Humboldt Park Beach

Last summer, a friend who recently moved to Chicago observed that Chicagoans have a massive inferiority complex regarding their city. Of course, I immediately became defensive and told him to stop picking on us just because we’re not from New York and our city is just as good as any of the cities on the two coasts and we are certainly not in flyover country and—oh, okay. Point taken.

Now that I’ve been alerted to this little complex, I can’t not see it. It’s everywhere. At street festivals, bands are constantly reassuring us that “Chicago is great! It’s great to be a band from Chicago! Yeah maybe it makes more sense to be a band out of L.A. or New York but Chicago’s good too!” On Facebook, a friend who lives in Los Angeles commented that her commute was horrific, only to be greeted by a Chicago friend who replied from pretty much nowhere to say “A survey shows Chicago traffic is the worst!” And really any time anybody from New York says anything, even if it’s about a flying monkey from Neptune, a Chicagoan’s reply starts and ends with “Well in Chicago…too!”

Don’t get me wrong. I get just as annoyed as the rest of the world with New Yorkers who can’t shut up about their city. Yeah, garbage on the front sidewalks and $15 for a cup of coffee, great place you’ve got there. Their sly bragging about how delis are open sooo late and you don’t even know how good bagels could be just makes me want to scream that I KNOW YOU THINK WE’RE CALLED THE SECOND CITY BECAUSE YOU’RE THE FIRST CITY BUT THAT’S NOT TRUE WE’RE CALLED THE SECOND CITY BECAUSE WE REBUILT AFTER THE CHICAGO FIRE THAT YOU’RE PROBABLY TOO SELF-CENTERED TO EVEN KNOW HAPPENED NOW PLEASE STOP TALKING ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU LOVE TASTY DELITE OMG. And then inevitably, it comes back to the park. Central Park. How there’s nothing like it and it brings the whole city together and please shoot me now.

Well, fellow sufferers of low city-esteem, Katie and I have found the perfect retort to their Central Park boasts, something against which we previously had little to defend ourselves. While Millennium Park and Grant Park may be the most famous parks, you have to admit that you probably don’t just stroll through those places unless you have a friend in from out of town or you got free tickets to the Art Institute. Instead, a more applicable park for our unprovoked defense of Chicago/attack of New York should be Humboldt Park—Chicago’s hidden treasure. And it has a freakin’ beach in the middle of it! (Yeah, I bet you were wondering where I was going with all of this.)

The first time I walked over to Humboldt Park, my mom jokingly but kind of seriously asked, “Weren’t you afraid you were going to get shot?” Um no, not really. Like not at all. This park is full of families, soccer/softball players, and nature lovers, just like any other park. Katie and I went during a rainstorm, because we’re smart like that, and let me tell you, the people who stay in a park during a rainstorm are generally the ones who don’t have anywhere else to be (or, who are writing a super-serious blog that the whole city is depending on!). Admittedly, we did pass a few loiterers on benches clutching their brown paper bags and 40s, but I think they were more scared by the two girls running around with a notepad and a camera in the rain. We probably looked like cops. Or worse, tourists.

Anyway, Humboldt Park is amazing. To give a quick tour of the place: it’s huge. Like, 207 acres huge. We didn’t even get to visit the whole thing because we were in the midst of a massive downpour, but even through the gray skies and limited visibility, the park was stunning. In the northeast corner is a playground, including a zero-depth water playground that would be very refreshing on a hot summer day. Adjacent is a sizeable lagoon, big enough that I’ve seen one-man sailboats gliding across, and encircled with native prairie plantings and quiet fishermen. At the south end of the lake is a stately boathouse, so fancy that I expected to see Sister Maria and the Captain looking into each other’s eyes and singing about how somewhere in their youth or childhood, they must have done something good.

We followed the winding path, which a few joggers and moms with strollers also populated, to bring us to the beach inside the park. Now, the little lagoon that forms this beach isn’t huge, but hello, you’re in the middle of a park, let’s be realistic. There is basically no current nor waves in this water, which makes me think it’s perfect for bringing swimmers who are still learning. There is enough sand that you can lay out and play on the shore, but again, it’s all about having realistic expectations. When we arrived, the rain was still pouring and the five lifeguards all huddled under a single umbrella. Katie walked toward the water, not wanting to leave without at least putting her toes in, and without a single complaint, one of the lifeguards abandoned the umbrella and pushed out the rowboat so he could watch her. Seriously, in the middle of a rainstorm (no lightning, though), the lifeguard was willing to drench himself while Katie dipped one toe into the pond. She quickly backed off so the poor guy wouldn’t go home with pneumonia, but his actions really endeared us to this place.

