The City of Cheesesteaks and Confinement

Philadelphia as far as I am concerned is famous for cream cheese, Bruce Springsteen and that film with Tom Hanks. I felt they played these down a little.

As well as the whole giving birth to American independence thing, the city proudly proclaimed itself to be home of the cheesesteak, a steak and cheese sandwich with a frankly ingenious name. Every sandwich store screamed that they were the best in the city, street or area or even less confidently, just the shop. Created in 1930, by a man called Pat, they are still going strong today. In one street in South Philadelphia, just past the wonderful Italian market, the two most famous cheesesteak suppliers are Pat's (the creator) and Geno's (the neon light adorned, and clearly Vegas inspired store.) Take a guess where we went. Go on. I can wait.








Yes, it was Pat's of course. We've already been to Vegas. We were greeted by a gimmicky sign which told you how to order, which I ignored as my accent still leads to confusion enough. As all the cheese is exactly the same, bland and melty, I bit the bullet and got my cheesesteak wit whiz; for British readers that is heavily processed, garishly coloured 'cheese' from a can or jar...named well. It was good, but I wouldn't have another one.

Another thing which Philadelphia is famous for is a system of incarceration emphasising solitary confinement as a means of rehabilitation. Who knew? My visit to the Eastern State Penitentiary was both interesting and a little horrifying. The Gothic castle-like walls and vastness of the place lent a spooky air, and the Steve Buscemi narrated audio tour added to the drama. The most famous prisoner was Al Capone, the Paris Hilton of his day, treated to a comfortable cell and numerous other privileges. Crazy.

All in all I saw a lot of what Philadelphia had to offer, and what I saw I liked. I also managed to do a tour of all the places which you are allowed to sit down for free, having over exerted myself on the first day. You can tell a lot about a city from it's sitting down facilities I always find, and Philly rose to the challenge admirably.

Go, Go, Go: A Whistlestop Tour of New York

While we were in Philadelphia, we took the opportunity to go for a day trip to New York, a mere 2 hour bus ride away for a bargain $12 return. The coach journey there was great and we arrived into the bustling metropolis at around 10.30, ready for a coffee. We actually met up with a local, a friend of Mike's who was kind enough to point out some of the sights and help us get our bearings in the hustle and bustle of the city in the muggy heat.

Within the first hour or so we had ticked off the Empire State Building, Chrysler Building, Grand Central Station, and Times Square. A quick photo opportunity for each and we were off to the next thing, conscious that one day was nowhere near long enough to spend in this marvellous place.

A lunch date with another local and we were off to briefly see Central Park, the size of which was almost unfathomable. I think you could have fitted the city of London in about 3 times over or something ridiculous. Apart from food and a day pass for the subway, which was incredibly similar to the Tube, we spent no money at all there. The afternoon free return ferry ride to Statten Island which afforded wonderful views of that iconic skyline and the Statue of Liberty was the best bargain of the whole week.

After a lightening speed dash around town, we got a pizza in Little Italy, saw the very edge of SoHo, and Chinatown and then had to find where we were meant to be to catch the coach back. There were no signs to tell us that we were in the right place and after asking several unhelpful people, one of which tried to convince us to take her coach for $10, (er, no) we were pointed in the direction of the woman who was 'running' the show. She spoke very little English and had even less patience. After ignoring me twice, I asked her whether this was the right place to wait for the Philadelphia bus and was answered with yes, yes, yes. It seemed she had an affliction which meant she could only say one word at a time and had to repeat it three times. Maybe it was for good luck. After witnessing the shambles that was the coach to Washington DC, involving pointing to a bus across the street and shouting DC, DC, DC; to which numerous people were then expected to run across two busy roads with their luggage lest they got left behind and had to spend more time with the crazy coach woman; she, and us, needed luck.

Our turn finally came - we knew that as she shouted Phil-delph and then stood at the doorway checking tickets, which she couldn't appear to read or fathom. Still, we made it on to the coach and when everyone had eventually piled on, she shouted at the driver, GO, GO, GO and we were off. The coach, which smelt strongly of chemical toilets and made a sharp bleeping noise every minute, somehow made it's way through the rush hour streets and we watched the sun set over New York, happy to have crammed in so much, and yet again, unable to believe our luck that we had finally got to visit.

A Lesson in US History; or Bad Brits and God Bless America

My first episode of solo tourism left me with a much better understanding of American history, as well as a collection of photos with red and blue stars and stripes. In terms of the main historical sights in the 'old town' part of Philadelphia, a common theme emerged; that of a strong patriotic atmosphere teemed with a considerable amount of Brit-bashing. The main attractions seemed to me to be geared towards US tourists rather than international, and there was a great deal of self congratulatory implicit and explicit propaganda.

