We had but two things on the agenda today, which is good as my body had gone into full-blown rebellion over the amount of rich, creamy and bread-based food I’ve eaten in the last week and I was feeling distinctly bleugh.

So we headed downtown at about 10ish, and grabbed a cab to Macy’s.  We weren’t going to Macy’s – not for any longer than it took to grab a takeout bottle of pop, in any event, but we were due to meet our tour bus there.  I’d booked us a tour of the gangster and speakeasy sites of Chicago.

Turns out the tour started there, because that’s the heart of Streeterville; an area “owned” by Cap George Wellington Streeter, a hustler who encouraged people to bring the debris of the great fire of Chicago to the area, creating an unplanned 18 acres (or something) of unplanned, unauthorised landfill.  Having created this massive tip, our George decided he “owned” it, and began to sell packets of it to developers.  It all went horribly wrong, in many ways, and he came to a sticky end – but by that time, the area had been named after him and shady dealings in Chicago were a well established tradition.

Next, we learned about John Dillinger, the womanising, bank-robbing Robin Hood pseudo-celebrity of the 1930s in Chicago.  He wasn’t part of one of the gangs.  He was a more specialised character, operating in loosely drifting gangs of bank robbers.  He met his undoing through the madam of a brothel where he was dating one of the workers.  She was an illegal immigrant and agreed to give him up in return for $10,000 and citizenship.  She led him into an ambush; he was duly shot dead in an alley round the corner from the cinema they’d been visiting; and she was richly rewarded with $5,000 and deportation.  The promises of officials never have been worth shit.

We did a whistle stop tour of the characters of the South Side Gang, including Al Capone who truly was a Robin Hood figure.  He used most of the money he made through extortion, breaking the Prohibition Amendment and running Speakeasies to build schools and hospitals.  Apparently many of the south side schools can trace their foundation to Al Capone’s ill-gotten gains.

An almost accurate body outline of John Dillinger, lying dead in an alley (although his nephew disputes the dead part…)

The cinema in which John Dillinger was ‘honey trapped’

The safe under Harry Caray’s on W Kinzie, which contained all the mob’s address books…

A tunnel under W Kinzie, leading to a booze smuggling, subterranean network

Our guide. He had a Sak Yant tattoo.

We passed the site of the Valentine’s Day Massacre; learned about CrackDonalds and the Tylenol mystery; looked at the Nitti vault and address book under the Harry Caray on W Kinzie St.  We saw the site of Dean O’Banion‘s assassination, and indeed Hymie Weiss’, being mostly the same place, and admired the mismatched steps of the Holy Name Cathedral which had to be replaced due to bullet damage.

Next stop on our itinerary, via a quick bowl of Pho, which my recovering digestive system was about ready for, was the 360 Chicago experience.  This was 104 floors up the Hancock Tower, carried by an elevator which took a mere, ear-popping 45 seconds to travel the distance.  We were spit out onto an observatory floor, with a breath-taking command of Chicago (and Wisconsin, Indiana and some other State, too, it being a clear day.  I can’t point these places out to you on the following pictures, but the label said they were there and I believe it…)

Having feasted our eyes on the view, we then went to ride the Tilt.  I shit you not, this is the most out of character thing I’ve done in a very long time.  You stand next to a window, 104 storeys above the world, and they rotate the floor through 45 degrees so you’re falling into the street below.  If you’re extra specially stupid, you’ll have injected some dutch courage in the bar before you go in, and the entrance fee will barely cover the clean-up experience.  In all seriousness, it’s not *too* bad (yes, it is).  It’s only 45 degrees and you can hold your body away from the glass – and even close your eyes and pretend it’s not happening…  but if you’re anything like me, that little nugget of genius will only occur to you once you’re safely back on ground level.

Then we did our customary “oh shit, we’ve run out of time” trot back to the station.  Only, this time we took a little unplanned detour via American Girl – a store in which my inner five year old could happily have spent a whole holiday.  As it is, it’s my granddaughter’s birthday and I spent an utterly exhilarating time choosing a gift. (and yes, I know it’s gender stereotyping and yes, I know other options are available.  Don’t @ me.  Actually, it was an incredibly inclusive and wide ranging brand, and I had *fun*, OK?!  Luckily she’s only my granddaughter and she has other kickass role models, so y’all can rest easy.)

We managed to take in a bit more of the astounding public art, on our way back to the station.  I still haven’t found the Miró which, from the pictures I’ve seen, is incredibly dense of me.  But today we have found the Picasso (which is, surely to goodness,  the inspiration for Alex in Madagascar, no????) and the Chagall which is incredible.  Truly spectacular!