The Hotel
While in Chicago, we stayed at the Park Hyatt Chicago. It's a very nice hotel. So nice, that we felt like bumpkins (I told you you'd be seeing that word again) when we got there...and in fact, I'm sure that the staff could tell that we were the country cousins come to town.
When we arrived, I pulled our car into the valet spot. We got out, unloaded our luggage, and...I'm not quite sure how it happened, but they had whirlwinded us inside to the front desk, sans baggage, valet ticket in hand, car gone, answering the vital question, "And would you like the New York Times or the Chicago Tribune delivered to your room in the morning?"
This is the view from the hotel room the next morning. That bright mass in the middle as you look down Chicago Avenue is the sun rising over Lake Michigan. On the extreme left is Chicago's landmark Old Water Tower. (The in-laws' room had a much better view of it.)
This is the shower. Yes, I took a picture of the shower. It's bigger than our first apartment. It's easily big enough for three people, if you're into that sort of thing. The best part (better than being big enough for three!) is that that shower head is about seven and a half feet off the ground. I've been in hotels where the shower head is about chest-high on me. This was great.
I neglected to take a picture of the huge bathtub. How huge was it? I fit into it. All the way. Without, uh, "spilling over".
In contrast to the classy photos certain people posted the other day, I bring you this picture of the telephone in the bathroom. It's right next to the toilet (you can see its reflection). If only Elvis had had this, we might be watching another comeback special.
I was unaccountably fascinated by that telephone. Of all the places to put a phone, why there? Are there people who are really so important that even their time on the toilet isn't their own? And are those people really staying on the 8th floor of a Hyatt? You'd think they'd be a little higher up.
Here's a picture of the hotel minibar. Eat all of this stuff, take the camera and the CD, and you've spent a fair chunk of change. Each of those cans of soda would set you back $4.50. For that same $4.50, I walked down the street and got a loaded Chicago dog and fries.
I thought briefly of trying to add everything up to see what it really would have cost, but I was afraid that we might get charged just for touching everything. You can never really tell with a minibar, at least according to everything I learned from television. Apparently, minibars can be the source of wacky hijinks, so we just left it alone.
Last picture...American Girl Place was right across the street from the hotel. As I mentioned, before, we were out walking and saw the line of people waiting to get in.
The actual door for the store is off to the left. They've got barricades set up to make an S-line, and the spillover is all the way to the corner and starting to turn the corner. Every single person you can see in this picture is on line.
I've only got one Chicago post left, and lucky you, it's all about how I didn't like the Field Museum's translation of Tutankhamun's cartouche. Huzzah!
When we arrived, I pulled our car into the valet spot. We got out, unloaded our luggage, and...I'm not quite sure how it happened, but they had whirlwinded us inside to the front desk, sans baggage, valet ticket in hand, car gone, answering the vital question, "And would you like the New York Times or the Chicago Tribune delivered to your room in the morning?"
This is the view from the hotel room the next morning. That bright mass in the middle as you look down Chicago Avenue is the sun rising over Lake Michigan. On the extreme left is Chicago's landmark Old Water Tower. (The in-laws' room had a much better view of it.)
This is the shower. Yes, I took a picture of the shower. It's bigger than our first apartment. It's easily big enough for three people, if you're into that sort of thing. The best part (better than being big enough for three!) is that that shower head is about seven and a half feet off the ground. I've been in hotels where the shower head is about chest-high on me. This was great.
I neglected to take a picture of the huge bathtub. How huge was it? I fit into it. All the way. Without, uh, "spilling over".
In contrast to the classy photos certain people posted the other day, I bring you this picture of the telephone in the bathroom. It's right next to the toilet (you can see its reflection). If only Elvis had had this, we might be watching another comeback special.
I was unaccountably fascinated by that telephone. Of all the places to put a phone, why there? Are there people who are really so important that even their time on the toilet isn't their own? And are those people really staying on the 8th floor of a Hyatt? You'd think they'd be a little higher up.
Here's a picture of the hotel minibar. Eat all of this stuff, take the camera and the CD, and you've spent a fair chunk of change. Each of those cans of soda would set you back $4.50. For that same $4.50, I walked down the street and got a loaded Chicago dog and fries.
I thought briefly of trying to add everything up to see what it really would have cost, but I was afraid that we might get charged just for touching everything. You can never really tell with a minibar, at least according to everything I learned from television. Apparently, minibars can be the source of wacky hijinks, so we just left it alone.
Last picture...American Girl Place was right across the street from the hotel. As I mentioned, before, we were out walking and saw the line of people waiting to get in.
The actual door for the store is off to the left. They've got barricades set up to make an S-line, and the spillover is all the way to the corner and starting to turn the corner. Every single person you can see in this picture is on line.
I've only got one Chicago post left, and lucky you, it's all about how I didn't like the Field Museum's translation of Tutankhamun's cartouche. Huzzah!
posted by Robert at
6:30 PM
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