The backdrop to the swimming beach is an old brick field house, which looks more like a mansion than a park district property and is in fact available for weddings and special events. Please invite us if you have one here. There is also an Institute of Puerto Rican Arts and Culture in a beautiful historic building, but because of the rain we were unable to visit in person and so have to settle for looking admiringly at pictures online. In fact, Katie and I visited less than ¼ of the park space and yet we have so much to say about it, and more importantly, we look forward to returning.

If you think we’re being too gratuitous with compliments here, let me assure you that this place really is breathtaking. The first time I went, I gave my best sales-pitch to my dad to get him to go, and when he did visit about a week later, he declared that I “dramatically undersold” the park. And he’s a better judge of pretty much everything than Katie and me, so, yeah. Listen to Joe.

The beach itself may not be the most incredible site in the city, especially with the largest body of freshwater only a couple miles away, but it is a lovely escape from busy city life. And even if the surrounding neighborhood appears a bit tired, the park itself is lovingly maintained and a wonderful meeting-place for all Chicagoans. Above Humboldt Park’s mature tree line, the Sears Tower and other skyline buildings wink down at you, and you’re once again reminded how enchanting Chicago can be.

So much more enchanting than that rat-hole, New York, and its pathetic Central Park.

Address: approx. 1400 N. Sacramento

Parking: free lot and street parking about a quarter mile away

Atmosphere: urban oasis

Food/Restrooms: Restrooms in Field House; food peddled by cart vendors

Overall Grade: A-

Calumet Park Beach

Anyone who has ever driven on the Skyway should be familiar with that desolate piece of land at the Illinois-Indiana border. While the area was once a booming industrial center, the industries have waned and what is left are some polluted factories, rarely travelled roads, and mountains of salt. It’s the closest thing I have ever seen to the Valley of Ashes in The Great Gatsby. There are no people, only machines. Even the drivers passing through become extensions of their cars. The sky is usually gray and cloudy and everybody accelerates a little faster so that Gary, Indiana fades in their rearview mirrors.

Sounds like an awesome spot for a beach, right? Yup, Calumet Park Beach is Chicago’s southernmost, about 20 feet away from the Indiana border and 30 feet away from the recently closed State Line Power Station, a coal-burning power plant that was one of Chicago’s biggest polluters. (Don’t worry, even though the factory’s closed, the pollution lingers.) I don’t know what’s worse—recreationally swimming that close to icky waters, or having a beach day in the shadow of an abandoned, ten-story facility. But at least when you’re that close to the building, you can appreciate to beautiful brickwork! (Sorry, just trying to be positive.)

To preface, Katie and I had a hard time evaluating Calumet. It’s not the beach’s fault that there is a ginormous factory looming over it. But that building severely handicaps this beach, and no matter how much the beach tries or how many amenities it might add, the fact is, it feels ew, gross. We were pleased to see the beach healthily populated, and appreciate that for many families, this is their home beach. Still, we have some concerns. In the water sits blue plastic tubing that creates an arch, with both ends of the arch landing on shore. According to a lifeguard, the city is doing an experiment to determine if the water inside the arch is any less polluted than the water outside of the arch. But as even the lifeguard pointed out, the experiment is somewhat pointless because there is no way the city can afford to partition off every beach, let alone this one, to insulate it from bacteria. And right now, all the arch seems to be doing is collecting and maintaining seaweed. (Fun fact: Calumet Park Beach was the most-often closed beach in former years due to bacteria, but now that that’s no longer a criterion for beach closings, you’ll never know the days when you’re basking in a bath of E.coli! But if you’re really curious, your intestines will let you know 3-4 days later.) Thankfully, there are on-site, indoor showers that can help rid your body of unwanted parasites and such, and even lockers available for you to store your stuff. We definitely give points to Calumet Park Beach for these considerations, but I dunno…I’ve heard about that crazy flesh-eating bacteria stuff and I would be just a little more comfortable swimming upshore from the factories. I’m hardly a germophobe; what for most people is the “5-second rule” is more like a suggestion to me. But come on people, let’s have standards.

