“Police? You Police?”
5:54 I got off the Red Line at Cermak-Chinatown. I’ve never been to this area before. It’s a bit gloomy, and the cool breeze cuts straight through my thin button-up. A man in a dirty hat and ratty windbreaker holds the door open for me. I start MapMyWalk, and the robotic female voice greets me.The turnstile is heavy. It’s 70 degrees- I have an app that says so.
5:54 I smell stir fry and sesame oil. The sparrows are loud in the trees, and a candy-striped cement mixer just drove by.
5:57 I’ve stumbled into a kind of industrial complex. There are two floors with stores everywhere. There aren’t that many people here. A bald man in a button-down just asked me where “Joy’s” is. I told him I had no idea.
5:58 A flash of color catches my eye. I walk over, and see rows upon rows of cookie-cutter bouquets. Something new must be opening. A shame I missed the lion dance.
I smell fresh bread, both sweet and savory. I’m reminded of how hungry I am.
6:03 Captain’s Bakery is one of the few places that is not a sit-down restaurant or a knicknack shop. I walk in and am immediately surrounded by the smell of sweet dough. There’s a woman behind the counter with tiny fish skeletons on her white sweatshirt. The three other people in the store mill around the counter. It’s 71 degrees.
Everything here is ridiculously cheap. I’m in the mood for something savory, so dish out a dollar for the Curry Chicken Bun.
6:05 The curry bread is actually great. The dough is a little sweet, which enhances the salty spice of the curry inside. Apparently this complex is called Chinatown Square. The wind is picking up- outside the confines of the alley, the street is mostly empty.
6:06 Cermack and Princeton. It’s 68 degrees. The ads on the telephone poles are endearingly low-fi, and everything is in Chinese. I have no idea what it says, despite the four years of Mandarin I took in high school. I’m gonna hedge my bets and say it’s a dialect I don’t know.
6:09 The metal clasps on the strings clack against the flagpoles. There’s nobody else here. Traffic going by gives this busy corner an apathetic, urban, impersonal feeling. A man wearing basketball shorts and a dark grey T-shirt swaggers by with two plastic bags that declare “THANK YOU HAVE A NICE DAY” without a second glance towards the memorial. It’s 69 degrees.
6:12 This place has nothing to do with fashion. The owner and a patron chat casually in a language I don’t understand, surrounded by dusty “lucky” bamboo. I walk out without buying anything.
6:14 See, now I feel like I’m in Chinatown. It’s just down the road from the exit off the L stop- not sure quite how I missed that. It’s 68 degrees. Feel much safer now.
6:17 Wentworth and 23rd. I’m gonna blindly follow this arrow and see what happens.
6:20 I just saw a set of stairs leading to a basement with a hand-drawn sign in Chinese that I’m pretty sure said “Clothing”. I’m not gonna risk it. I see a woman in the window- I’ll sneak a photo and walk away.
6:25 I am three blocks down from the “Clothing” store, and the woman in the window just ran up to me and demanded I delete the photo, pointing at me and saying, “Police? You Police?” She has a pixie cut dyed red from a box, and is wearing a ratty floral blouse with red corduroy pants. Her flip flops are falling apart.
I let her watch me delete the picture, and then she and went from yelling at me to generally mumbling in broken english about how she used to be a fashion designer. I’m not sure I believe her.
This area is getting increasingly residential. It’s 68 degrees, but the wind is stronger now.
6:28 23rd and Stewart. I’ve found an overpass. The mixed yellow and white lighting grinds my gears- everything about this place is rough. From the walls, to the rust, to the gravel that covers the sidewalk, everything has the texture of wet sandpaper.
Walking faster now. I don’t like the feel of this place.
6:30 Archer and Stewart St. Walking back towards the CTA station. Man, this place reminds me of the industrial district we passed through when we walked up Diversey. There aren’t trash cans on the sidewalks here- the paper bag the bread came in presses up against my keys when I walk. The cars going by make my hair whip into my face. There’s nobody on the street.
6:32 Back on Cermack and Archer. I wonder what those towers are. It’s getting colder- 65 degrees. The brightest thing are the clouds and the walk sign. A couple hand in hand is in front of me. A homeless man sings nonsense half a block down.
6:34 I hear a dog barking. That’s the first dog I’ve heard. The towers aren’t accessible from here. I cross the street and turn back. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NsV1hboH5rc
6:36 The crosswalks seem so long here. The noise that’s been ubiquitous through this whole walk is cars. Coming, going, stopping, starting.
6:38 The lighting is much brighter in front of the restaurant row. I feel safer in the pools of incandescent white, but people are staring at me through the floor-to ceiling windows of the dim sum place. My pace slows down, but I don’t stop.
6:42 Chinatown Market looks sketchy from the outside, but the street is making me nervous and I want to take a break from the sidewalk. Inside it’s a small but quintessentially asian grocery store permeated by the smell of coriander and raw meat. It’s 68 degrees. There is a hodgepodge of asian languages fluttering around me like butterflies in a conservatory. There’s no music playing. The linoleum is peeling and slightly sticky in places. I leave without buying anything.
7:00 I saw the Chinatown branch of the library a little ways down Cermack, so I walk in. There is a meeting happening that seems to be about community safety:
“If you don’t feel comfortable getting out of the car…don’t be afraid to leave. We (the police) understand, and listen to reason. People… exploit the fact that you are scared.”
The policeman with an accent that I can’t quite place is sitting at a table with a younger asian lady, probably a translator. Looking at the audience though, I don’t think anybody here needs her services.
“If you are in a situation where it is either the car or your life, that should be an easy choice. Toss your keys… the item the other way…take down as many details as you can. Try to guesstimate. Pay attention to their clothing, especially their shoes.”
It’s 70 degrees. I walk out quietly.
7:10 Wow. The sky is absolutely beautiful. It feels like it should be hot outside but it’s not. I’m gonna head home.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3hWWGgMeRtg
7:12 Now this is just ridiculous, isn’t it.
I see a woman sitting on a bench in a red flowy button-down, slacks, and black pumps look up from her phone, pause, then take a photo. She goes back to her browsing.
The cars sound more distant now that I’m not on the street. The wind is colder up here, though. It’s 65 degrees.
None of the streets I walked down today seemed made for pedestrians, other than Chinatown Square. A lot of the storefronts were closed, and even if they were open they were mostly restaurants with glass windows that made you feel like a zoo exhibit. Others had their doors and walls papered with peeling, oversaturated photos of greasy-looking food.
The residentials treets were devoid of any color other than the various colors of brick, asphalt, and trash cans, and neglected lawns. The people are deeply territorial or distrustful and transient, always going towards some destination, buzzing bees that aren’t afraid to put their stingers on display.
The highlight of the night was definitely the beautiful sunset. The desaturated, overcast colors that dominated my walk made the cacaphony of purples, pinks, reds, and oranges eye-wateringly vivid. Or maybe that was just the wind- I can’t tell.
It was strange to be in a place where the grid wasn’t perfect. I’ve only been here four weeks, and the right angles have gotten slowly but surely ingrained in me. Crossing a street diagonally and not being able to orient myself was a strange feeling.
I never did find that museum. Maybe I walked right by and didn’t even notice. Maybe it was closed. Maybe it doesn’t even exist.
The atmosphere of that place was like being in an episode of the twilight zone- a twisted retro where the mailboxes are addressed in chinese, house-fronts are decorated with enamel dragon tiles, and there are clothing shops in basements with ladies that will chase you down because of an errant photograph. There is a strong sense of territory, and anyone unrecognizable is seen as a threat. Not being recognized is a given in a city like Chicago, but here, it was clear that I was an “outsider”.
