Chicago 2018 – Day Sixteen
The Countdown Begins
The sands of time are slipping rather rudely through the hourglass, and our Chicago (#Ad) adventure is very nearly at its end. After more than two delightful weeks of good food, good company and the occasional questionable sporting spectacle, we’ve only a couple of days left before the big farewell.
There’s a distinct bittersweet quality to these last few days of any trip, isn’t there? On the one hand, you’re savouring every moment, determined to eke out every last drop of joy from the holiday before reality comes calling. On the other, the brain insists on whispering little reminders: “Don’t get too comfortable, you’ll be dragging your suitcase through the airport soon enough.” Cheeky little voice.
Still, in fairness, we’ve had an absolute cracker of a time here with my cousin Julie and her family. They’ve been the epitome of warm Midwestern hospitality, and it’s been more like staying with favourite relatives than a mere holiday stopover. And though the clock is ticking, we’ve no intention of spending our last days moping about.
Weather Watch: A Cooler Day
Mother Nature had clearly decided we’d been spoiled with Chicago (#Ad) sunshine for long enough. Today was noticeably cooler—more jumpers than t-shirts—but in truth we couldn’t complain. We’ve been blessed with late summer rays almost the whole time we’ve been here, and a little autumnal chill in the air makes for a cosy change.
Besides, cooler weather brings with it certain pleasures. Crisp air that makes your cheeks pink, the crunch of early fallen leaves underfoot, and of course the smug satisfaction of sitting indoors with a hot drink while muttering, “bit nippy out there, isn’t it?” to anyone who’ll listen.
A Grim Start: Football Fiasco
Now, let’s talk about the elephant in the room—or rather the car crash on the television. I was up at what can only be described as “ridiculous o’clock” to catch Manchester United’s (#Ad) latest attempt at footballing glory. The opponent? West Ham. The result? A 3–1 defeat.
Let’s not mince words: it was shambolic. West Ham played like a team with purpose, while United… well, if you told me they’d accidentally wandered onto the pitch thinking it was a gentle Sunday stroll, I’d have believed you. There was no energy, no leadership (on or off the pitch), no creativity, and most criminal of all—no desire.
José Mourinho (#Ad) , bless him, looked like a man beaten down by life. That spark of tactical genius he was once so famed for has gone the way of the dodo. The players, meanwhile, carried themselves with all the enthusiasm of teenagers asked to tidy their bedrooms. The fans deserve better than this. In fact, they deserve much better, considering the millions splashed out on these pampered professionals.
The board? Oblivious. As long as the money rolls in from shirt sales and stadium tours, they appear content to ignore the fact that the club itself—the heart and soul built up over more than a century—is eroding before our very eyes. Since Sir Alex Ferguson (#Ad) retired, it’s been a long, painful tumble downhill, and unless someone at the top grows a spine and makes sweeping changes, it’s only going to get worse.
You can tell I’m not bitter at all. Not one bit.
Family Time with Julie
Thankfully, I wasn’t alone in my early morning misery. Julie was also up, multitasking like a pro: keeping half an eye on the football, half an ear on a call with her mum back in the UK, and probably still managing to plan the rest of her day. Honestly, the woman could give octopuses a run for their money in the multitasking stakes.
There’s a lovely rhythm to these moments, though. Being thousands of miles from home, yet sitting with family who bridge the gap, makes you realise just how small the world can feel. And soon enough, Julie’s mum will no doubt be hopping over herself for a visit.
Gardening, Squirrels, and Other Local Wildlife
Once the final whistle had blown (mercifully), Julie and I decided to channel our frustration into something productive: finishing off the gardening. There’s something wonderfully grounding about pottering around in the soil, even if it’s not your own garden.
Meanwhile, Michele was being frightfully organised, packing up the outdoor furniture in preparation for the looming winter season. While we pruned and weeded, she folded and stacked, ensuring the patio would be free of wayward deck chairs when the first snowfall hit.
And no sooner had we vacated the garden than the local wildlife swooped in like opportunistic thieves at a buffet. Squirrels, chipmunks, and birds all descended upon the freshly disturbed compost heap, digging furiously for hidden treasures. It was like watching a tiny woodland version of The Hunger Games (#Ad).
Honestly, squirrels have a certain audacity about them. You spend hours moving compost, and the second you step aside they’re elbow-deep in the stuff, as if you’d prepped it just for them. Cheeky little blighters.
A Stroll into Lisle
By lunchtime, it was time for a change of scenery. Michele and I decided to walk into Lisle to check out the French Market. The phrase “French Market” conjures up visions of rows upon rows of stalls, rustic loaves of bread, stalls laden with wheels of cheese, and perhaps a man in a striped shirt selling garlic by the string.
Reality? A couple of stalls selling local produce. Quaint, yes. Impressive, no.
Still, there’s a certain charm in these smaller markets, and we enjoyed having a nose around before continuing our stroll into Lisle proper. A bit of window shopping here, a bit of people-watching there. You know the drill.
A Cannoli Crêpe Break
Our wanderings led us to an Italian crêpe house, and frankly, resistance was futile. When one is presented with the prospect of crêpes, one does not say “no, thank you”.
I ordered a homemade cannoli-filled crêpe, and it was every bit as delicious as it sounds. Creamy, sweet filling wrapped in delicate crêpe, the sort of dessert that makes you close your eyes and sigh happily with each bite. Michele went for something equally indulgent, though I was too busy defending my plate to notice.
There’s something marvellously indulgent about stopping mid-afternoon for a sweet treat. It’s like giving yourself permission to be gloriously unproductive for a while.
Evening Out at NWB
In the evening, it was time to treat Julie to a thank-you dinner for putting up with us so splendidly. We chose NWB—Next Whiskey Bar—a stylish spot with a menu that promised comfort food with a twist.
To start, we ordered beer-battered cheese curds to share. Let me tell you: cheese curds are a gift from the culinary gods. Crispy on the outside, gooey on the inside, and utterly addictive. If I lived here, I’d have to take out a gym membership just to offset the damage.
For mains, Julie opted for shrimp, Michele chose sliders, and I couldn’t resist the shrimp sandwich. Imagine a fish finger butty, but elevated—juicy shrimp nestled in bread, full of flavour and nostalgia all at once.
The drinks flowed: a couple of wines for Julie, a Baileys for Michele, and beers for me. A fine trio, if ever there was one. Conversation sparkled, laughter echoed, and it felt like the perfect way to round off another day in Chicago (#Ad) .
A Spot of Rain
On our walk home, the weather decided to add a little drama. A few tentative spots of rain fell as if to remind us that summer was retreating and autumn had firmly taken the reins. Thankfully, it never developed into a full downpour—just a sprinkling, enough to quicken our steps without sending us running for cover.
Winding Down with Elle
The evening ended in the cosiest way possible: chilling with Elle once she returned from the barn. There’s something wonderfully comforting about simply sitting around chatting, sharing stories, and letting the day’s bustle ebb away. After all, it’s often these quiet, ordinary moments that stick in the memory long after the big-ticket attractions have faded.
Reflections on Day Sixteen
As our Chicago (#Ad) stay draws to a close, days like this remind me that holidays aren’t only about sightseeing and ticking off landmarks. Sometimes they’re about family, food, a bit of football-induced ranting, and watching squirrels behave badly in your cousin’s back garden.
And that, my friends, is the beauty of travel—it’s the mixture of the mundane and the marvellous, the little slices of everyday life blended with special outings. Chicago (#Ad) has given us both in spades.
