The City of Culture, History, and Cheese Steak

The scent of the famous Philly Cheese Steak stimulated our noses as we entered the Passyunk Ave. and 9th St. at the Italian Market. As Evan and I started to barely see the gigantic and bright yellow sign of the Geno’s Steaks from about ninety yards away, I suddenly felt an adrenalin rush in my body and found myself already running to the place. About five yards left til our final destination, Evan and I saw lots of of people standing in front of the Geno’s, waiting desperately to experience the greatness of its cheese steak. The line of the restaurant was so long that it wrapped around the next block. Seeing the line, Evan and I, still panting from a twenty second sprinting just about a minute ago, stood still in front of the restaurant, looking like a shocked man with his jaws cracked down who just witnessed an unfortunate scene of his girl friend kissing his best friend. Our time at Philadelphia was running out, and there was no way that we could have the Geno’s cheese steaks. Shocked and disappointed, we stood in front of the restaurant for five minutes simply watching people buying Philly Cheese Steaks and eating them with a big smile on their faces. I even hallucinated of eating their best Philly cheese steak because I was so started, exhausted, and disappointed. As I was fantasizing, someone tapped me on the back, and my hallucination suddenly stopped. It was Mike Tully. Tully’s partner, Sharif, was eating the Philly cheese steak from the Geno’s. Right at that moment, I honestly wanted to take the cheese steak from his hand and take a big bite of it. We then talked with Tully and Sharif about the trip in Philadelphia for a few minutes. Now Evan and I were really starving to death, and we just wanted to go into any place that served some type of food. Next to the Geno’s, I saw a pizza place called Miguel’s Pizza, which we went in without hesitation. There were delicious looking pizzas that attracted me, but I carefully checked the menu to see what other food they had. Fortunately, they had Philly cheese steaks, and I instantly ordered it with a medium size coke. As we were waiting for the cheese steaks, Evan and I talked about how unfortunate it was for us not to be able to experience the Geno’s Steaks. As I drank the icy cold coke to kill my thirst, I saw the television and Spanish soccer league was on. Soccer of course caught my attention, and the game was at its peak. Then, finally, my longing cheese steak came out, and I was totally prepared to take the first bite of it. And when I took a bite of it, I suddenly felt a chill in my body; the chill that a man feels when he urinates in a cold weather. The cooked meat with onions and peppers and a soft bun were all perfectly matched, and I was happy that I deserved eating the good cheese steak after a long day of journey in Philadelphia. And as I was about to finish the half of my cheese steak, one of the soccer teams scored, making the owner of the restaurant shout ‘Hooray!’ very excitedly in Spanish. Then, Evan and I, excited and thankful about the good cheese steak they served, shouted ‘Hooray!’ to the owner. Then the owner put his thumb up to us, thinking that we were cheering for the winning team. That simple moment was probably the best moment in Philly because then I not only just had the best Philly cheese steak in the world, but I also was experiencing a bit of culture of Philadelphia. In addition, if one asks me if I had Geno’s Philly cheese steak in Philadelphia, I would proudly say that I have had a better cheese steak at Miguel’s Pizza and watched one of the best soccer games.

