This is 99% invisible. I'm Roman Mars.

I fell in love with architecture on the Chicago River.

You can endlessly argue about which city has the greatest architecture.

But one thing that puts Chicago near the top for me

is that the Chicago River provides a beautiful vantage point

to take in all the marvelous skyscrapers.

Rather than being crammed in on the sidewalk between looming towers,

trying and probably failing to take it all in,

the river pushes the buildings apart and gives you the opportunity to coast by on the roof of a fairy with glass, steel, and concrete wonders presented in their full glory everywhere you turn.

But probably the city's biggest design achievement isn't a building at all.

It's that river itself, a waterway disguised as a remnant of the natural landscape. But it really isn't. It's hard

to tell when you see the river, but it's going the wrong way. It should flow into Lake

Michigan, but instead fresh water from Lake Michigan flows backwards into the city.

The Chicago River is in a large part a carefully designed extension of the city's sewer system.

Even calling it a river may be off base.

It's not really a river, maybe off base.

It's not really a river.

In Chicago, it's really the Chicago Canal.

There's not an inch, I don't think, of the Chicago River

that is natural in Chicago.

That's Richard Cahan. He's a journalist and historian in Chicago. That's Richard Cahan.

He's a journalist and historian in Chicago.

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