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Don't Rock the Boat! |
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By GINA GALLO
of TheColumnists.com
DOUBTING tourists, be advised. Although Chicago sprawls right in the middle of a snowbelt region, it reverts to a beach town after the Spring thaw. Seventy miles of lakefront don't lie.
In addition to beaches that span the distance from Indiana to Wisconsin, Chicago also boasts more inland harbors than any other American city. Which means that in the City of Big Shoulders, water-related activities top the list for both locals and visitors.
Cruise along Lake Shore Drive and you'll see miles of yachts, skimming sailboats, legions of jet-skis. And now, thanks to Chicago's Department of Tourism, you can also check out the very latest tourist attraction: gondola rides on the Chicago River.
Okay, so it's not exactly Venice. But the gondoliers' costumes are authentic, if not their accents, and they'll take you for a scenic ride on the murky green ribbon that divides the Loop and the upscale Gold Coast. Why beat your feet when you can roll on the river? While tourists loll in boats that glide past some of the city's most breathtaking real estate, they're treated to a running monolog about da sights, da city, da people.
Da gondoliers, as likely to be named Stanley or Sean as Guido, will pose for pictures, sing some songs and make sure your experience is a memorable one. Which is probably why these boat rides have become one of the city's most popular attractions....and the scene of some rather strange occurrences.
Just ask Iggy. Ignacio ("call me Iggy") Flores signed on as a gondolier last summer. He thought the uniform red striped shirt and jaunty neckerchief were wimpy, but a good way to cover up his gang tattoos. The work-study program at Cook County Jail taught him a lot about dressing for success in the work place. He could also sing "La Bamba" in four different languages--one of those personalized touches that made him popular with the customers. Which may have been why those Estonian tourists made a beeline for his boat.
"Only two persons per boat ride," Iggy told the hefty group of six. Since gondoliers are also coached in the art of diplomacy, he didn't mention that their collective body weight would have sunk the Titanic long before the iceberg. After carefully selecting Eva and Konstantin, the least portly couple, he muttered a few heartfelt prayers for survival while they lumbered on board. As the gondola listed and bobbed, Iggy crabwalked to the stern and picked up his oar.
"That's Chicago's Riverwalk above us. On your left, Marina City and the House of Blues. Coming up is the Wrigley Building and.... Konstantin, you have to remain seated while the gondola's moving."
"Goot!" The bear-sized man was on his feet, waving madly at the passing skyscrapers.
After the forests of Viljandi, Chicago was another world. And he wanted to make sure Eva captured it all on film to show the folks back home. Posing and mugging, Konstantin wobbled dangerously in the rocking boat.
"Goot!" he shouted again. The couple raised their arms in a joyful Baltic version of the Wave.
"You have to sit down!" Iggy shouted, clutching his oar. Any more moves like that and they were going to capsize. The gondola wasn't designed for such heavy duty antics. And how was he supposed to navigate while his passengers cavorted like playful steer?
"Goot!" Konstantin beamed. And leaned toward Iggy so Eva could include him in the next shot.
"Coming up is the Michigan Avenue Bridge--Eva, there's no eating allowed on the gondola. Would you mind putting the sandwich away?--where you'll see the International Flags of - "
"Goot!" Konstantin pointed, either at the rows of snapping banners or his wife's massive submarine sandwich. Even from the stern, Iggy caught a whiff of sausage, onions and....herring?
Or was that the usual stench of Eau de River? Combined with the pitch and lurch of what felt like the gondola ride from Hell, he was starting to feel queasy. Swiping at dribbling fish juice, Eva wolfed another bite.
Maybe it was best to keep his eyes averted. Sea-sickness was not included in his job description. Leaning heavily on his oar, Iggy mopped his face with his neckerchief.
"On your left, the Tribune Building and Plaza, where WGN Radio broadcasts...."
"Goot!" Konstantin was on his feet again. This time, it was a helicopter that caught his fancy. He grabbed Eva's camera and pointed it skyward. Since it was hard to focus on the circling chopper, Konstantin twirled in an oafish pirouette. The gondola shifted beneath him like a rolling log. And while Eva calmly finished her lunch, Iggy lost his.
Slumped helplessly over the stern, he watched his oar slide into the churning waves.
Konstantin lowered his camera. The gondolier was hanging over the side of the boat like a striped sardine. Was this a regular feature of the tour? Or maybe an American custom he didn't know about? He snapped a few pictures just in case. In his country, it wasn't unusual behavior for comrades--especially after enough vodka. But they didn't usually turn such a violent shade of green.
Settling back in the gondola, Konstantin turned to Eva.
"Goot," he told her.
Nodding, she reached for her knapsack, the one that held the volleyball net they'd recently swiped from Oak Street Beach. There'd been lots of those nets strung up all along the sand. Who was going to miss this one? And if America was the home of the free, didn't that mean such souvenirs were there for the taking?
She passed the net to Konstantin. Carefully holding the ends, they submerged the middle section off the side of the gondola. After the Baltic diet of Estonia, it was exciting to troll in American waters. They watched the lapping river, speculating on what their catch of the day would be.
"Goot?" asked Konstantin. Eva didn't think so. Although trout are fresh water fish,
there was nothing about this river that looked remotely fresh. She figured a sizable carp was more probable. The Estonians settled back to wait. When the Police Marine Unit boat passed on their starboard side, they waved companionably to the nonplussed cops. And remembered to snap a few pictures for the folks back home. Great country, this America. Even better if they snared a few trout. Freshwater goot, Konstantin's favorite.
© 2001 by Gina Gallo. Illustration © 2001 by Jim Hummel.
You can comment on this column or contact Gina Gallo with an email to: talkback@thecolumnists.com
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