“Philly
2017”
3/18/17,
“The 23”
Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania
Twenty years ago, when I was in the Fifth Grade, we came
here on a school field trip. This was
when I learned what a World Heritage Site was.
At the time, our teacher (incorrectly) told us that there were only 2
World Heritage Sites in the US: Independence Hall and Hawaii Volcanoes National
Park. I thought that that was pretty
cool. I was seeing Independence Hall
then, and one day I would see the Hawaii Volcanoes.
I would soon learn that there not 2, but
rather 20 WHS in the US, including the Statue of Liberty and the Grand
Canyon. My parents took me to the
Everglades and the Statue of Liberty and the Grand Canyon and Mesa Verde and
Olympic National Park and the Great Smoky Mountains and Monticello. I’m sure I had the whole list memorized in
due time.
I am good at that kind of
stuff. When we were inside Independence
Hall (or Constitution Hall), the park ranger asked if any of us knew what the
Bill of Rights was. I raised my
hand. When the rest of the class saw my
hand raised, they deferred to me. I
effortlessly rattled off the first ten amendments of the Constitution to the
shock of the park ranger and the amusement of the class. I was met with only a proud and knowing smirk
from my teacher. Memorizing the 20 WHS
in the US was nothing compared to that.
When would we go to Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, I wanted to
know. The beaches there meant nothing to
me, as the Jersey Shore provided me all the beach I needed. Eventually, I was promised. We also had trips to New Mexico and Yosemite
and Yellowstone to plan, but those never happened before I went to
college. We went to Paris and Greece,
but never Hawaii. In college, I went to
Old San Juan, and then it stalled for a while, until we went to Mammoth Caves
in 2012.
That was when I set out to see
the world. I swore then and there that I
would visit each and every US WHS by the time I turned 30. How I could possibly set out to see the world
and neglect my own country? The list had
grown to 21 by then, and it is now up to 23, hence the title of tonight’s
entry. Later that year, I went to
Cahokia Mounds and Yosemite.
As the
years went by, I inched closer to having visited every one of the 23 WHS in our
country, racing to visit the new ones as soon as the Plaques were up. Eventually my mother and I did go to
Yellowstone and Glacier, along with a different trip to the newly inscribed San Antonio Missions,
but the rest were done on my own or with a close friend. Now, all that remain are the two in Hawaii.
In six months, I will be at Hawaii Volcanoes
National Park, and there I will proudly be able to proclaim that I have visited
each and every one of the 23 WHS in the US, along with having completed the other 16
Goals I have set for myself. It isn’t
working out the way I expected, but, just as I originally thought, going to
Hawaii Volcanoes National Park will enable me to say that I have visited every
WHS in the US. In the meantime, I have
made a pilgrimage to Philadelphia almost every year, and I have never forgotten
to pay homage to Independence Hall, the one that started it all.
Okay, so, what did this Day entail other than
writing this entry in the rain and snow and I freeze my fingers? Day 0 consisted of an epic St Patrick’s Day
feast with some of my old cigar store buddies, eating, drinking, smoking, and
seeing Terrence Malick’s new film. The
eating and drinking and smoking was excellent, but the movie was long and
boring, even if incredibly well done. I
didn’t get to sleep until after 4 AM, not for being out late, though, but
rather from insomnia.
I woke up around
10 AM and planned to take the 12 PM train to Philly. I didn’t buy my ticket yet, since I wasn’t
sure if I could make the train. I
showered and got ready and dropped off my laundry. It was 11 AM at this point. I then got coffee and a bagel with cream cheese
and lox, but I knew that I could not enjoy it until I was on the train. I took a taxi to Penn Station, getting there
at 11:40 AM. I thought it would be too
late to buy a ticket. Tickets were
available, but the price was now 15% higher than it was when I checked from
home. Begrudgingly, I bought the ticket,
rather than waiting an hour for the next train.
Soon enough, we were boarding, and I had my, now, brunch, on the train.
I was still hungry, so I got a cheese pretzel
and another coffee. We were in Philly
not long after I finished my snack, and my grandfather was not yet ready for
me, so he told me to take a taxi to the hotel, which was in Society Hill, not
far from Independence Hall. I settled in
for a bit, and then he came to pick me up.
We, of course, went straight to Pat’s to get me a steak sandwich, by far
the best thing to eat in the whole city.
It was raining out, so that put paid to anything we might do
outside. The sandwich was as good as
always, and then we went back to his house, stopping at a cigar shop on the
way, where I got a few sticks, including one I had never seen before.
When we got to his house, we found his dog
and wife, both of whom were far more intent on each other than on him. He would be the first to admit it. After that epic sandwich, though, what I
wanted more than anything else was a cigar, despite the weather. I asked if there was a place I could smoke
protected from the rain. He said I was
welcome to smoke inside, so we found a dish to use as an ashtray and went
upstairs. I lit up one of the new
cigars, a Cuban Stock cigar it was called, and we talked about politics and my
travel adventures, our usual topics.
At
some point, we noticed that the favorite for the NCAA Tournament, Villanova,
was on the verge of being upset in the second round by #8 Wisconsin. We watched the end of the game and, sure
enough, my bracket was busted. He went
upstairs to change, and I had a second cigar, an Oliva, after downing some
hamantaschen, which made for the perfect pairing. After the second cigar, it was time to leave
for dinner, and we went to his usual place, a steakhouse called Butcher and
Singer.
He was well known there. Everyone cheerfully greets him “Mr. Block”
and jumps to serve him however they can.
That’s what happens when you’ve dined at the fanciest steakhouse in the
city over a hundred times and are good tipper.
The manager and all the waiters kept coming over to help however they
could. I ordered much the same as I
usually do. I got rye whiskey with club
soda on the side to drink, lots of their exquisite rolls with as much butter as
they could hold, and a scrumptious crab cake appetizer, but it is the main
course that is most worth recording.
I
got the porterhouse steak almost rare and sides of stuffed hashed browns,
mushroom and onions, and creamed spinach (for the table, of course). My grandfather and his wife both ordered
fish. My meal was heavenly, and I ate it
all. I didn’t think I could finish it,
but I powered through and cleaned the plate.
I was ready to pass out with my final bites, but I was up the
challenge.
The conversation was
interesting, to say the least, and anyone who is familiar with my grandfather’s
wife political views will understand why most of the conversation is
unpublishable. She was glad to have a
fellow Trump voter with whom to share her conservative political and social
views without having to apply whatever filter she might use in front of a more liberal audience. After my last bite of dinner, I knew two things. One, I wanted dessert. Two, I could not eat another bite right
now. The simple solution was to get a
carrot cake to go. I knew I would be
hungry again later. My grandfather paid
the check, and everyone wished “Mr. Block” and good night, as he doled out
tips. He then drove me back to my hotel,
as I relayed my plan to come to Independence Hall to write my entry.
He was worried about me walking around alone
in Philly at night. I assured him I had walked around much worse places in
Central America alone at night. He was still worried. I went up to my room,
resituated myself, and then walked over to Independence Hall, lighting up a
Cohiba as I walked. I was soon there, and, with some difficulty, found a bench
with a good view of the building. I then sat down and proceeded to write this
entry, which I will bite close so that I can get back to hotel and publish and
maybe even get up into some misadventures in Center City. Full disclosure,
though, my laptop battery died as I was finishing this entry, so this last
paragraph was mostly written on my phone.
No comments:
Post a Comment