Passage to Pilsen

First of all, I think our readers are owed an explanation for the last couple of posts. In a fit of pride and anger, I lashed at our Nick Krafft for his constructive criticism about this blog. Nick, who is like the circle to my square (BECAUSE HE LIVES IN LOGAN CIRCLE, WASHINGTON DC AND I LIVE IN LOGAN SQUARE, CHICAGO ILLINOIS), said, and I quote, that my latest blog entry, "sucked." And that I felt an immediate need to defend myself. But you know what? I was embarrassed and lying to myself. In truth, the blog entry about the L word and my Thanksgiving poem was a piece of experimental writing and yes, it did kind of suck. Ahh. That hurts to write. THE TRUTH HURTS. I had wanted to try to document Chicago events in real time instead of writing sensational narratives about past events. It was an experiment, like when someone lights a decorative gourd on fire. And it failed. Before Nick's comment, I had let myself believe that the experiment was overwhelmingly positive. Now, I can admit, that: it. was. NOT.

ANYWAY LET'S GET BACK TO ADVENTURE STORIES!

The title of this latest blog entry is called "Passage to Pilsen," an allusion to the book I read in senior year IB English called "Passage to India." Passage to India is basically about some white chick who goes to colonial India and is all like "I WANT TO DISCOVER THE REAL INDIA!" instead of living colonial-British-person-in-India life. So she befriends some "natives," and tries to go on safaris and really find "INDIA." In the end, something happens, I think she gets murdered or something, but the moral was something like 'one can never find the 'REAL' India, because such a place does not exist!' I think that this sentiment can be applied to my latest foray into Pilsen.

What is Pilsen? Pilsen is one of Chicago's many ethnically diverse neighborhoods. According to Wikipedia, Pilsen began as a refuge for Czech, Slovene, and other Eastern European immigrants. I only know Pilsen as the place where all the Spanish classes in high school would go for their yearly field trips, and since I took fricking FRENCH, I never got to go. And everyone would go and come back and be like "blah blah blah ISN'T PILSEN JUST THE BEST! I just love using my high school spanish skills among the native speakers in Pilsen! I love the tiny Mexican bakeries and signs written in Spanish! I love the bread! blah blah blah I'm so glad I didn't take French!" So, I spent a few days each year in high school being totally jealous of these people.

But then, last weekend, my friend Nick Simonson (aka Tribal Warrior) came to town. And since TW/Nicky/Niko studied Spanish at a language institute in Guatemala, I decided that it was time for me to discover Pilsen, with a translator by my side. I mean, Nick was excited too.

But how do you "find" Pilsen? I didn't know if the "center" of Pilsen really existed, but I wanted to find it. Unfortunately, if you type in "heart of Pilsen" into google, it just talks about bedrooms for sale. And when I wikipedia-ed Pilsen, it gave me three different subway stops that would take me there. So Nick and I decided to just kind of choose one, and try to find our way to the magnificent bakeries and eateries.

So we get off the (green? orange? some color?) line train, and... we are like on a highway. So we walk. We look down a few streets that we cross, but they are all creepy dead-end alleys that lead to no where except stacks of metal. We continue walking and see some signs with Chinese writing. Note: I have been to Chinatown. This was not it. So don't start saying, oh Lisa, you were in Chinatown. NO. I was not.

We stop in one rando store, pretty much the only thing for half a mile, and ask the guy about Pilsen. He speaks limited English but totally knows what we're talking about: "PILSEN! Ahhh yes... restaurants, stores, many of the Mexican people!" Yeah man. He knows what's up. And when I ask him where the heart of Pilsen is, he gives us a street name, and then tells us we are a few miles away.

So we walk some more. We walk down an abandoned road with overgrown weeds and no sidewalks and cars going by us at 50mph. We pass abandoned industrial factories, wood factories, and numerous landfills. This is: SOUTH CHICAGO. We pass a creepy bar in the middle of nowhere with cans of PBR for $1.50, all day every day. We do not go in. Soon, I see cop cars and churches in the distance, so I figure we must be getting close. AND I WAS RIGHT.

SOMEHOW WE MAKE IT TO PILSEN! I think it took about 2 hours. By the time we arrive, it is getting dark, so we duck into some restaurant that doesn't really look too promising... it's not crappy enough to be a hole-in-the-wall, but it also doesn't have any distinguishing factors (neat colors, weird paintings, radios). Well, I take that back, there was some intense soap opera action on the TV. Anyway, I just want some Mexican hot chocolate, so we order that and coffee. Nick also gets some guacamole, because, hey. Why not.

THIS TURNED OUT TO BE THE BEST THING THAT HAPPENED TO ME ALL WEEK.

Literally. The best. Hot chocolate. And guacamole. Of. My. LIFE. SO MUCH WIN. AND THEN.

This guy named... Barry? Came in and talked to Nick in Spanish about the revolution and school children and didn't realize that I couldn't speak Spanish for about 20 minutes. Then he played 5 traditional mariachi songs for us, and all of the workers in the restaurant demonstrated their favorite dances for us. So that's why everyone loves Pilsen, I guess.

Later in the week, I returned to Pilsen. Only this time, it was to party in a house with steel doors.

Other exciting things that have happened:
1. I've started babysitting for a guy who is on the hot seat of Who Wants to be a Millionaire, airing December 13-14!
2. I got lost on the way to their house and ended up on a scary underpass in the middle of the night!
3. I went to "the Chicago bar scene"(whaaaat there is a distract?) and fell into a dance off with some chicks and bros and schooled them so hard. And... I was wearing snow boots. BOOM.
4. I ordered a sandwich at a bar and they never brought it to me. I wasn't all that hungry, so I didn't mind. When I went up and asked where my dinner was, the bartender become excessively apologetic and gave me a free meal. This is the best experience I have had in Wrigleyville to date. This is also the night where I went with some people to a "$10 drink anything you want from 8-10pm" and the bar never made us pay the $10. This is also the night where I tried to befriend a Romanian cab driver by asking him if I should visit his country and he, in a voice like a pissed off Romanian Napoleon Dynamite, scoffed "YEAH WHY WOULDN'T YOU UGHH!" This is the best experience I have had in a cab to date. No, that's a lie. This was all a good night.


So, I'm looking forward to 2010, when hopefully I will have a steady job of some sort and the freedom to unearth my hopes, dreams, and vocation. This is the only way to end this post.