One by one, Peddie students left the bus to Philadelphia as if they were paratroopers jumping out of a plane. The smell and the purity of the air, or lack thereof, the hair, clothes, speech of the people, and the immense buildings throughout the city were all different from my home, the Peddie School; however, Sung Jae and I were going to have to step out of our familiar places and people into the depths of Philly for the next five hours.
Once Sung Jae and I touched our first step on the sidewalk outside the bus in City Hall, a sidewalk with cracks and cigarette butts that were not the same clean pristine sidewalks at Peddie, Sung Jae and I both felt out of place. From the start, however, we asked an Indian man who was walking with his I-pod and confidently ambling where he was going. The man’s name was Sadik and I asked him how to get to the Gallery at Market East so he said we should just follow him to the mall. Sung Jae was somewhat reluctant to follow him because he was a stranger but I had a feeling that, because I did not know where I was going, I had to trust the people around me and that were native to Philly. Although it was somewhat difficult to talk to Sadik because he had his headphones in, we got to know that he comes to Philadelphia for fun not because he lives or works there.
When we reached the Gallery, Sung Jae had to go to the bathroom so I waited for him to go out. The man behind the counter at Pop Eyes, which was next to the bathroom, asked me where I was from. I told him I went to Peddie which is a boarding school in southern Jersey. I was very surprised that the man who was in his early twenties initiated conversation with a stranger like me. He said that he never heard of the Peddie School but he said he went to a local high school in Philly which made me think of all of the different schools throughout the city. When I was about to continue the non Pop Eyes affiliated conversation with the man behind the counter, I was interrupted when another man had taken his spot behind the cash register and asked “May I have your order, sir.” I said no to the new man and waved good bye to the original man behind the counter when Sung Jae finished going to the bathroom. We were off to a part of Philly which we not only did not know how to travel through, but also know the language of the people native there: Chinatown.
From the second Sung Jae and I walked through the gaudy Chinatown gates, we were lost. Sung Jae and I wanted to know how to get to the Chinese Cultural Center so we asked a Chinese woman standing on the sidewalk next to us. She was confused as she asked,
“Um-uh the Chinese what?”
“The Chinese Cultural Center, ma’am”
“Um, I don’t-, uh, sorry!”
After a failed attempt to have knowledge of where we were going, I scanned the sidewalk to see if there were any English speaking Americans who could help us. All I saw was a white couple two blocks down the street while the rest of the street was crowded with Chinese people. Sung Jae and I seemed to walk aimlessly on the sidewalks looking for the Chinese Cultural Center until we decided to sit on a bench next to a fire department. Sung Jae and I were both tired and hungry, but we sat on the bench watching different Chinese people walk on the sidewalk across from us. To the right of us were two fire fighters, who had NFL football player type statures, cleaning their truck. As the fire fighters sprayed the hose on the truck, the Chinese people watched and took pictures as if it were a jaw dropping experience. Once the fire fighters were finished, Sung Jae and I asked them where the Chinese Cultural Center was. They answered that it was to the right on 6th. We said thank you and turned to go until the fire fighter said “To the right, not the left.” I laughed at my mistake as I was somewhat embarrassed and went the right way.
Sung Jae and I continued to 6th because we not only were looking for the Chinese Cultural Center, but also the African American Museum. We were still confused as we looked at the signs in Chinese on the stores along the street and had no idea what those signs represented. After walking for twenty minutes, looking for the Chinese Cultural Center, Sung Jae and I decided we would not go there. Looking at our map, we traveled the roads that would lead us to the African American Museum only to find out that the museum was closed for reconstruction. I personally did not want to go to a museum because a museum is a bunch of Sung Jaes and me(s): confused tourists learning about history. However, Sung Jae and I decided we would go to learn more about our country’s past in Historical Park.
When Sung Jae and I entered the Historical Park, it was like Chinatown where the scenery of the park was a drastic change from the busy corporate world of the city. Looking at the park, Sung Jae and I both realized that this was where we could both learn a lot more about the United States of America but all of those intellectual thoughts were crushed when we saw a group boys our age playing Frisbee. We both craved to do something besides walking, looking, and being confused so we decided to blend into our culture for five minutes. Sung Jae and I were fairly hesitant to ask the boys to play, but once we stepped on the grass they were playing on, they asked us if we wanted to play. Sung Jae and I were by far the worst ones playing as the kids jumped up in front us snatching the Frisbee that was intended for Sung or I. It was frustrating on how competitive these kids were at Frisbee, but we continued to play. Once Sung Jae and I believed we should get moving, we told the boys that we had to go. They did not seem to care because they were so fixed in their game of Frisbee.
