Banana Republic store because it’s my favourite brand. And because it had 40% off storewide.

The ear-pieced, mouth-pieced, tablet-toting sales associate was so bored she probably would have thrown herself down the fancy staircase if I hadn’t walked in.

She followed me everywhere – in that discreet Banana Republic way – and told me over and over again that she was there to help me when I was ready.

I almost pushed her over and over the bannister myself. Wonder if I would’ve gotten 60% off if I’d done that.

Ironically homeless people live on this patch of faux grass outside Neiman Marcus

Then joined the 47 other people in the airport-like queue to get into the brand spanking new, four-storied, biggest in the whole wide world (!!) Starbucks Reserve Roastery.

Not just Starbucks. Starbucks Reserve Roastery.

Outside. Did you guess that?

After 16 minutes out in the cold, I then queued for another 23 minutes in the café to order from a menu that naturally didn’t include prices.

Inside. Did you guess that?

After getting to the front of the queue and seeing how much stuff actually cost I fled back onto Michigan Avenue and Google mapped somewhere I could go that wasn’t going to cost me a week’s groceries just to buy the cheapest thing on the menu.

Went down a side street and sat in Bockwinkel’s grocery store salad bar café, charged my phone, ate lots of raw veg and sneakily made my tuna and pumpernickel sandwiches.

I had planned to go to carol singing in Millennium Park tonight but it’s not worth getting hypothermia for.

I could have killed time in one of the many art museums. But add 25 to the $0 Baltimore museums entrance fee and you can see why that idea lasted all of 0.000657 seconds.

I’ve always loved Chicago, still do. But if I lived here I’d never go downtown. There’s so much to see and do and eat and drink in the eclectic neighbourhoods. Seen one Saks 5th Avenue, seen them all. Know what I mean?

There’s no warmth downtown and I ain’t referring to the weather.

A long trudge away from downtown later my spirit was restored.

Get away from the main drag and you find the architecture that made Chicago great.

Bloomingdale’s. Doesn’t show you how magnificent the building was. I love those window panes.

You also find the gorgeous late afternoon sunlit paths of Millennium Park and the path along the magnificent Lake Michigan, except you only get 16 metres along it ‘cause it’s so bitterly cold out of the sun you start walking like a Thunderbird.

Chicago Public Library in all its Christmas glory

The buildings, the park and the lake, and another walk around my neighbourhood later, were all I needed to remember what it is I love about Chicago.

Look! I’m skating! Look again! I’m lying!

Off to the Rudolf Steiner school fair tomorrow morning, just round the corner from home. A Steiner school fair is worth going to any time of the year but you can just imagine how wonderful a Christmas one is going to be.

I’d better chop down a pine to hang all the felt Christmas decorations there’ll be. And skip breakfast to eat all the wholesome German baking there’ll be.

Her damit, meine Freunde!!!

Every tourist in town was taking a selfie here. Except sophisticated moi of course.

Then they all went in here. Can’t think of anything worse. Yes I can. The previous photo.

Just for you Miranda. A NZ girl outside a British chain in an American city.

You’d live in fear of fire drills if you worked here

See that W behind me? That’s the Wilson station on the Red Line. According to Google you’re gonna get mugged or worse the minute you step on the platform. Looked the same as any other station to my untrained eye.

More of my beautiful Edgewater neighbourhood