Life's Persistent Questions

April 20, Philadelphia

Cities are not all about the roads, buildings, waterfronts, museums or sports stadiums. While many escape the hustle and bustle of urban centers, lovers of big cities feel an affinity to those metropolises because its people and the energy they inject into a living city. Perhaps this is why I do my best to visit some markets in each city I visit. Baltimore’s Lexington Market was that city’s oldest, but not a tourist-favorite due its surroundings. Even before stepping inside, it was clear that people, shoppers and shop-keepers, worked, ate, and lived in the neighborhood. The Reading Terminal Market was clearly on the other end of the spectrum. It was more on par with the famous Pike Market in Seattle and Quincy Market in Boston. It had everything from cheese steak sandwiches to BBQ ribs, from ripened cheeses to fresh made cookies.

I saw the Liberty Bell, which was underwhelming. Interestingly, it was not named so until the mid Nineteenth Century by the abolitionists for their cause. I also saw the historic Pennsylvania Hospital, the oldest hospital in America. It is still been used for clinics and administrative offices. Beautiful grounds, but apparently at one point, its basement was used to house the mentally insane patients.

The best part of my time in Philadelphia was the mural art tour. The city has the country’s largest public mural program, boasting over 2800 pieces throughout the city’s neighborhoods. Tours vary their locations from week to week, and this week it was the south Philly which was fortuitous. After a brief foray into a predominantly Italian area, the trolley bus went head long into the most improvished area of the city. The murals there, not surprisingly, focused on civil rights, community, hope and religion. The neighborhood’s attitude toward these endeavors was clear as such murals were rarely defaced by graffiti. The tour was an excellent way to see parts of the city that tourists ordinarily would not venture into. I wondered about the ludicrous sight of the lumbering trolley bus carrying 20 well-dressed, White (except me) tourists meandering through a run-down Black neighborhood, snapping pictures. Though not nearly as bad as the so called “poverty tours” in other parts of the world, this was still disconcerting to me. Most of the residents were ambivalent if not friendly, though a few were less than that, which I could not blame them. I wonder how many of us would have driven into that part of the city, and if there, would had the luxury of slowing down to appreciate the art. After the trolley tour, I also visited a few more pieces in Chinatown suggested by a pamphlet from the mural program. Those pieces were smaller and less impressive. Such was the cultural bias nature of art appreciation.

posted by hedgehog @ 9:15 AM