Day 4: Wheaton, IL to Chicago, IL

Image of the day: The view down into the alley from my sister's new sixth-floor apartment.

Trip meter at start of day: 1,006.0 mi
Gas: $2.919/gal

Americans very rarely feel that they can relate to their entire country. There have always been divisions in this country: revolutionary vs. Tory, white vs. black, north vs. south, recent immigrants vs. established immigrants, and now the contrast that has been brought out into the public eye more and more in the last 10 years, red state vs. blue state. Although Americans share an incredibly large basic set of values, we find ways to split ourselves into smaller groups, to differentiate ourselves from groups that act differently from us or live in a different section of the country.

These differences, real or imagined, stay with every American, and we instinctively feel less comfortable around people who are different from us. A white woman might cross the street rather than walk near a black man. A banker in New York might talk more slowly and with a patronizing tone to a man with a Southern accent. A man like Tom Tancredo, whose family clearly has Italian roots, decries the dangers of invading immigrants. Evangelical Christians and non-evangelicals around the country get into shouting matches with each other every day over gay marriage and abortion.

As a result, Americans don't feel natural in many parts of their own country. I, for example, feel unnatural in both the conservative South and what I consider to be the "Look-at-Me" liberal Boulder, CO, where it seems that everyone dresses in a crazy style and is incapable of listing a single positive thing the president has done in the last six and a half years. In these areas, I feel like people were brought up differently than I was, that they can tell I'm not like them, and that I'm offending them with my phoniness. One of the purposes of this trip is to feel more natural in these places; to better understand the people and the attitudes that make up America these days.

One place in which I always feel comfortable, however, is Chicago. I was born here, and I lived here until I was 12. I'm not in touch with any of my childhood friends, but I know relatives, family friends, high school classmates, college buddies and fellow Peace Corps volunteers all in this city. I plan to live here again a year from now. With these close ties to Chicago, it's no surprise that as my sister and I drove the U-Haul into Chicago on the Eisenhower today, I yelped with joy when I first saw the figure of the Sears Tower on the brown, muggy horizon. In my excitement, I gave my sister a high-five, supplementing it with only a two-word explanation: "Sears Tower."

My sister, Claire, my cousin, Lindsaey, and I pulled up to Claire's new apartment building at 9:30 a.m., and with the help of a freight elevator and two of Lindsaey's friends from grad school, we moved all of Claire's possessions up to the sixth floor in well under two hours. Then we dropped off the U-Haul truck and began searching for a place for lunch—Claire's treat.

As Alma, one of Lindsaey's friends, drove us south down Halsted, we passed through Boys' Town, a large gay-friendly neighborhood on the North Side. Rainbow flags were everywhere, even on two-foot-wide poles placed by the city that stood maybe 10 feet tall. I didn't get out of the car to go to any stores, but most of the businesses—music shops, video stores, etc.—looked perfectly normal, with the exception of a sedate rainbow flag or sticker in the front window. Other stores clearly identified the gay community as their main customers, such as "Gay Mart" and a store displaying men's thongs in the front window.

We decided to eat at Melrose Restaurant, on the southern border of Boys' Town. We didn't know, but would find out later that the Melrose was the first restaurant at which our dad ate when he moved to Chicago 30 years ago. We sat outside, since the weather was warm and slightly overcast. From our table, Alma, a Mormon, and Corey, a guy from small-town Wisconsin, kept noticing the obviously gay men walking down the street and commenting on them. It was clear that although the guys didn't have a problem with what they were seeing, it was definitely something new. It was necessary for them to comment on every gay person who walked by, whereas I noticed but felt no need to mention it. My sister, who as a performing arts major in college was friends almost exclusively with gay men, didn't see anything odd, either. Alma and Corey were in their own country, but out of their comfort zone.

Lindsaey, Claire and I returned to Claire's apartment and began emptying boxes and arranging the place. When we noticed that there was no shower rod, Lindsaey called and asked for a superintendent. One came up, and I couldn't place his accent in the few sentences he said. Then this exchange came up as my computer played a song by Moldovan band Zdob si Zdub:

Claire: Peter, what's this song about? All I understand is "Davai".
Me: Well, it's in Russian. If it were in Romanian, I would understand it better.
Superintendent: You speak Romanian?
Me: Yeah. Where are you from?
Superintendent: Romania.
Me: Serios?
Superintendent: Da. Vorbesc romaneste.

I talked with the superintendent, who introduced himself as Gabriel, for 10 minutes about his life in Romania. He was the first person with whom I had spoken Romanian in the 10 days since I had returned home from the Peace Corps. It was invigorating to use my language again after so long, and it gave me a little taste of The Old Country.

It amazes me the number of people that can fit comfortably in a big city like Chicago. Whether you were born in Chicago like me or you're a Mormon from Arizona like Alma, whether you're a gay kid looking for an accepting community like the guys in Boys' Town or a Romanian immigrant like Gabriel, there's a spot for you. Chicago, like the rest of America, is not without its divisions. But like America, Chicago gives a chance to everyone.