In summer of 2011, I accompanied my uncle back to the US.

At the time, he was living in Dubuque, Iowa, so I spent a week there with his family

before returning home to my home in Sabu in the Philippines.

On the way back, I decided to take a few more days off and see the sights of Chicago.

I've been to the US number of occasions, but never to Chicago, so I was looking forward

to baseball games and great food.

Thanks to the proximity of public transit, I could easily go to a socks game, get an Italian

beef sandwich, and then easily get back to a hair airport from my flight home.

The hotel is quite old and it looks old.

You can hear it creak in some places.

The room I always assigned to was on the fourth floor, I think.

It was on a corner and you could see Roosevelt University on East Congress Parkway when

you looked out the window.

The holy leading to my room was always eerily quiet.

The first night after I got back from eating out, the room became weirdly, suddenly cold.

And I thought it was strange because it was nice and warm outside, but the temperature

just dropped, not gradually, very quickly.

That night, even though I'd slept without covers the rest of my trip, I ended up sleeping

not only with the sheet and the blanket, but an additional blanket on top of that.

It was just so, so cold.

During the day I would explore the city and then I would come back to my hotel after dinner.

Every time I got to my room, some of my stuff would be moved.

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