When Evan and I arrived at the City Hall of Philadelphia, the cold soft breeze blew from the north, welcoming our arrival to the city of culture and history. After a brief stretch from a long bus ride, I looked around to see what was around me. The only thing I noticed was the City Hall, and the city was pretty much empty except for a few cars and several passersby. The other groups who got off with us have already left for their first destination and the bus has also left at that moment. Evan and I both were lost, but we tried to act calmly. We then decided that we should probably head to a big street, so we started to head to the east, where the big streets are. However, our first destination, The Gallery at Market East, was not to be noticed, and I felt like we only came to a wrong direction. Holding a map, an itinerary, and a backpack, we surely would have looked like visitors to this city, and an Indian looking person came up to us and asked if he could help us. The gentleman’s name of Sadik, and he was also a visitor who has come to Philly for several times. Luckily, the gentleman knew where the Gallery at Market East was and he was kind enough to take us there. In addition, as he left, he recommended that we go to the Italian Market and try the Philly cheese steak there, which made us become more excited about our final destination. And we were so thankful for the man for the kindness that we kept saying thank you, and the first ever encounter with a stranger at Philly impressed me a lot. When we entered the Gallery, it was just like a mall, except that it was called the Gallery at Market East. We then hung out there for about twenty minutes and started to head to our next destination: Chinese Cultural Center. Going to the China Town was fairly easy, not only because Evan and I used the map efficiently, but also because we tried not to act too confused when we were seemed to be lost. When we entered the town, we were sure that we were in the China Town because of its typical scent, familiar faces, and Chinese shops on the street. After walking around the town and visiting some of the shops that looked interesting for about thirty minutes, we decided to head to the Chinese Cultural Center. We did not want to get lost this time, so we figured we should follow the map carefully. On the way to find the Chinese Cultural Center, we saw a small fire station with firefighters cleaning the fire trucks. There, it was interesting how Chinese people were taking pictures of the firefighters as if they were big celebrities or renowned baseball players. We then decided to ask one of the fire fighters where the Cultural Center was, and although he was not sure, he told us it should be near the African American Museum and told us where it was. We were also sure that the Cultural Center should be there because that’s what the map said, too. With the firefighter’s kindness, we continued our journey to our next destination. After ten or fifteen minutes passed, we arrived at the place, but the Chinese Cultural Center wasn’t there. We were disappointed, sad, and lost again. However, as the firefighter mentioned, we were able to find the African American Museum, so we figured we should probably go there first. When we arrived, we faced another disappointment. The museum was closed and it said it would open again next year. When I realized that the Museum was closed, I figured that things were not going too well as we planned. Evan and I were getting tired from much of walking, talking and visiting. We needed some place to sit and rest for a while; at that moment, we read a sign that would lead us to the Historic Park. Putting aside our disappointment of not being able to visit neither the Chinese Cultural Center nor the African American Museum, we started to head to the Historic Park. What was interesting though, was that although it seemed like we were not acting according to our itinerary, we were lucked out every time that somehow got to our next destinations. Away from the China town where many shops and restaurants existed, when we got to the Historic Park, I was really able to taste a historical aspect of the city. Benjamin Franklin Center, Independence Center and Liberty Bell all located at the Historic Park, and I was able to get away from the crowded China Town and experience the history there. As soon as I saw a bench, I ran there to sit and relax my legs for a bit. People were playing ultimate Frisbee at a nice and large grass field. And as we were enjoying our lunch, one guy came up to us and asked if we wanted to play Frisbee with them. Both Evan and I were exhausted, but we were unable to reject his offer because we did not want to make him feel terrible. So we played Frisbee with them, but as this being my third time playing Frisbee, I realized how bad I was within the group. I made a lot of mistakes and could see read in their faces that they were regretting of choosing me as a teammate. People who played with us were actually really skilled, showing all kinds of throws and catches. We both felt bad that we were so bad, but it was one of the most memorable moments in Philly. Nice people, historic place, and wonderful weather all allowed us to have a unique time at the Historic Park, and Evan and I continued on our journey. Next stop was the Society Hill Synagogue. Synagogue was only across the street from the Historic Park, so it was easy to find. As we were walking a small forest to enter the synagogue, we encountered a homeless person. As we passed him, he reached out his hand to stop Evan.
“Please, help this poor homeless person.” The homeless person said. As a pretty generous person, I love helping out the poor and I actually do it a lot in Korea, but this person just looked too shady to me for some reason. The homeless person tried to shake hands with Evan, but as he tried to do it, Evan snatched his hand out.
“I don’t have any money” Evan said. We figured that we should just ignore him and enter the synagogue. But as we were about to enter the synagogue, the homeless person shouted,
“You look like a football player! I see your triceps!”
Evan, responding to the homeless person, flexed his muscles to show that he really is the football player. I was laughing hard behind Evan and thought the situation was really funny. Inside the synagogue, we had to wear a round hat called Kippah. As a Jewish, Evan knew what to do in the synagogue and taught me how to act in there. Although I had a different religion, I still respected their practice and at least in the synagogue, I acted as if I was a Jewish person. After we stayed at the synagogue for about fifteen minutes, we got out and finally headed to our final destination: Italian Market. I suggested Evan that we should take a bus to get there because it would take us thirty minutes to get to the Italian Market. However, Evan kept telling me that we should walk so that we experience more of Philadelphia. Approximately twenty five minutes of walking, I was able to see that I was at the Italian Market with all the signs, pizza places, and of course, Philly cheese steaks. And at Miguel’s Pizza, Evan and I have the best Philly cheese steak in the world even better than the Geno’s.