One thing that helped our experience at this beach is that Katie and I constantly looked left. (Omg Derek Zoolander would haaaaaaate this beach.) To the left, a.k.a. North, the land bows out and there sits a white shingled Coast Guard Station, which gives a very Cape Cod feel. As long as you keep your direction that way, you can ignore the industry to the south. (I swear, every time I looked at the power station, it was a few feet closer than it had been just minutes before.)

Calumet Park Beach offers concessions operated by La Chaparrita Restaurant and Bar on South Kedzie, and so offers a good deal of authentic Mexican fare alongside the usual hot dogs. When we were there, there were 3 prep cooks washing lettuce and slicing vegetables, and although we weren’t hungry, it looks like this stand racks up quite a business. Also, parents beware: there are huge candy stands that make it really easy for kids to grab what they want and throw tantrums if you don’t buy it for them.

The park itself is lovely, and has winding roads through green spaces that bicyclists and joggers share with cars. We stopped in the Calumet Park Field House, an ornate structure dating to 1924 that feels a lot like a Catholic school on the inside. The Field House operates the typical camps and activities, and also has a Historical Museum that focuses on the southern and easternmost neighborhoods of Chicago. But it’s only open on Thursdays from 1pm-4pm, so you better time it right.

If it weren’t for its location, Calumet Park Beach would be fine. But its proximity to huge pollutants and eyesores is not something that can be overlooked. If you’re from the area, it is absolutely acceptable as a swimming area, as this is hardly the only beach with bacteria concerns (as my sister says, she’s ignored swimming bans so many times that she’s pretty sure her kids will come out with three eyes). But for anyone else, it’s not worth the trip; there are comparable parks elsewhere, and beaches that don’t require experiments to maintain cleanliness (or more accurately, the image of cleanliness). Calumet Park Beach, you tried, but ultimately, we cannot endorse you.

Location: 9900 S. (Enter from 100^th St)

Parking: Free lots

Atmosphere: Diseased but trying

Food/Restrooms: Yes to both

Overall Grade: C+ 

Ashe Beach/Rainbow Beach

Arthur Ashe, the late tennis player, was by most accounts a very good person. One of my students once said that in a research paper, so it must be true. As a civil-rights and AIDS activist, Ashe helped America to socially progress past close-minded stereotyping, and for that, he should be honored. But something tells me that he may have pissed off a few people along the way. Particularly, some people with clout in Chicago. Otherwise, I can think of no other reason why anybody would name the pathetic little sandbox between 74^th and 75^th Streets after such a venerable man.

Ashe Beach would be more fittingly called Trash Beach. It’s not even really a beach. It’s more like an empty space between two ugly mid-rises that a developer hadn’t yet swooped in on. To get to the beach, you have to jump about 4 feet from broken concrete barriers onto the sand. Once on the sand, you have to weave around broken glass, empty potato-chip bags, and other unidentifiable debris. If that’s not enough to dissuade you, and you are really bent on swimming at this latitude, then I feel it’s only fair to warn you about the splintered piers in the water. Old wooden logs jut from the water, looking like the sharpened teeth of some lake-monster. They’re both at the north and south edge of this water area, so you’re really boxed in, and one medium-sized wave would be all it takes to be impaled on these piers. Please, don’t be impaled on these piers. There are no lifeguards, and there certainly won’t be any sunbathers on this landfill to call for help if you need it. If you’re that desperate to go for  a   swim, you’d have a safer, more enjoyable time in your bathtub or in a large sewage puddle.

The beach itself is failing, but its overall grade is saved by the park at its top. There is a new, clean playground with lots of fun equipment, a sizeable grassy lot, and two well-maintained tennis courts that are somehow supposed to be enough to satisfy Arthur Ashe’s memory. As nice as this park is, I still think he deserves more.

Further south is Rainbow Beach. The entrance to this beach is a winding road that slips between acres of green grass, baseball fields, and football goalposts. The road leads to huge parking lots, right near the water itself. Rainbow Beach is a long, wide beach, but not a long walk from parking-lot to shore. We went on a beautiful day around lunchtime and were surprised to see less than three swimmers, but the fact that we counted ten lifeguards on duty indicates to us that this beach usually has a sizeable crowd. Or that this is the most cautious beach in the entire city of Chicago. New facilities were built around 2000, which include your standard beach restrooms (gross) and a concession stand. Though we were greeted with a sign that boasted “Premium Concessions OPEN!”, we experienced no premium concessions because it was in fact closed. Other employees said that the stand is usually in business, but if you’re counting on getting food at this beach, it might be a bit of a gamble.

