Finding The AnSa

We had another driving error after Luke very cleverly drove us into the Avis car park instead of into the terminal five car park at Chicago airport. I think he secretly wanted to revisit his car ‘sweet-shop’ but he insists he didn’t. We were a bit perplexed when we found ourselves on a one way street with nowhere to go apart from into a spot for returning cars. We certainly did not want to do that! However, we then found out a way of procuring an Avis car without any authorisation as we nervously pulled up to the security booth and frantically tried to think of a way to explain our current predicament. We began to tell our story but as soon as he heard we were there by accident and we wanted to keep our rented car, which was from Indianapolis, he waved us through. Even though we had shown no documents to prove that we hadn’t just sneaked into that car park and were trying to steal a car.

After that dilemma we managed to get parked up and waited in the terminal for the AnSa to arrive. I waited patiently, almost, as herds of people came bounding through the doors into loved ones arms or the less loved presence of their taxi drivers.

Then I spotted a short, hobbit like person accompanied by a mildly taller person appear through the doors. Finally, the AnSa had arrived in the form of my mother and sister (Annette and Sarah, AKA AnSa). It was an exciting reunion as I was informed that Luke and I looked American and I let AnSa know they still looked decidedly British. It was then time to return to the car, chatting along the way, and we drove back to the hostel. It was here that Luke waited ever so patiently as we tried to organise our room, suitcases, various outfits and sneaked in a quick drink.
He was still sitting in the lobby as we returned half an hour later (He is so good, or well-trained). It was then deep pan pizza time. We stopped at Pizzeria Uno.

Well you can’t come to Chicago and not try one! So we thought why not try two. Then we thought why not try them with some calamari, salad and garlic bread thrown in.



This was a tad over indulgent, which we realised when we saw the enormity of the task that lay ahead as the friendly waitress struggled to place the mammoth pie before us. It was a mixture of the gooiest cheese and tomato sauce which was complimented beautiful by a textured crust. It was almost like a pizza version of a Quiche and although it was a struggle to finish the last few mouthfuls it was definitely worth it!. We even found a smidgen of room to sit outside The Bourgeoise Pig and enjoy a warming Hot Chocolate later on before hitting the hostel.

After we had said goodbye to our driver for the trip, also known as Luke, we walked back to the hostel. Here we had a quick drink and went to bed. I was then awoken to a strange noise and this now appears to be a recurring event whenever I stay in this hostel. From the depths of my sister’s bag there was something ringing. It turned out to be her alarm. If this had gone off in England it would have been perfectly fine, maybe even welcomed, but it was nowhere near morning in Chicago. My sister eventually opened her eyes, stretched and very comically announced ‘Morning, man I feel good’ in her best fake American accent. To which I brusquely replied that we had only been asleep for a few hours and it was not morning. It was in fact half eleven in the evening and her alarm had woken us all up! It was then a stop-start evening with each one of us taking it in turns to wake up everyone else every so often. Thankfully the clock finally displayed six am. I vaulted out of bed, which is no mean feat from the bottom of a bunk bed,and we went in search of a much-needed coffee. Plus a few bagels and quite possibly an injection of peanut butter. It was then off to explore the wonders of the windy city.


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