A city of culture
There’s more to Chicago than the Cubs, White Sox and Bulls
On the side of a brick apartment building, black and red block letters mark out the Declaration of Immigration. ‘‘We are a nation of immigrants. No inhumane treatment, deportation, family separation, detention. No wall. No human being is illegal,’’ the mural states.
Teenagers who live in this neighbourhood, Pilsen, in Chicago’s Lower West Side, painted the mural as part of the Yollocalli Arts Reach programme run by the National Museum of Mexican Art around the corner, says our guide Judith. She then briskly ushers the group further along 18th West St to continue our tour of the neighbourhood, her eyes scanning the buildings ahead.
A few shops down, someone has etched ‘‘F... white people’’ into the window of a bank, which until a few months ago had been a Spanishlanguage book store. The area is constantly changing. But, it seems, not everyone is happy.
Czechs – who came to work in Chicago’s lumber yards – settled here in the mid-19th century. They named the neighbourhood after a city in their homeland and built the first apartment buildings, which are among Chicago’s oldest. Pilsen was one of only a handful of suburbs that wasn’t razed by 1871’s Great Chicago Fire, which killed about 300 people and left 100,000 homeless.
After the Czechs came Italians, Croatians and Germans. Each group of immigrants would move out to a different area as another arrived in Pilsen throughout the 20th century.
As I stare at a checkerboard-style Bavarianinspired house, I’m struck by how the neighbourhood’s culture resembles that of the city of Chicago – and even the wider United States. It’s eclectic. A melting pot.
Instead of trying to assimilate, immigrants from all over the world bring traditions, ideas and motifs of their homeland with them. Over the generations the elements of each culture are passed down, and from the combination of these an entirely new, unique culture is born.
Most Pilsen residents can trace their heritage to Mexico’s Michoacan province. Thus it’s no surprise that the Michoacan butterfly is a popular image on the more than 450 murals that line just about every alleyway and intersection of the neighbourhood’s four blocks, which are bordered by train tracks on two sides, the Chicago River on another and, on the last, a motorway.
One of the largest pieces of street art is on the corner of West 18th and Bishop streets. It features a man wearing sunglasses leaning against an orange archway, a khaki baseball cap casually tucked under one of his forearms.
‘‘That’s James Foley. He lived in that building,’’ Judith says. There’s an edge to her voice as she tells the story that inspired the mural.
Foley was a journalist. In, 2012, while working as a freelance war correspondent in Syria, he was abducted by the so-called Islamic State. Two years later, the terrorist group beheaded Foley on live TV. His death was believed to be in response to American air strikes in Iraq. The mural serves as a memorial. The building’s owner gave Foley’s friends permission to erect it and even gave them a key so they could use the bathroom and kitchen while they were painting.
Our next stop is Bombon. As we enter through the store’s narrow doorway, an unusual mix of scents – cinnamon, chilli and yeast – waft out from the kitchen at the back.
After planting a kiss on each of his cheeks, Judith introduces the bakery’s owner as Papa. He smiles shyly. Papa is 82. He opened the store in 1973. Although his children now help him run Bombon, he insists on getting up at 3am each day to start making the pastries.
Some of the treats piled on the trays inside glass cabinets look like croissants, others resemble brioche. Judith says this is because Mexican baking was strongly influenced by the French, who invaded the country in 1862. Napoleon’s army brought priests – and traditional French recipes. Mexican pastries aren’t as sweet as the ones you’d find in Paris though, the bakers simply didn’t have access to as much sugar and so had to ration it.
On the way out we sample a piece of pink-iced cake. The outside is crunchy, the filling flaky and buttery.
As our tour comes to an end, a group member asks: ‘‘Do you live in Pilsen?’’
‘‘No,’’ says Judith, a white woman in her 60s, ‘‘I live in a Puerto Rican neighbourhood.’’
Another tour member pipes up: ‘‘Why do you lead the tours then?’’
‘‘Because I love it here,’’ replies Judith.
It’s a typical Chicago response. The locals are passionate about their city. It may not be as bustling as New York, or have the beaches of Los Angeles, but it has a mix of the best of both cities.
Throughout my four-day stay in Chicago I repeatedly hear about how the city ‘‘looks like New York, but has a Californian vibe’’. I can’t confirm whether this is true as I’m yet to visit New York, and the last time I went to California I was a young child. However, I can say that Chicago is a city of contrasts.
When I’m there, in late August, the high reaches 35 degrees Celsius one day, and the humidity makes it feel like it’s 40C. But, in winter, the temperature falls as low as -20C.
Chicago is famous for its jazz and blues clubs, as well as a well-established indie music scene.
And although the locals are friendly, they’re not as forthright as people from other parts of the United States. It’s the third most populous city in the US, but doesn’t feel crowded.
Some of the first people I meet the morning after my late-night arrival is a trio of bikies whose motorcycles are parked under the Route 66 sign that marks the start of the ‘‘main street of America’’. They’ve taken nine days off work to ride the 3940km through eight states to Santa Monica in California. They look well-prepared for the trip, clad head to toe in leathers, despite the heat.
While the bikies are here to start an adventure, I’m standing on the corner to take a tourist snap under the sign – one of several Instagram-worthy spots around the city.
Chicago is famous in New Zealand for being the sports-mad home of the Bulls basketball franchise that made Michael Jordan a star, but within 24 hours I find it’s also a place full of diverse art and rich culture.
And it’s one that’s likely to become an increasingly popular destination for Kiwi art lovers when Air New Zealand starts flying direct between Auckland and Chicago this week.
Sculptures line many of Chicago’s wide side walks, but one of the most famous, and my