Strong and United
This may come as a shock to anyone that has never been to Chicago before, but it is so much more than just the “Chicagoland area”, and I always found that concept so important, yet ignored. To others, we’re “The Windy City”, “Chi-raq”, “Chi-town”, and “Chi-beria”. Many neglect the fact that we have over 200 neighborhoods in 77 well-defined communities; people consider Chicago simply one large area of land, but are able to recall that there are five boroughs in New York City — The Bronx, Manhattan, Queens, Staten Island, and Brooklyn. It upsets me that people don’t acknowledge (or perhaps don’t even realize) the ethnic diversity we have, from Englewood, Rogers Park and Pilsen to Little Italy, Albany Park and Greektown!
My personal favorite neighborhood has always been Greektown, certainly not because of my culture, but because of its ability to remain true to cultural values and not being westernized as heavily as surrounding areas such Little Italy. Historically, Greektown had consisted of a large Greek-American population, which has slowly but significantly depleted as the decades passed. Since then, Greeks have been found spread out across all of Chicago’s neighborhoods and suburbs in new homes.
Now, Greektown itself mainly contains Greek-owned restaurants and businesses, along with a cultural museum, attracting a lot of tourists and Greek food lovers. Greektown also holds an annual festival and parade to celebrate Greek heritage and how it has affected the past and the present.
These restaurants and businesses are located in the Near West Side, which is simply to the immediate west of “the loop”, and can be easily reached by heading one block northeast-east of the UIC-Halsted Station on the CTA Blue Line. They are scattered along Halsted Street, approximately from Van Buren Street to Madison Street.
I had taken two trips to Greektown in the last ten days, once late at night and another early the afternoon. On my first excursion around 6:30 P.M., there were many people dining in Rodity’s, Santorini, and Greek Islands; however, the streets were almost completely deserted. All that wrestled with the gloomy time of day was dim street lights and immense smells of flavor town — I mean Greektown.
Looking closely at this picture, it’s easy to see the “W” flag being flown across the street in support of our Chicago Cubs major league baseball team, hoisted and pinned up against the exterior brick wall of a famous bar and grill that sits under an apartment building with a fire escape on the side of the structure. You may have noticed the tree in the center of the image, a possible focal point, but did you see that the base of the tree is surrounded by the Greek key? This may be overlooked as a normal design since each and every tree is surrounded by the Greek key, but I had a particular fondness of it. I perceived this as symbolic in the sense that, as I mentioned before, Greektown’s cultural values remained infinite, unique, and with our “roots” rather than having been lost in the process of westernization. Being 100% Greek, I take pride in my ancestral roots and how we have shaped the most basic, everyday uses, such as mathematics, linguistics, philosophy, etc.
After two minutes of recording my walk from one end of Greektown to the other, my mobile device decided to “kick the bucket”, rendering me unable to contact my family. Around 7:30 P.M., I strolled down Halsted and headed north, looking for hope that a CTA bus would present itself for me to get home soon. I found the nearest bus stop and waited for what felt like a lifetime at night (which was probably just 5–10 minutes) until I hopped on the bus. Once I reached Clybourn Avenue, I stepped off the #8 bus and headed for the North/Clybourn Red Line Station. I continued to walk around the block three times before remembering that the Red Line is an underground subway train and can only be entered through a building that I marched past thrice.
Knowing that there was more to Greektown and the people that passed through it, I realized that I would have to return another day when the sun was still up. Three days later, I routinely transferred from the Red Line at Jackson to the Blue Line, travelling to UIC-Halsted and found my way back to the south end of Greektown at 2 P.M.
As I walked along Halsted Street and re-took my video with a few photos here and there, I received many suspicious glances and “death stares”. I found this strange because it seemed as if every person thought that I was lost beyond control and didn’t belong there. This reminded me of Malchik’s article, “The end of walking.” A nameless wanderer, I wondered if I had overstepped by boundaries into someone else’s; but how could that be, if I was merely walking down the street in a public area that commemorates my heritage? Perhaps I had crossed an invisible line that was created over time by psychological predispositions and human nature. I had not encountered any “No Trespassing” signs, but still had a gut feeling that I was unwanted; an unnecessary distraction to those that were spending (well if I may add) their money to critique their orders of saganaki, avgolemono, pastichio, or spanakopita, and every person they came into contact with. Interesting, but I must keep moving. I found the same exact bus stop and waited for the bus to arrive. Once I got from Halsted and Adams to Halsted and Clybourn, I went from the bus to the train station. Yes, consistency is key, but I didn’t feel motivated enough to walk around the block another three times.
Truthfully, Greektown is relatively one of the smallest neighborhoods in all of Chicago based on density and population; but when culturally combined with every other neighborhood, it supports and makes up what everyone else knows as the third most populated city in the entire United States.