Also at this beach is a new-ish field house. We were given a tour by an employee, Mr. Tate, who showed us the rooms available to rent for parties (with great views of the lake!), the fitness center, and a gymnasium for public use. We took it upon ourselves to examine the bathrooms, which are of a cleaner and drier persuasion than the beach’s restrooms. (You’d be better served if you walked the extra 50 feet to the field house’s.) Mr. Tate explained that at one time, Rainbow Beach’s field house was supposed to have an indoor-outdoor pool, but Millennium Park’s out-of-control budget siphoned money from Rainbow Beach and the pool was forgotten. (Apparently Daley promised they would get their money eventually, but the fact that he is now out of office does not bring much hope to that.) Katie pointed out that this incident is pretty symbolic of the city’s treatment of the South Side—“Oh, yeah, we’ll get you what we promised, but first let us use your resources to get what we want.”

 Rainbow Beach is a nice beach, but doesn’t have too much that is special or unique about it. We certainly wouldn’t dissuade anybody from going, and the surrounding park is beautiful, but if you don’t live nearby, you can find the same type of beach and park closer to home. The only times that you should go out of your way to Rainbow Beach are when they host Movies in the Park (Ray will be playing August 27^th), and for the Air & Water Show; Rainbow Beach offers a killer view of downtown, and is directly under the airplanes’ flight path as they travel from airport to downtown. Sure, you may get closer to the action on the North Side beaches, but you’ll also feel like a sausage in extra-tight casing. Don’t feel like a sausage in extra-tight casing. Make it a point to experience beaches and parks outside of your normal ones, and keep in mind that each one employs at least a few Chicagoans, so what to you may be a “day at the park” and a pesky parking fee actually gives other people the means to support themselves and their families. Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.

Location: Ashe,  7400S.; Rainbow, 3111 E. 77^th (enter on 79^th)

Atmosphere: Ashe, unacceptable; Rainbow, happily average

Parking: Ashe, free street parking; Rainbow, lot parking at $1/hr

Food/Restrooms: Ashe, none; Rainbow, yes to both (but food is unpredictable)

Overall Grade: Ashe, D+; Rainbow, B

South Shore Beach (and cultural center)

Neither Katie’s nor my family has ever belonged to any clubs, and we like it that way. Between Katie’s friendly, egalitarian disposition, and my chronic fear of being left out, the exclusivity of most clubs is contrary to our nature. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t spend our childhoods jealous of friends who belonged to our hometown’s coveted social establishment, the Michigan Shores Club. There, you could go swimming! In a pool! That was indoors! And after you were done swimming, there was this cool machine that sucked all the water out of your swimsuit, so you could pack it up nice and dry, and then when you went home hours later and your mother flipped out at you because she thought your suit had become mildewy after sitting in your backpack all day, you could flash a know-it-all smile and explain the water-sucker machines that she hadn’t had the privilege of experiencing. And then there were bowling lanes that were always open and didn’t have that stale cigar smell from the only other bowling place in town, where I’m pretty sure the owner sat for 40 years straight puffing on the same cancer-stick (more like cancer-log, actually). And when you were done, you could go to this little restaurant that served hamburgers and milkshakes and French fries and you didn’t even have to pay. You just wrote down your family’s name and membership number and went back for more swimming. A totally fail-proof system in which no twelve-year-old non-member ever memorized another family’s number and mooched off of their account.

 Nope, that never happened.
So I hope it’s clear now, if it wasn’t already, that clubs are pretty cool, especially when they open themselves up to the public. And for this reason, it gives me great pleasure to say GET OFF YOUR BUM AND GO TO THE SOUTH SHORE BEACH NOW!!! This beach is on the grounds of the South Shore Cultural Center, formerly the South Shore Country Club, a beautifully designed establishment for the South Side’s wealthy residents in the first half of the twentieth century. But when the neighborhood changed and the country club continued to refuse membership to non-whites and non-Christians (they had magnanimously opened themselves up to Catholics after a few decades), it frankly got what it deserved and closed in the early 1970s. The city then bought the property, and what remains carries every bit of opulence of the original club, but shares it with the whole community. This place is so cool that walking in feels just like walking on to the Titanic, without that feeling of imminent disaster. This place is so cool that there were multiple—yes, multiple—rooms where I came quite close to skipping around and singing “I Am 16, Going on 17.” This place is so cool, that Barack and Michelle had their wedding reception here. And that, friends, is cool.

