city life

Philadelphia is a city. I know that seems obvious, but this is a big adjustment for me. I've lived in Orlando for two years and thought I knew what city life was. But I had no idea. This is sweltering upper 90 degree heat in waves washing over your body and creeping into your apartment through your window. No one has air conditioning. And fans don't help. Not even multiple fans help. The heat is so oppressive sometimes that it is all you can do to stay upright on the couch. Breezes seem like gifts from heaven. I thought I knew hot in Florida. But I didn't.

When you get your mind over the heat, as you're always trying to do, then there's the noise. My apartment overlooks the intersection of 47th and Baltimore. I can't call it bustling, but there's steady traffic almost 24 hours a day. And with traffic comes the noise- car horns angry at someone stopped for a nanosecond after the stoplight turns green, the rumble of the trolley as it clacks and grinds to a halt at the station on my corner, the stereo floating out the car window of the dodge- a rap station, or out of the honda- a top 40 song I should probably know the lyrics to. Then there's the rustle of the trees, more pronounced as the day gets later, like the wind suddenly gets strength as the heat goes down with the sun. And there's the murmur or shout of voices passing underneath my window- kids on their way to the park to play hackeysack, people coming or going to work, aimless wanderers looking for a smoke or a bench or some shade.

There's a harder quality to life here, there's more fight required to get things done. Summoning the energy to walk to the market across the street is a monumental task. Braving public transportation to get into center city is something I've yet to do alone. For people who grew up here, or are more accustomed to life like this, I'm certain that my little corner of West Philly is a friendly and easygoing place. It's still an unknown to me.

I took a walk Friday afternoon, around the neighborhood- down to 48th street and back. The townhouses here have a tired feeling to them, like they have been too long abused and want to be treated kindly. Some have been restored or repainted. Most haven't. Those buildings- the ones with the peeling and uneven paint, the ones with front porches in dire need of new boards or pillars- are so much a part of the landscape that I can't imagine the neighborhood in better repair. I think there's a lot of possibility, but it's difficult to believe that their renaissance will come soon.

Just down the road from me is a community garden. They keep it locked, so I couldn't wander through. But it was beautiful from the sidewalk. I could see all kinds of flowers and plants. It was amazing to have the bold sunflowers towering over tiny daisies just across from what would be considered a ghetto in Orlando. On the other side of the block, directly behind the garden, is a food co-op. I tried to talk to the people there, but they wouldn't really acknowledge me at all. I'm not certain if it was because they thought I was a tourist, or because they thought I just wasn't like them. It's hard to make new friends when people won't speak to you.

There are a lot of really beautiful things about Philadelphia. I love the old churches, and the historical buildings. It was really moving to see the liberty bell and visit sites downtown. But there's a huge chasm between the history of Philadelphia and the city today. This is a city of contradictions. Where the pretty part sometimes is the sunset through the wires.