A Weekend in the Arctic

And when I say Arctic, I really mean Chicago...

Now, I've had the pleasure of visiting this vibrant city a few times in the summer. I have beautiful memories of dancing in Millennium Park, getting a birds-eye view of the city from the Hancock building and even kayaking around in a small lake.

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This trip, however, did not occur between the months of May-August. I indignantly visited in the middle of winter. Ignoring the extremely discounted prices for a flight and hotel, I packed all of the down jackets I could into my giraffe printed carry-on bag and marched into the aerobridge with determination. Determination that I won't let the single-digit temperatures scare me away.

Well, after leaving the airport and having my breath taken away--by the frigid air--my rare confidence wavered. I comforted myself by giving the allowance to stay inside my Airbnb all day long if I really wanted to.

But 10 AM came by...

then 11...

and now it's lunch time and I'm starving and I haven't had anything but some hot water all day long.

So two puffy jackets and a pep talk later...I've gone out into the Wild Midwest. It only took 0.2 miles to realize what I've gotten myself into. And comprehend that I had lost all feeling in my fingers. And spill my beautifully made honey nut almond latte all over my down jacket's faux fur. 

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But more on why I sacrificed my fingers (and coffee) to Chiberia later...