Let’s spend a little time here at the Cultural Center before moseying down to the beach. As you pull into the grounds, you proceed up a long driveway, lined by a lush 9-hole golf course and the most mature, majestic trees I have seen in the city of Chicago. You come closer to the Center, which I’m told was designed in the Mediterranean Revival style, but in layman’s terms just looks really tall and impressive. Plentiful parking awaits both sides of the Center, but is cleverly hidden by ivy-strewn arbors.

Walking into the Cultural Center feels like walking into a 1920s party that turned Jay Gatsby away for being so pathetic. At the northernmost end is a ballroom with floor-to-ceiling windows, marble columns, and intricate chandeliers. I swear my posture just improved by witnessing that room and I felt a sudden urge never to end a sentence with a preposition again. In the center of the building is a Solarium (that’s fancy-talk for sunroom) that overlooks Lake Michigan, which would be perfect for holding high tea or learning how to walk with a book balanced on your head or some archaic ritual akin to that. At the south end is a theatre which doubles as a more modernized room for special events, and we were lucky enough to stumble into a dance show by local teenagers. Good grammar, high tea, and ethnic dancing—I don’t know how you could get more cultured than that! (But actually you can, because also in the Center is a display on these weird Puerto Rican clown costumes [I know I’m supposed to be open-minded about these things, but I draw the line for all cultures with clowns], and a Zagat-rated restaurant called the Parrot Cage that features Southern comfort food by students at Washburne Culinary Institute. It’s only open during the evenings and for weekend brunch, which to me means fancy-shmancy.

Oh and there are really clean bathrooms, too.

And, oh my gosh you guys, we found out where they keep the horses that the city’s mounted police ride on! (Count “where they keep the police’s horses” as one thought that had never previously crossed my mind.) It’s right next to the grounds, and the cops even practice their horsey moves in a corral where the country club’s stables used to be.

All right, we’re just about ready to move on to the beach (I know I know, I should just get on with it already). But I feel I should first address the proverbial elephant in the room. As we’ve ventured farther down to the South side, we’ve received a few inquiries about whether we feel safe at these beaches. Yes. At every beach we’ve gone to, including South Shore, we have always felt completely safe and surrounded by caring community members. Jack, the security guard at the Cultural Center and a retired Chicago cop, said he is unaware of anybody ever having a single problem with the place. When (not if,  when) you make it down, try to see if Jack is working, because he is so friendly and a wealth  of information. 

Anyway, the beach. It’s great. It’s about 100 yards from the Cultural Center, which is absolutely close enough to make the trek up to use the nice bathrooms. The Center provides an elegant background to the cleanest beach we have seen yet. The space isn’t overwhelmingly large, but there is plenty of room for everyone, including a camp with about 50 kids. Small peninsulas of mature growth jut out on both sides of the water, which insulates from the less-attractive architecture elsewhere on the shore. A beach volleyball net sits at the southwest corner of the sand, and what do you know, people actually use it to play beach volleyball! This beach was beautifully kept; looking back on the Cultural Center behind us, we really felt like we were on a fancy vacation at some Victorian bed and breakfast, without the crazy lady who works there who can’t seem to stop yammering on about her cats.

Just south of the beach is a nature sanctuary that people respect enough to treat as a nature sanctuary, not a bathroom stall at a nightclub (if you’re confused what I mean by that, re-read our review of Montrose). Fiberglass paths circle a wetlands that even has lily pads and butterflies. The sanctuary’s not huge, but is the perfect cushion for the beach’s edge.

There is also a beach stand that at one time featured concessions but no longer does—but hey, with a Zagat-rated restaurant a few steps away, who cares if you can get an overpriced bag of potato chips. There are bathrooms in the stand, which is a good option if you have a newly potty-trained kid who doesn’t realize until much too late that it’s time for a #2, but on all other occasions we’d advice against using this bathroom. There are showers constantly running in there, so there’s no way you’re coming out any cleaner and drier than you were when you walked in. Plus, there’s a super clean indoor bathroom about 2 minutes away. Don’t be lazy.

