Not a Lot of Italy
When I set out on my weekly walk, I decided to go somewhere new. The city is too big and too interesting to stay only in my bubble of comfort. This notion was reaffirmed to me at the very beginning my journey, waiting for the Brown Line, when I overheard a man saying it took him nearly twenty years to fully know just the North Side. Yes, I wanted to branch out. So of course, the first thing I do is look online for the most interesting neighborhoods in Chicago. After several minutes on indecision, I simply began scanning my Maps app, looking at the names of neighborhoods close to CTA train lines. I settled on Little Italy, because I needed to take the Blue Line to get there, which I have never done, and because it sounded like it would have good food.
I liked my decision, however I felt a pit of worry in my stomach. When I first began living in the city, I had no fear about traveling, and even preferred to go to new places and to go to places alone. However, just in the past week, I was followed by a man who continued to call out inappropriate remarks about my body. And so I found myself panicking about traveling alone in the middle of the day. I was partly nervous because I didn’t know my way around and partly nervous about being solo. At this point, my phone became more than just a guide but also a way to keep me safe. I could see the whole path ahead of me, to avoid getting lost. And more, I knew that if I was in danger, I could call my parents, friends, or the authorities. I felt safer taking my technology with me.
I began my adventure, taking the Brown Line to the loop, then transferring to the Blue Line. I took the Blue Line West to Forest Park and got off at Racine. I enjoyed taking the “L.” I was able to people watch and enjoy the view of the city passing by beneath me. I felt more calm, the more time I spent in the city. I finally got off the train and made my way down to the street. I passed a grade school right as school was getting out. I walked right through the middle of a throng of parents, with kids running through our legs yelling and laughing. I kept walking through the neighborhood alongside families walking home or to parks to spend the evening. It was a crisp fall day and the sunlight was streaming through the trees. I felt happy.
Immediately, a huge church caught my attention. I walked over, captivated. I resorted to my phone yet again, this time to capture the beauty in a picture. I shared the sight with my friends and family over Snapchat. I looked up the name of the church on my phone; Notre Dame de Chicago. Unfortunately, the church was closed so I could not glimpse at the architecture inside, but I continued to walk around admiring the statues displayed on the outside.
Afterwards, I walked to a park nearby. At the entrance, I was greeted by a statue of Christopher Columbus placed inside a fountain. I read the plaque beneath it which explained how the statue was to commemorate Italian heritage in America. After almost twenty minutes in the area, this was the first marker of Italian influence I’ve seen. As I continued to appreciate the carefully placed flowers and leafy trees, I wondered where the Italian landmarks of the neighborhood were. Unfortunately, I couldn’t easily ask my phone where to go next to really see the neighborhood. I simply had to follow my intuition. I walked with my head up, paying attention to everything around me, and eventually my feet lead to me to Taylor, the apparent main street of Little Italy. The street was populated with little shops, full of Italian flags, pizzerias, and signs in Italian. I even found another tribute to Italian heritage, this time an Italian American, Joe DiMaggio, who became a successful baseball player.
However, as I was walking, I couldn’t help but wish I had a tour guide who knew the neighborhood. Rather than having a phone, I wanted a local, like I did when visiting Pilsen and Albany Park. I wanted to know what families have been in the area forever, where to get the best food, and other memorable anecdotes to give life to the buildings I was seeing. I wondered why and when restaurant chains such as Papa Johns, Starbucks, and Jimmy Johns came into the neighborhood. I also saw signs for cuisines ranging from Indian to Mexican to Chinese. When I looked around, the people who I saw didn’t look Italian, and I didn’t hear anyone speaking Italian.
I guessed that the Italian immigrant population has decreased over the decades. It appears that it was replaced by more working class immigrants of different cultures. I also assumed that the proximity of University of Illinois Chicago may have affected the neighborhood, accounting for the hipster coffee shops, tattoo parlors, hookah bars, and commercial restaurants. The streets were filled with young families and students with backpacks and lanyards.
As I sat on the train crowded with commuters, I reflected on my experience. I was glad to have the technology of this modern age guide me through my adventure. However, I knew I would have never been able to experience Little Italy if I have never been there personally. Even more, I could not fully know Little Italy unless I have lived there and grown with the town. In fact, much of Little Italy will remain a mystery to me. However, I’m glad I found the happy medium between using technology and using my senses. I am glad for the chance to visit Little Italy and hope to continue exploring Chicago and the surrounding neighborhoods.
