Brain Transplant Journal: The Last of My Trip: Goodbye Toronto, Hello Chicago!

Our last morning in Toronto: it was time to hit the road. We made a last coffee pilgrimage to a yet undiscovered neighborhood, and damn! it was cool, but we didn't realize it existed until we were about to leave. So no time for exploration. So that's my latte below from Dark Horse Espresso. It was good, I was happy drinking coffee, but sad to leave Toronto. But a new adventure awaited me in Chicago.

Right after we left the coffee shop, we saw this crazy house. I think it was supposed to be art. It sort of looks like my parents' basement taken outside. Yikes. The most random assortment of crap, all on display.

Joel, unfortunately, decided to just head back home to Wisconsin, so it was just Margaret and me continuing the vacation. We made a pit stop for some CDs for the drive, but alas, the shop wasn't quite open yet. No worries, we bought pizza and junk food to pass the time. Finally, it's open, and it's super cool: all Canadian music. So we bought probably 10 CDs between the two of us, and finally launched onto the highway.
The forecast was snow, and but we didn't really believe it. The sky was blue, after all! But wait, look at this (my first ever uploaded video clip):

That's right. Snow. Uh oh. But the sunshine came back soon enough. No problem. And, Margaret rented a Subaru.

We finally enter Chicago, and find our hotel. Boy, is it ever swwaaannnky! Seriously. Probably the nicest hotel I've ever stayed in, and really, the price wasn't that bad: $200/night for a two-bed room. They even provided Kiehl's toiletries instead of the usual crappy stuff. Kiehl's is expensive. Here's my ultra luxurious bed. Yes, that is a down comforter.

The not-so-mini bar, complete with stereo, proper bar ware, and your choice of either full size or miniature bottle of high-end liquor.

The illustrious bathroom, with marble vanity (notice little bottles of Kiehl's on the shelf):

And the little sitting area:

After a minor crisis involving me not knowing where my kit was, we were ready to explore Chicago. We weren't really sure where to go; a city guide provided by the hotel didn't seem to be much help. But Margaret thought Wicker Park might be THE neighborhood, so that's were we went. Cafe Absinthe was closing (it was after 10:00), so we couldn't go there, and the spots the city guide suggested for that neighborhood looked lame. Margaret mentioned a replica "speakeasy" that was supposed to be very cool, and very hidden. She couldn't find it when she was here a few days earlier, but I encouraged her to look again. We wandered around, got a little confused, and Margaret was nearly ready to give up. But I said "No! Press on! We'll find it!" And we did. And it was awesome. It was very hidden though: no signs up anywhere, it was pretty much just a bunch of plywood. See what I mean:

But inside, leather banquettes, crystal chandeliers, and elegant (although honestly not especially thrilling) food and drinks.

So, yeah. The Violet Hour was awesome. After that, we just went back to the hotel, and went to sleep. It was a fun night. Ah, my luxurious bed.

The next morning however, I woke up, opened the curtains and saw:

Oh my gosh! Snow! The weathermen were right. I didn't expect this at all. Then, when I came out of the shower later, Margaret had put the flat-screen tv (did I mention the hotel room had a fancy flat-screen tv?) on some movie called "Mousehunt" or "Mousetrap" or something. I don't know. But the snow, combined with that movie (the saturated colors, the kid-friendly material) made it feel like Christmas. Weird.
We checked out and went back to Wicker Park to look for brunch. As we were ordering, Margaret's sister called. Uh oh. Her travel difficulty saga continues. It seemed that due to the snow, Continental decided to cancel all flights out of O'Hare. My flight, on Southwest, out of Midway, was fine. Hmm.

By this time, it was seriously snowing. I mean SERIOUSLY.

We stop off for gas:

And then, since Margaret's flight is non-existent, she gives me a ride to the airport, and decided to return her rental car there, to avoid excessive fees. We head our separate ways. But an hour later, she calls me. She managed to get a flight out of that airport, and it leaves approximately the same time mine does. We have several hours to kill, so go to the airport "Miller" pub. I don't drink Miller beer, as a rule. Margaret gets a Bloody Mary, and I get a martini. Both were surprisingly cheap, especially for airport food. So that's how the trip ended.