Now, here’s where it gets tricky. With normal beaches, the absence of fake cheese and the presence of a disgusting bathroom would bring serious demerits. But we are so in love with South Shore Beach that it didn’t even matter this time. You know our love for this beach must be true if we are willing to forgo fake cheese for it. Most other beaches are bland enough that they need those things just to keep them interesting, but not South Shore. I mean, does anybody go to the Grand Canyon and think, “yeah it’s nice, but I wish there were better restrooms between the rim and the floor.” Or see the Taj Mahal and say “ooh yeah pretty…hey does anyone know where I can get some nachos?” I promise you, once you visit this place, the things that you typically think about at beaches will leave your mind and you will only be impressed.


Please, please, if you haven’t already, go to South Shore Beach. (And to anyone in my parents’ generation: it doesn’t count if you went to a wedding here forty years ago. Try again.) Show some love to a part of the city that could use it, and be prepared to be mesmerized.


Address: 7059 S. South Shore Drive (yup, that’s two souths in one address. Deal.)
Parking: Plentiful at $1/hour
Atmosphere: Unexpectedly opulent
Food/Restrooms: Yes to both Overall Grade: A

Hyde Park Beaches (49th and 57th Street)

More than anything, Katie and I want to find a beach that we absolutely hate. A place we can deride, criticize, and complain about, guilt-free. We were hopeful that today would be the day that we found this beach of our ire. Partly, we’re looking for a terrible beach because we want something to contrast the beautiful beaches we’ve consistently been finding. But mostly, we want to find a beach we hate because we’re apparently really evil people. On our way down to Hyde Park, we already began mocking its beaches. You can’t even swim at 49^th Street Beach? Bollocks! There’s no parking at 57^th Street, meaning you have to cross Lake Shore Drive on foot to get there? Insane! By the time we got down there, the thesaurus in my mind started listing through all of the negative vocabulary I’d get to use in this review: crumbling, idiotic, deteriorating, unforgiveable, asinine…oh yes, this was going to be good.

It saddens me that I won’t be able to use any of those words to describe Hyde Park’s beaches. (But do you like how I still was able to use them, kind of? I got really attached to “asinine” and couldn’t let this entry go without using it.) While true that 49^th Street Beach does not allow swimming, and isn’t really even a beach per se, that doesn’t mean that we weren’t completely beguiled by this small stretch of shore. The area is accessible by climbing over some boulders, which leads to a pebbly strand. The boulders all tilt towards the water and the view of Chicago’s skyline, making them ideal places to lay out and meditate. Some large rocks had been worn down by frequent use, appearing more like stone sofas than the eyesores they otherwise might have been. Large fallen tree limbs created more natural couches, and when we spotted one with an empty Corona bottle and a few scattered limes, we knew that this beach was special. Though we do not condone drinking alcohol on Chicago Park District property (at least that’s what our legal counsel told us to say), this scene perfectly captures the vibe of its beach. The easygoing sunbathers, the people taking a break with their leashed dogs, and the gently lapping waves were reminiscent of the more reflective beaches of the Pacific Northwest. (Katie would know; she spent a good chunk of time in Tacoma, Washington; and I have a sister in Vancouver, so I’m pretty much an expert.) It seemed unfair to grade this beach according to the scale we’ve been using, since it’s the type of place you go to avoid the fake-cheese concession stands and energetic crowds. Using that scale would be asinine. Also, our legal counsel (her name is Jane, and is about to enter her third year of law school—I’ll pause so you can take a moment to be impressed) said: "In light of the aforementioned possible lawlessness of this beach, I must reserve my judgment on the merits." Translated to normal people talk, that means that we shouldn’t use the grading scale on 49^th Street because that technically condones some law-breakin’, which we just cannot stand for. So, we are going to grade it according to a new scale. And for that reason, we give 49^th Street three Corona bottles and a lotus flower. Whatever the hell that means.
 

From 49^th Street, we took the bike path south through Promontory Point. This little peninsula is big-time charming. It features some of the most mature trees you can find in an urban setting, and memorable views of both the skyline and 63^rd Street Beach House. Sooooooo not asinine. Several usable fire pits (in the American Indian “council circle” style popularized by Jens Jensen, or so Wikipedia tells me) ring the peninsula; one had recently died out, and as Katie and I inhaled the woodsy smoke in the shade of pine trees, their fallen needles cushioning the ground beneath us, we were transported momentarily to the Northwoods. And then we were brought back by violent screaming in the Point’s field house. Turns out the screaming was just part of a children’s play put on by a Lookingglass workshop, but it’s about the only dramatic thing we experienced today and I at least wanted to include one 

tension-building sentence. Hope you liked it.

