Arriving in Chicago airport for a layover felt like a
homecoming of sorts. I was back in a rich, first world, English speaking
country where I could put toilet paper into the toilet and drink tap water. For
the first time ever that all appealed to me.
Unfortunately my flight was delayed 5 hours, so I didn’t get
into Philly under after dark. I’m a bit over getting into strange new cities at
night, trying to use public transport to find my accommodation, and I had heard
that the Philly subway was a bit dodgy (especially with me having all my gear).
Six months ago I would have taken my chances, instead I opted to get a taxi to
the apartment I was staying. I would have enjoyed the luxury of such an extravagance
if I wasn’t so obsessed with how much it was costing me.
The next morning I woke up and looked out the window of the
room I was renting in the apartment of a work-from-home architect and saw a
squirrel running around the branches of leafless tree.
I caught the subway into the city centre – a subway that was
above ground and ran on top of the main road. It felt pretty sketchy at first,
and I was a bit spooked that I was the only white person in sight. But after a
few days I decided I fit in well enough –
my latest pair of shoes are coming apart again, my jumper is hand stitched at
the wrists to keep it together, my hair is longer and hasn’t been washed this
year, my watch is being held together by a piece of wire and a rubber band, and
I couldn’t remember the last time my increasingly scrappy clothes had been
washed. 
I walked around Philadelphia downtown and soaked it all in. I
explored the red brick historical quarters, parks with squirrels running around
everywhere, the nice neighbourhoods ( I forgot people could live in such nice
conditions), the trendy, punky neighbourhoods, baseball fields, churches and cemeteries,
the business district with its high rises, the impressive town hall in the very
centre of town. I walked along Benjamin Franklin Drive and up steps that lead
to a view back over downtown that Rocky made famous in the first movie, saw the
statue of Sylvester Stallone as Rocky next to those famed stairs, ate in the
Reading Terminal Food Market, saw the Italian Market – the biggest open air
market in the US, the Delaware river, Chinatown, and the other ordinary streets
which excited me all the same.
Walking those streets felt like seeing a celebrity in real
life. All the little details – the squirrel, the above ground subway, the big American
cars, the city scape, the houses, the flags outside the doors, the apartment
blocks with fire escape stairs, the names of streets and buildings – it all
made me feel like I was in a movie. Having consumed so much American pop culture
my whole life I felt like I was attuned to the cultural nuances that would
otherwise be invisible or meaningless to me in more foreign places. Even seeing
a big yellow school bus for the first time made me reach for my camera.
Philly is a historical town. Who knew that it was the first
American capital for ten years before it was moved to Washington DC? Not me, that’s
for sure. I did a free walking tour which focused on the historical aspects of
the city. We saw ‘Independence Hall’, photo above, which is especially
important because it was the place the early colony leaders made an agreement
to claim independence from England, and also where the US constitution was read
aloud to the public for the first time.
We also heard a lot about George Washington and Benjamin Franklin,
seeing Washington’s house and Franklins grave. Our somewhat cynical guide
(maybe he was pissed only 2 people showed up), pointed out that despite the
reputation these two men have in America, the house we saw had slave quarters
that indicate Washington found a loophole in the laws at the time for keeping
slaves, and Franklin was romantically buried next to his wife, despite it being
well known that he was blatantly unfaithful to her throughout their whole
marriage.
I always thought US history was a bit boring but doing that
tour made me think otherwise. There’s just so many dam stories in the world,
how can anyone get to them all?
In Philly I ate cream cheese bagels and cheesesteaks. A
cheesesteak is a roll containing shaved steak covered in dripping, hot cheese.
Philly is famous for it, and obsessed with it. There are two key ‘institutions’
for this food; Geno’s and Pats. These two big stores face off against each
other, having done for a long time now, and both claim to be the best
cheesesteak in town. I decided to go for Pats, and it was the best cheesesteak I
had in Philly. After I had finished I got talking to a local guy with an Italian
American gangster accent and a gold chain, and he told me that Pats had been
doing the same thing in the same spot since he was a little boy, and even since
his father was a little boy. Pats was the very first one to do the cheesesteak,
back in the thirties. This fella told me he worked at Pats for 10 years, then Geno’s
for 6. These places have been part of
the Philly identity ever since, and everyone in Philly seems to have an opinion
on where and who does the best cheesesteak. 
The most important part of Philadelphia for me was my
immediate neighbourhood. I was staying in an apartment townhouse, the type of architecture
I’ve only ever seen in movies, and when I went out one afternoon to explore the
area I wasn’t game to take my camera out of my pocket. It was hardcore. I always thought first world countries to be a
little boring due to lack of adventure, but the streets of Philly, always
considered a roughish town and historically with big Mafia problems, made me
think different. This was a very poor area, mostly black people, and the few
white people seemed perfect for the Jerry Springer show. The streets, the
people, the copious use of the words ‘motherfucker’ and ‘nigger’, the heavily modified
shitbox cars pumping out hip hop, the questionable parenting, the street wise
kids, the beggars, the rows of apartments - it was gritty, real life lower
class suburban USA. Abandoned factories punctuated the endless rows of two
story apartment blocks. In some of these poor streets you could look down between
the blocks and see the shiny skyscrapers of the city centre in the distance. There
were dodgy people around, and some streets that I avoided going down altogether.
It was eye opening. Only in a few places around the world have my dusk strolls
been so much of an adrenaline rush.
Philly was a great American city to see, but it was just the
opening act. The main event, New York City, loomed large and grand in the far
distance as the bus out of Philly crossed New Jersey...
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