Although Sung Jae and I did not visit the Liberty Bell or a museum about the history of America, we decided to visit at least one museum: The Jewish American Museum. As Sung Jae and I turned down the alley way to go to the museum, we realized we were walking with a tour. The tour consisted of kids in about seventh or eighth grade which was lead by a man dressed like Benjamin Franklin. As we walked down an alley way, a group of hobos asked if I had a dollar as one of them shook my hand. He had a very firm grip, but I quickly released my hand from his grip to be safe. I told him I did not have a dollar which was the truth and kept walking towards the museum. When I reached the front door to the museum, the hobo was flexing to me as he said “Do you play football? I know you play football. You got that football build.” I said thank you in an awkward ‘I don’t know you’ tone and walked in the museum.
Although Sung Jae and I did not stay in the museum for a long time, we both got a taste of the Jewish American life. I was excited about this museum because I am a Jewish American. The synagogue inside the museum reminded me a lot of the synagogue I used to go to when I was younger. There were wooden benches, similar to the ones in Peddie’s chapel, facing toward the Torah Arks. The sun beamed through the windows as if the light was God speaking to the people at the Museum. The synagogue made me think of my bar mitzvah as I stood behind the podium speaking from the torah to the audience when I was in seventh grade. After visiting this synagogue, I reminisced about the Sundays going to the local synagogue with my family.
As Sung Jae and I walked towards South Street, we noticed that we were getting tired as we dragged our legs along the sidewalk, decided to ‘chill’ on the benches more, and began sweating as if we were playing a competitive sport. We clearly had symptoms of craving a cheese steak. However, like an authentic traveler, Sung Jae and I needed to take a large journey in order to acquire something he or she desires. Sung Jae and I needed to travel on 9th street, a thirty minute walk, to the Italian Market in order to acquire a cheese steak.
Walking at a deliberate speed, Sung Jae and I could not wait to get to go to Gino’s, a famous Cheese Steak restaurant in South Philly. All I could think about was the ideal cheese steak with toasted bread, some juicy sliced steak, and melted Swiss cheese lying on top of the meat. With each step I took on 9th street, the hungrier I got. Throughout our walk, Sung Jae and I would ask people if we were almost there and every time it was “You have a long way to go, guys.” When an ideal traveler in his or her search needs to acquire something he or she desires, the traveler eventually goes through a phase of giving up and not continuing the journey of that desire. I was feeling this sense of giving up. Every time we would pass pizza places, delis, or other cheese steak restaurants, I believed that maybe we should stop there and eat, but I fought off these negative thoughts. Sung Jae and I were going to eat at Gino’s no matter what the circumstances were.
Finally, our long journey on 9th street had ended and we were now at the Italian Market. The atmosphere of the Italian Market is a lot different from the inner city of Philadelphia. There are many Spanish speaking people in this part of the city along with Spanish music blasting down the streets as if there was a parade. There are no skyscrapers but there are fruit and vegetable stands with, what looked like, very organic food. As Sung Jae and I continued into the market, there were many fish shops that contained that salty sea and raw meat smell which I love. It was a very different and surprising smell from the Philadelphia smell of when I first exited the bus. Most importantly, however, there were cheese steak restaurants. Lots of them. When Sung Jae and I were lost when looking for Gino’s, we went up to an American man, rather than a person who spoke a different language. He seemed like he was confused as well and did not want to be spoken to by us:
“Hello Sir. Do you know where-“
“Sorry guys. I’m new to this myself. I do not know where anything is.”
“So you don’t know where Gino’s is?”
“Haha. Actually, that is the one place in this city that I know where it is. Right down Robbins Street.”
Sung Jae and I were on track to our desire. I walked with the speed similar to a walking speed of a little kid going downstairs on Christmas morning. The cheese steak smell covered the streets like the smell of my room when I first enter it. The smell hits you like a wave, but the cheese steak smell has a better stench. When we turned the corner on Robbins Street, Sung Jae and I saw Gino’s. Our destination was complete except there was one problem. There had to have been close to seventy people waiting in line. Sung Jae and I stared at each other in shock, as if we had arrangements for Gino’s and they blew us off. Our walk with deliberate speed turned into a walk with our heads down and our feet shuffling. We reluctantly decided to go to Miguel’s Pizza Place which was right next to Gino’s. The pizza place was like Mannino’s or any other pizza place except when you wanted to go to the bathroom, you had to ask the lady behind the cash register for a key to open the door. Although we could not go to Gino’s, Sung Jae and I were definitely going to have a cheese steak which we ordered. As we waited, a soccer game was on T.V. I watched with close attention and when one of the teams scored, I stood up, put my fists in the air, and cheered. The pizza men behind the counter gave me a thumbs up believing I was a true fan. I felt happy and a part of the culture of the town. When the cheese steaks came, Sung Jae and I devoured them as if we hadn’t eaten in days.
When Sung Jae and I sat at the tables of Miguel’s, we felt we had accomplished something. My entire journey was not to go to Gino’s and eat Philly’s best cheese steak or go to the Historical museums, our goal was to experience the culture of the people. Because Philly is so diverse, Sung Jae and I experienced the culture of the Chinese people in Chinatown, the Philly teenagers in Historical Park, and the Spanish pizza men at Miguel’s. Although we did not do what was planned, we both found away to experience the Philly culture at the highest level.
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