The security system to get in to see the Liberty Bell was hard core. My bag was thoroughly searched; the inside of my camera case was checked as part of the general delve. I suspected the guard would have liked to rifle through my wallet, closely examine my tissues in case they had been used, read my notebook, and perhaps send away a piece of apple to be checked for poison, but instead she grudgingly let me through, along with hordes of other people so we could all stand in the way of each other's photos.

Independence Hall and Congress Hall were really interesting and I gained most of my knowledge from the different talks here. When it was revealed that I was from the UK, after the guide had been talking about the evil British oppressors (all true I know) other people couldn't help subconsciously (I hope) moving away from me, which was nice. That usually only happens when I haven't washed. I'm not sure my base knowledge of the political system was strong enough for when they compared the systems now and then, so I supplemented my knowledge with one of the free films at the excellent Visitor Centre.

The Constitution Centre though won the propaganda prize with it's multi-media show called Freedom Rising. With the rousing music, images of worldwide moments of liberty, and stirring words telling an audience of mostly school children how amazing the nation is, you could be forgiven for believing that the fall of the Berlin Wall and end of the South African apartheid had also been US victories. American independence and the rise of a great nation is a history which the US should be rightly proud of, however, was over stated here and large aspects of people who were not granted liberty were totally ignored. Although I can take a more considered outlook to what I am presented with, a seven year old fed a diet of hype may not be able to as easily.

On the other hand, the National Liberty Museum, was excellent. It was comprehensive, fair, thought provoking, and in places a very touching series of exhibits about the struggle for various freedoms across the world. For half the price of the flashy Constitution Center, I spent double the time and learnt about four times as much.

Another powerful symbol of America in the form of Hollywood was the Rocky Statue. Having walked the breadth of the city to get here to take a photo, and gaining a rather impressive blister in the process, I have inserted this paragraph and picture here, even though it doesn't quite fit in. Also, it makes a welcome relief from my honesty / rudeness (delete as appropriate) and a more fitting way to end this post.

The East Coast

We have just spent a week in Philadelphia where Mike attended a conference and I accompanied him as a good opportunity to see another part of the country. I really liked the city and it felt very much like we were half way home. It was older, shabbier and more rough around the edges, with lots more British and Irish influences especially. Narrower darker streets with brick houses and a real sense of history all helped to convey a more European feel; as well as football matches on the TV in most bars and a big selection of British beer on tap...

The B&B we stayed in was certainly not like the Californian America we have thus far been exposed to. It was quirky and unique and I'm sure some sitcoms have been based on less. The slightly eccentric and largely elusive owner was having some renovation work done so there was a chaotic air about the place, but you can stay in a highly sanitised featureless hotel room any day. How often do you get to stay in a room decorated in a French château style with a hand painted mural of a balcony with views to formal gardens by your breakfast table? Yeah, I thought not. Once I had got over the initial weirdness and fear, it was great! (I say this having had a good night sleep last night though.)

The first time I met the owner, she shuffled up to the room in furry slippers with an entourage of over excited tiny yappy dogs (called Lulu, Lilly and Saffy) who she appeared to have very little control over. All the while she spoke to me, she was shouting throatily down the phone (although he could probably hear her without it) to a man downstairs called George who was doing something or other to the electrics. Those same dogs woke me at 6am every morning followed by raspy loud chastising. The whole experience was a little like the League of Gentleman with American accents, but our host was polite and offered lots of help and the location was good. As long as you liked to OD on dairy products, the breakfast was fine too, and passing solids in the toilet seemed to be no problem too. All in all, we had a fun week!

Hic

Following a Saturday afternoon of wine tasting in Sonoma, I have come to the conclusion that this activity is both fun and dangerous, particularly if followed by a wedding in a vineyard where the free wine continues to flow.

I would normally have more to write on the subject, but for some reason I seem to have forgotten most of the details.

Shivering in Bear Valley

Following a second evening in Vegas, we had a late start for the next stage in our journey, to Yosemite National Park. We had been told that this little road trip of ours was ambitious, and it was, but we were rewarded richly for our efforts, although it didn't feel like it when we finally arrived at the park a little shy of midnight having been on the road for over ten hours, the last two on pitch back windy roads. After checking in and signing all sorts of forms agreeing that we would put all food, drink, rubbish and toiletries in the bear boxes outside the tents, we then had to rummage around sorting these out in the howling wind, before trying to find our tent in a dark sea of tents by a small beam of light from a torch.

