Chicago- Day 3 (8/18/07)

Twice, count 'em, twice I ended up going East rather then West this day. I decided to take route 20 through Pennsylvania. Not the bestest of choices in retrospect. Route 20 through PA is not scenic and involves mostly strip malls, suburbia, and qwik-e-marts. It took me through the infrequently marked downtown Erie area. I drove through Erie mostly by divination but I made it through on what apparently was indeed Route 20. A little ways after leaving the city it I stopped for gas and a bathroom break. Karin called and I was yapping away and got back in my car and started driving. About ten minutes later I saw that I was going east. What I don't understand is how, when I had earlier been headed west, it came to pass that although I didn't go back the way I came, I got turned around. A complete mystery. Frustrated with route 20 I gave up and got back on 90 and headed emphatically WEST. The second time this happened it was under similar circumstances but it was my sister that called and had provided the distraction. Much to my fortune Amos came to my rescue via text message giving me a tip that I should perhaps think about trying to get to Portland by going West. Thanks Amos.

The only nice thing I can say about PA is that on route 90 right after crossing the PA/ NY border they had the largest, nicest rest stop ever. It was like a small airport. Made of glass and steel, it was throughly modern, with automatic sinks and toilets that flush themselves. Apart from the spotless restrooms, the building had this one large circular light filled room littered with pamphlets free for the taking and a friendly man behind a desk whose sole job is to give directions to hapless wanderers. To my amazement, I found out that if you stop at visitors centers they will give you free detailed maps of the state you are in. Also beware they have a tendency to give you every pamphlet within reach as I don't think they often get many visitors in the smaller towns.

Armed with a free map that clearly distinguished west from east, onwards I went toward Chicago. I was trying to get there at a reasonable time because I was to spend the night with some cousins of my dad's, Sakuru Matsuda and his wife. I've met them once before; when I was younger, my dad and I drove out to Chicago to meet them. Sakuru speaks Japanese, Spanish and English. Mrs. Matsuda speaks mostly Japanese and a smattering of English, which is why I still am not so sure about her first name. I arrived there around 10pm, and they had prepared some delicious sushi for me. We talked over dinner about my dad and my other cousins that live in CT. They were astounded that I was driving cross country on my own and that I didn't get lost in the city. I merely shrugged and said, "Well, you see, I have a free map." They shook their heads, surely thinking "Kids these days." At one point I was trying to get Sakuru to tell me more abut my dad, and all that he would say was that my dad was a very "different" type of person. I asked in what way was he different and Sakuru took some time, judging his words (I think he was trying to find a nice way of saying things), but in the end he just ended with "he was just different." I smiled and thought about how I'm "different" as well. I'm not your typical girl with nail polish and giggles. I'm a bit aloof and honest in my opinions and most people dislike me for it. I'm ok with that though, I don't know how to be any other way and I wouldn't want to be... not me. So really he could have said anything and I don't think I would have taken offense, much the opposite, I think it would have made me happy to know that my dad and I are very much alike.

The Matusdas officially live in Skokie, just outside of Chicago , in a little part of town that houses a lot of Japanese-American families. The area is 1950s postwar construction ranch style homes. But they all have distinctly Japanese touches to them. Mostly the hedges in front of the homes are manicured in these geometric shapes, which still somehow manage to flow. Sometimes they look a little like little mountains with meandering paths through them.

A lot of Japanese families settled here after being released from Japanese-American internment camps. When I first visited the Matsudas many years ago, I learned that they had been held in internment camps during WWII and had recently received some reparations, which they had used to buy a car. I recall that was the first time I had even heard of these camps, that they had existed on American soil, and that most of the people held in them were full-fledged American citizens. More surprisingly, I have come to learn that most in my generation aren't aware of that particular part of American history either. This is a surprising gap in public American history education, especially in a time when so much of the country seems to fear/hate people who may remotely look like they are from the "wrong" part of the world even if they don't have so much as an accent.

A good night's sleep, a shower, and Spam and eggs breakfast left me refreshed and ready to go. Mrs. Matsuda gave me a little owl pin that she had sewn for the town's Japan Day festival as a good bye present and they saw me off.

Up until now, I had meticulously mapped out my route and planned on places to stay days in advance. But I had grown bored of planning, so past Chicago it was just me, my atlas and a road that should at some point end up in Oregon (if I managed to point my car in the right direction).