From Promontory Point, we went further south to 57thStreet Beach. Our big question as we approached this beach was, why go here when 63^rd Street beach is just six blocks away with a parking lot (57^th St has no lot)? In some ways that question remained unanswered, but we did see something at 57^th Street that has been conspicuously absent from the other beaches: bicycles. It looks like if you’re a Hyde Park family looking to ride instead of drive, 57^th is where you go.

The beach itself was nice. There was minimal pollution and the beach stretched itself wide, meaning people could position themselves at the busier, family-friendly north end, or lounge at the quieter, more solitary south end. There wasn’t anything too special about this beach, but it did have a nice view of the water intake station in the middle of the lake. 

Next to the emergency-only bathrooms is a concession stand, manned by a really friendly crew who explained that all Chicago Park District food stands sell only Pepsi products. (We thought this would be a helpful tip for you Diet Coke drinkers who look at all other liquid refreshment as if it were arsenic.) They offered an array of concession-stand favorites; I got a hot dog and Katie went with the nachos with ground beef and jalapeno peppers. All cooked foods (burgers, hot dogs, the ground beef on your nachos) are grilled freshly, and we were very pleased with our makeshift lunches. Even more exciting than the fake nacho cheese offering: there’s an option of getting Nachos Supreme, which includes tomatoes, onions and sour cream on top of the yummy dish served to Katie. And if there is one thing that my family has taught me, it’s that the only food that arguably surpasses fake cheese in greatness is sour cream. (If you doubt my dedication to disgusting dairy products, or are curious about where this is coming from, be sure to go here: http://kathleenhinkel.blogspot.com/2012/06/okanagan-cheese-photography-clips-from.html. It’s my sister’s blog that features an explanation of our family’s cheese obsession, and her photo spread of a dairy farm for British Columbia Magazine. The way she so tenderly captures the cheese-making process shows that this is a deep-seeded love.  And she’s a damn good photographer.)

As far as the whole “crossing Lake Shore Drive” debacle that Katie and I expected…well, it wasn’t a debacle at all because the city cleverly created underground passageways to connect the beach to its Hyde Park community. There were no water lines in these passageways to indicate that they flood like the ones on the North Side, meaning you’re not likely to get stranded at 57^th Street Beach during a rainstorm. Lining these passageways were mosaics that symbolized the robust, diverse Hyde Park neighborhood. Well played, HP.

 

Our biggest complaint of 57^th Street Beach, other than the fact that the beach itself is relatively plain, is that it’s very hard to get to if you’re not from the neighborhood. Parking will always be at least a few blocks away, and then you’re at the mercy of finding available street parking. Or if you’re looking to get rid of all that extra money you have, you could park at the Museum of Science and Industry and walk about a block. But even if you do end up having to do a bit of walking, the area’s homes are grand and historic, and the parkway between the Drive and the sidewalk is mature and beautiful. It would hardly be the worst walk you ever took in Chicago.

So no, unfortunately, we don’t hate Hyde Park’s beaches. They’re perfectly lovely, especially if you live in the area; if you don’t, try to befriend somebody who does. You’ll thank us later.

Location: 49^th Street Beach, 4900 S.; 57thStreet Beach, 5700 S.

Parking: Moderately difficult street parking available; we found some on Hyde Park Blvd (5100 S)

Food and Restrooms: Emergency-only restrooms at 49^th Street; both available at 57^th

Atmosphere: 49^th, Zen-like and Pacific Northwest-y; 57^th, family friendly and neighborhoody

Overall Grade: 49^th, 3 Corona bottles and a lotus flower; 57^th, B

63rd Street Beach

My husband and I had pretty much the worst honeymoon ever. We had been excited for two active weeks in France and Italy, but instead experienced innumerable train strikes that stranded us in the seediest cities, an eye infection that made it impossible to be outside in the daylight, and a sea urchin that impaled five spikes into my foot. By the end of the trip, we were basically a pair of one-legged nocturnal vagrants. One of our rare bright spots, though, was in Nice, France. There, we strolled along the Mediterranean, admiring the soothing waves and ornate early twentieth-century architecture. As we eyed the moon-like streetlamps, open-air archways and Spanish-style roofs of the buildings along the promenade, we told ourselves that our hassles were still worth it, as witnessing these sights was an experience we could only have in Nice.

