Sun of the Beach: 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.