Entry #25.1 / 17th July 2022
I groaned in high protest when my alarm screamed into the darkness. Pulling me out of my slumber and into the waking world once more.
‘Well, you’re still technically in the slumber world,’ the responsible voice yawned through. ‘As you have four other females asleep in this room.’
As I blinked myself awake in the pool of darkness, my mind reviewed the events… or non-events that occurred last night.
Once I left the Eastern State Penitentiary (and briefly returned because I forgot my damn water bottle), I headed to the hostel where I would be staying for the night—Apple Hostels of Philadelphia. It was a nice location, in two buildings set across from each other on the narrow street. Luckily, I was in the main building, and once I unloaded my backpack into my locker in my four-bunk bedroom, I went out to get dinner.
Through my WhatsApp chats, Jonesy told me about her own experiences travelling through America with her partner and recommended a place in Philadelphia to get a Philly Cheese Steak—Pat’s King of Steaks. And it was absolutely gorgeous. The only downside was that I couldn’t eat it all and had to store it away in the Hostel fridge to save for tomorrow.
Then, on my way back to the hostel, I stopped by a souvenir shop to purchase a Philadelphia top.
It was a nice, chilled evening that completely helped distract myself from my personal revelations.
With another dramatic groan, I pushed myself out of the comforts of the hostel bed (honestly, why are these hostel beds so comfy?) and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
After an hour of refreshing myself in the bathroom, getting changed, and packing blindly in the darkness of the female dorm, I was ready to go. I booked out of the hostel and typed in breakfast restaurants into Google Maps, settling on one that wasn’t too far from the hostel.
Eggcellent Café.
The café was tucked into the Old City of Philadelphia, with a menu that did focus heavily on eggs (which, duh), but also offered over foods, mainly organic, healthy foods.
As I was directed to a small table in the corner of the café, I took in the comfort of the place. With plants potted at every available surface, the yellow-painted walls and the closeness of all the tables may appear cramped, but with everything else added, it made it cosier.
The server, Hailey, handed me the menu with a small smile. “Is there anything I can get you as you look through the menu?”
I thought about it. “Could I have a cup of English tea? And orange juice?”
Hailey nodded. “Comin’ right up.”
I spent the next five minutes scanning through the menu and was torn between pancakes and French toast. It didn’t matter which one I had, but the two key things that were putting me off them were the blueberries and strawberries that came with them.
I’m a total fusspot here, but I never tried blueberries on their own. And the one time I tried strawberries, I hated their bitter taste.
Why am I making a big deal out of this? I grunted mentally. I can push them away like I always do with foods I don’t like.
So, when Hailey returned to drop off my ordered drinks, I made my food order. “Can I have French toast, please?”
Hailey received the menu from me with another small smile. “Of course.”
For the next fifteen minutes, I went through my phone. I edited photos I had taken the previous day and posted them on my private American Instagram account, then looked up things I could do in my last few hours in Philadelphia. When I decided what to do after breakfast, the breakfast arrived.
“Thank you!” I enthusiastically said to Hailey, who just gave me another parting smile before returning to her work.
The French toast looked amazing. The maple syrup was to the side, ready to be poured all over the food. With powder glittering the food, and even the strawberries and blueberries looked delicious. So much so that when I went to make the automatic move of pushing them to one side –
‘Don’t.’ The bright voice was uncharacteristically quiet, her voice clouded in firmness and maturity. ‘Don’t… give it a try.’
I hesitated. Don’t get me wrong, I’m always up for trying new things, but when it comes to food…
It’s always been a struggle.
‘Think of the tomatoes,’ the bright voice advised, and the first night out with everyone in White Plains came into mind. ‘You don’t like tomatoes on their own, but when they were on that pizza when you went out the other week, it was alright, right?’
On that first night, before all the school drama took place, we had dinner, and I had ordered a pizza. I still remember the panic I felt when I first saw the tomatoes plastered all over the pizza instead of tomato sauce. How I glanced around everyone around me and felt forced to eat it…
And the bright voice was correct; it wasn’t that bad.
I momentarily waited for the responsible voice to come in. But she was so quiet as a mouse that I thought she was metaphorically having a heart attack from hearing the bright voice being so reasonable.
‘And if you don’t like it, you never have to try them or anything else new ever again.’
‘Okay, the heart attack is over.’
I stared at the food a few minutes longer before grasping the knife and fork in both hands and diving into a piece of French toast. Making sure I had one of the cut-up fruits on it.
Taking a bite, the maple syrup first flooded my senses before the French toast and piece of strawberry followed.
“Oh my god!” I exclaimed, mouth still full of food. “This is amazing!” Out of curiosity, I tasted one of the strawberries on its own, and while it wasn’t as bad as I remembered, I still didn’t like it—not on its own, anyway.
I did the same with the blueberries. First, I tasted them with the French toast with maple syrup, then on their own. It was the same result as the strawberry.
Okay, I mentally thought as I dug through the French toast with the fruits. There are foods out there I don’t like on its own… but like mixed in with other foods? Am I some kind of food-mixer…? Is that even a thing?
‘It is now!’ The bright voice returned to her normal volume.
‘Just what we need,’ the responsible voice sighed. ‘For her to get an ego boost.’
***
Once I had fully inhaled my breakfast and drinks, I paid, tipped the restaurant, and made my way to my first location. Following the ever-reliable Google Maps, I made it to Elfreth’s Alley, the nation’s oldest residential street.
Walking down the street, I truly felt transported through time. The brickwork of the buildings, the design of the street, and how it was represented… It really felt like you were back in the old times of America. Coming off the declared independence, celebrating the 4th of July, people making a home here and starting a family, neighbourhood arguments that involved people screaming from their bedroom windows to each other, first and last kisses in the few, dark corners…
Elfreth’s Alley was pulsing with stories. With unspoken whispers. History and wonderment.
It was no wonder why people still lived on this street. What better place to live than somewhere that is so full of heart and spirit?
As I made my way up and down the street, I saw a photographer taking a few photos of the street and buildings, and an idea emerged.
“Ugh,” I began hesitantly to the photographer, Doug. “I’m sorry to bother you, but would you mind taking a photo of me sitting on the steps?”
Doug smiled at me as he lowered his camera. “Of course, pass us your phone.”
Getting my phone onto camera mode, I passed over my phone and shrugged off my backpack, putting it to the side as I sat in front of one of the houses in the street. Doug took a couple of photos of me from two different angles before handing me back over the phone.
“Just call me over again if you’re unhappy with any of them,” Doug said.
“I’m sure they’re perfect,” I assured him. “Thank you so much!”
Doug nodded, and we went our separate ways, with me looking through the photos. Settling on one I loved, I sent it to Zara.
Another add to the neighbourhood stairs.
***