And then I went to 63^rd Street Beach and thought, damnit. Should’ve gone on a tropical Club Med vacation like everybody else. 

Have you even seen the 63^rd Street Beach House?! If you have, then why are you sitting on your bum reading a blog when you could be there! If you haven’t, I want you to reflect on the fact that you have probably spent hours in front of that kitschy, dilapidated boat-thing at North Avenue, but have yet to discover this beautiful, historical place that was designed by the same architects who designed Central Park. I’d use their real names, but unless you’re my dad you probably don’t even know who they are.

As I hope you’ve inferred, this Beach House is striking. So striking, that as Katie and I lingered on the nearby bike path, a cyclist stopped just to share his awe with us. He glanced up at the building, shook his head, and remarked that he can’t believe this beautiful piece of architecture is just sitting here. People actually have their weddings at this place. There’s an outdoor fountain, created for the enjoyment of all adults and children in Jackson Park (that’s what the plaque says at least), great for just sitting back and enjoying the scene, or more practically, dragging your kids through to cleanse them of sand.

Katie and I do wish there were a bit more going on in the Beach House, as it currently feels like a lost opportunity, a relic of the era that brought the White City to Jackson Park. We longed for some lounge chairs so passers-by could sit back and watch the lapping waves, a bar that served some wine to go with the mellow feeling of this beach, or really anything that would bring some vitality back to this historic building. I guess the fact that the Beach House didn’t have these things means that I may have to actually start reviewing the beach itself, five paragraphs in. OK, here goes.

This expansive beach is lovingly cared for. Natural grasses flank both sides, and when we arrived, a neighborhood crew was coming through to pick up any garbage that had accumulated. Big points there. There is a playground in the southwest corner, adjacent to a giant turtle-shaped sandbox. While the turtle was really cool, Katie and I questioned the point of having a huge sandbox in the middle of a beach. At first we compared it to putting a baby pool in the middle of a lake, but then we thought that putting a baby pool in a lake might just be the most ingenious idea ever. If anyone can figure out how to keep that thing floating, let me know, because I think we might have a million-dollar idea here.

The water has a nice sandbar, but there are areas of deep swimming marked off by buoys, which helps this beach to attract a wide range of people. We saw young families persuading their little ones to dip their toes in the water for the first time, and experienced beach-goers diving in for what appeared a regular ritual.

The concessions offered are from Belly Up, a stand run by a Jamaican transplant named Belly. Along with the usual offerings of hot dogs and Coke, Belly also serves some Jamaican favorites; we had jerk chicken, cabbage, and beans and rice, and it was so yummy.  In the evenings, his grill becomes a destination for locals, and he boasted that on Sundays, he has quite the party, reggae music and all. The Caribbean influence of this stand combined with the French and Spanish-style architecture of the Beach House help create a beach that transcends just the Chicago spirit. If you’re really looking to get away from your daily routine, 63^rd Street Beach is a great choice.

In addition to the beach, there is also a nearby harbor. Between the harbor and beach lies a grassy park, a hang-out for locals. While Katie and I ate our jerk chicken, we perched under some shade on the rocks that lined the harbor and watched sailboats coming in and out. A great place for a bike ride rest, and a nice diversion for when your little ones have had enough beach time, but you don’t want to go home yet because you know when you do you’ll have to make dinner. Ugh I don’t even have kids yet and I’m already dreading that.

There is one caveat to this beach, and it’s kind of major, especially if you have kids: broken glass. We saw broken glass everywhere, including a whole band of it right behind us, where a beer bottle had been smeared into the sand by whatever machine they used to comb it in the mornings. We even watched a lifeguard wade into the water to retrieve an empty wine bottle. While we did see dozens of little kids at the beach, none of whom were affected by the glass, we still couldn’t shake the feeling that one wrong step could mean stitches to the foot. (And as someone who took an urchin to the toes, I know that the bottoms of your feet are nothing to mess with.)

If you haven’t yet been to this beach, go. Just go. You don’t even have to make a beach day out of it—just see the architecture, eat some Jamaican food, and your trip will still have been worthwhile.

Just keep your shoes on.

 

 

Location: 6300 S.

Parking: Some metered lot parking available

Atmosphere: Worldly, laid-back

Food/Restrooms: Yes to both; restrooms are respectable

Overall Grade: A-