Grégoire and the Bean.
I chose a really terrible time for a fly-by-night trip to Chicago. The temperature on Monday was at record setting lowest maximums, apparently due to an "Arctic vortex" that spread the cold air usually contained at the pole; Tuesday was marginally better. It's hard to talk weather with Americans as they still use Fahrenheit, but in Celsius Monday ranged from something like -26° to -23°, ignoring the windchill off Lake Michigan, and when they talk about it being "above zero" they don't mean the snow is going to melt. Some say that was colder than Antartica. While I was there the Chicago River near the downtown went from perhaps 10% iced over to closer to 70% (my guesswork). I schlepped down to the park with Grégoire on Sunday when it was still snowing, and again on Tuesday when it was marginally warmer. This kind of cold is far beyond what I'd experienced in Sweden, being unforgivingly brutal on any exposed skin.