It was chilly outside but nothing compared to how cold our tent was. It was a canvas structure with a proper door and camp beds insides, so luxury compared to our usual camping escapades; except it was damp and the temperature was about minus 3 or 4 degrees inside the tent. We each made up our beds using 5 or 6 blankets each and headed out in numbers for safety into the bear infested woods hunting for the toilet block.


I woke up in the night shivering and try as I might could not get warm, despite having put on my thick hoodie and my coat to bed. I decided to visit the facilities again and bravely grabbed the torch and headed out alone, not having the heart to disturb my usual protector. It was actually warmer outside and by now I was so sleep deprived that I was willing to take on any bear that dared to appear before me. Luckily, I spotted no bears, and headed back to continue to shiver under my blankets until morning, being oddly comforted by the snoring this time. I got up early and went for a quick shower before the others were up, and overheard some girls in the tent behind us say that they had been visited by a bear in the night who had tried to break into their food box and left scratch marks down it in frustration; the same bear box I had passed in the middle of the night. Gulp.

When I emerged from the tent in the daylight, the view which greeted me was spectacular. We were staying in a deep valley surrounded by enormous rock faced mountains with waterfalls caressing down them. Despite the lack of sleep, it was rejuvenating and warm, so wonderfully warm, after I feared I would never be hot again.

A big breakfast and a big walk in the forests to see Mirror Lake, so called as it is so still it reflects the mountain views, and we were on the road again, having been privileged enough to see more natural awe inspiring beauty in five days than in some people's lifetimes.

On the Road

The early start we had hoped to get was overtaken by a minor disaster at the car hire firm. Some poor customer service and several hours later we had a car and a map, some pre-mixed CDs and the enthusiasm of those who have only had three or four hours sleep; we were raring to go. Grand Canyon here we come!

After the initial excitement of the Hoover Dam which was surprisingly amazing, and a vast lake just outside Vegas, the journey gave way to the dull and unrelenting Arizona desert. With the sun baking down and the air con on full, our faces and lips began to shrivel and the tedium meant we actually became eager to visit the jerky shop which had teasingly began to advertise itself from 30 miles away, despite the fact that this would in turn desiccate our insides as well. The jerky stop was actually two small shed like stores in the middle of nowhere, with empty shelves and overpriced goods, and suspiciously stained but extremely friendly staff. We bought yet more water, some jerky and headed off again in search for lunch. No more than a mile later, the empty desert gave way to a large town which had we known, we could have actually just stopped here for all our needs. Still, we had the jerky.


It seemed like we spent most of our trip either on the road or not sleeping with a few pit stops for wonderment. The journey to the Grand Canyon took so long that we had to stop in a town outside called Flagstaff, an old route 66 town, to try to get some sleep before heading to the Canyon the next day. We were only at the Canyon a couple of hours before heading off again. Still, there is only a finite amount of wow's that one person can say. I'm sure Flagstaff was lovely too but we only saw the inside of our motel room, and at some limited points in the night, our eyelids. The next day's breakfast was in another old route 66 town called Williams, and was a proper 50s style diner with slow old fashioned service, which at any other time we would have appreciated more, but for now we needed to fill our tired faces and get back on the road.

Along the journey we passed through two security points, one agricultural stop where we panicked unnecessarily about a banana we had, and whole towns just full of every variant of fast food you can imagine and some petrol. We never saw any of the radar or planes which allegedly monitored the speed of cars on the freeway. We 'met' some interesting types on the road - fellow drivers who may or may not have passed their driving test, people who liked to stare a lot at outsiders in some of the smaller towns, and last but by no means least, the wardrobe man. He had ingeniously taken out the back seat of his car and inserted a pole where he had then hung numerous garishly patterned and brightly coloured shirts. He was in a convoy with a woman we assumed was his wife who wore what looked like short pyjamas; and between them they took about twenty minutes to get fuel, wash their windscreens and generally not notice that we were waiting almost patiently behind them to get our petrol.

Our mood was in the main, somewhere between delirious and irritable. We were over tired and hysterical and the slightest thing could set us off into fits of stomach wobbling, mirth tear producing laughter. In fact, we were so susceptible to the ridiculous that we decided that when Mike asked us to make the Star Trek hand sign at the Hoover Dam, that not only was it an excellent idea, that it was also hilarious. Luckily, Mike had set the camera to a weird setting so the end result looked like we were in mid alien abduction, which was probably fitting.