A Chicago Christmas, Part I: The CTA Holiday Train, Christkindlmarket, and a Macy's Date

Last year, I missed the Christkindlmarket and the CTA's holiday train altogether, so this year I hit 'em up twice. Who cares if Chicago set a record this week for the most consecutive days without snow (281 -- guys, the earth is over)? It's Christmas, dammit, so let's be glad. 


                                 

Thar she blows!

The CTA Holiday train is an elusive, jangly creature. Even though the dates it spends on each line are announced, it seems like nobody's quite sure when it's going to roll through each station. Well, unless you're on the train immediately in front of it, and the conductor uses the friendliest voice you've ever heard to tell you that the holiday train is behind you. Then you get right off and wait on a foreign platform, getting to work on time be damned. (I made it, but either way, no regrets.)

These women and I had the same reaction when the train stopped: helpless giggling.

As pissy as the blue line usually smells, it instead smelled threefold as strongly of cinnamon. I almost felt a little woozy from the scent, actually -- or was I just giddy from the Christmas music piped through the speakers, the bucket of candy canes just out of my reach, and the really lame children's jokes that replaced the ads? ("What did the baby whale do when his mother told him to go to bed? He blubbered.")

Nary a suspicious stain on my seat. What fresh luxury is this? 

On my second trip, I even caught a precious, fleeting glimpse of the santa car itself. Thank you for your service, Mr. Santa. It can't be easy being the most popular person in Chicago, nor can it be easy to ride through the tunnels totally uncovered (yikes). 

The Christkindl market.  I've caught glimpses of the little cottages going up on Daley Plaza for weeks, and I finally made it over there for a boot of hot chocolate, a pretzel stuffed with pumpkin, bratwurst with sauerkraut, and other treats of my people. 

I didn't document this very well, mostly because it was packed to the gills on the nights I went and I couldn't get an elbow free, and also because while there were lovely Germanic things like hand-embroidered table runners and wooden ornaments, there were also booths of summer street fair tchotchkes, which is a shame. Even if you can't win them all, though, you can take pictures with your boots, like so: 

I went into sensory overload. 

But I got over it. 

Here's my other attractive date, Jackie.  We pranced straight from the market to Marshall Fields/Macy's to admire the Christmas windows. 

See how well this window -- in forced perspective! -- mimics the actual ceiling? Stupendous. 

(The real deal. I want to be buried here.)

This kid was similarly impressed. 

Like a good grown-up capitalist, I also was impressed with all the pretty, twinkly things inside, and the siren song of the MAC counter.

Jackie and I finished the night with a round or two of Tom and Jerrys (Jerries?) at Miller's Pub. It's already the greatest place in the world, but it becomes even more charming when its stained glass, dark wood, and oil paintings of hoboes are gussied up with piny swags and twinkle lights. Treat yourself to a hot buttered rum there as soon as possible. 

Part II of my Chicago Christmas is happening this weekend, and I've been looking forward to it since September. Stay tuned for fancy outfits, General Waverly (my secret dream man), hammy photo ops like these, and a flurry of other festivities.

This guy, amirite?