SUN SONG 08: This Heat
Hot tamales, bookstores, and dancing pigeons.
May 22, 2022
Philadelphia, PA
16.54 miles
It’s noon and I’m walking around South Philadelphia in 91º F heat.
Down here, it’s nothing but brick, cement, asphalt and very little trees. I can feel the steam rising from beneath my feet. Down the street is a block party, although very few people are dancing. I can’t blame them. Music blares from a stack of speakers while young children play inside of a bounce house. The other attendees have set up chairs along the sidewalk and dance in their seats beneath the shade cast from the building facades.
Jimmy’s on the corner serves water ice, a kind of classic Philadelphia frozen treat made from water, sugar, and some kind of favoring (usually fruit), and as nice as that sounds, I don’t bother stopping. I’d rather not stand in line. The signage outside advertises cheesesteaks and deep-fried food, which sounds like a surefire way to end up in the emergency room this afternoon.
Instead, I stopped for tamales.
I came across a door, which leads to a set of stairs. There’s another door on the right that leads to an apartment. I can see a makeshift kitchen has been assembled in the living room. Hungry, I stick my head inside, hoping to place an order, but instead I’m met by a little boy and girl dressed in their Sunday best. Big eyed, they stare like a couple of deer in headlights. I’m just as confused as they are, until a man comes out and takes my order. For seven bucks I can get three massive tamales with verde or mole sauce. A fair deal and more than enough food to last me through the afternoon.
I continue down the street while eating my tamales from my hand. Two children splash around in rubbermaid bins, which are filled with water, serving as personal makeshift pools. A flag gently waves in a gentle breeze on the porch of a home and reads, “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” It’s only 1pm here in Philadelphia, but one of those margaritas I had from Blue Corn last night sounds good right about now.
A man sits outside of a deli and wears a big Philadelphia hat. There’s something about him that strikes me, although I cannot explain what it is. He has a blank stare on his face, periodically takes a drag of the cigarette in his hand before making eye contact with me.
May I take your picture?
What? …No.
The exchange is so natural. No further questions asked, he goes back to dragging his cigarette.
I can’t tell you how many times I want to take someone’s picture, but get turned down. I’m of the camp that doesn’t usually take photos of people without their permission, although there are always exceptions. Instead I choose to strike a conversation with someone before asking, but it doesn’t always work in my favor. Even after the most heartwarming conversations, where a certain level of trust has been established between two strangers, I’m still turned down.
There will always, always be those moments which cannot be captured. Sometimes the timing isn’t right or a photograph might feel forced or maybe I’m feeling too shy. A difficult part of this work is accepting that which I cannot control — even outside of photographs. While I’ve just two and a half days around the city, I’ll always have to make tough decisions. Should I have picked this neighborhood or that neighborhood?
Maybe a place doesn’t meet my expectations, or a business I wanted to visit (such as the Mummers Museum), is closed throughout my entire stay, but inside is a lesson. Sometimes the best plan is to see what the streets provide. Even on the most boring walks, something I could have never expected can be found. That is the beauty of walking through all of these cities that I know so little about. I’m setting myself up for the unexpected and giving this work life.
For as little as I had planned today, there was one place on my agenda, although it was on the complete opposite side of town. In North Liberties, is an artist bookshop called Ulises. Years ago they stocked copies of Pedestrian Magazine before it went on hiatus and I’ve been meaning to stop by and introduce myself ever since.
Bookstores mean alot to me, especially those stocking books by artists. I enjoy artbooks because those who make them typically aren’t concerned with producing precious objects (such as a painting or sculpture). Artbooks are easily reproduced and generally accessible. The culture at large understands the book as a form.
So anyways, all that said, it was enough to make me completely turn around and head north—just in time to catch the store before it closed—in the middle of a blazing heat.
I have more than enough sunscreen with me on this trip, and I didn’t hesitate to apply such liberally. As a fair skin person in denial of being a fair skinned person, I’ve neglected to use sunscreen properly in the past. Now I was prepped. I felt unusually energetic, which I credit to the Dunkin’ Donuts cold brew I had before making my way downtown, overly hydrated (I really had to pee), not to mention my toes were holding up fine with little blistering despite nearly 100 miles of walking in the last seven or so days.
On my way to North Liberties, I passed through Philadelphia's largest block party: the South 9th Italian Market Festival, which is its own specific kind of hell on a day like today if you’re not carrying a slight buzz from a cold beer or chomping on an Italian sausage. Don't get me wrong, it looked fun, but I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. When you’ve activated a “Manhattan-style strut” (aka walkin’ real fast) you’ve no time for long lines and huge crowds. I maintained good spirits regardless while weaving in and out of passersby.
I made it to Ulises just before close and found refuge in their air conditioning. Ricky, one of the founders, welcomed me at the door. The shop was closed for some time due to the pandemic, but now they’ve found a permanent home in the Crane Arts Building.
In need of a break, I browsed through the books with my eyes, but it wasn’t until standing still that I realized just how much I was sweating. My entire body was covered and had I not noticed, would have destroyed any book I touched.
In the back is a project space showing artwork, although I didn’t get to spend much time inside, as I didn’t want to keep Ricky any longer. The shop was closed and he’d generously let me stay, even though I was dripping sweat.
From Ulises, I made my way to Temple University. There, I would pivot down Broad Street and head south, racing to beat a thunderstorm which loomed in the distance. The rest of my day was nothing but a series of short vignettes.
In the parking lot of a grocery store, for example, an employee approached me.
Where do you get your inspiration? Do you find it in your everyday surroundings?
He points to my camera. I’m caught off guard. Does this guy know me?
You see, I just stopped watching TV and now I think the world is just so beautiful. Everything is inspiring. I have a certain intuition about you. I can sense your energy. I see you.
Having said so little, I sense this guy could peer into my soul if he really wanted. Had we spoken any longer, he’d likely start rattling off my home address, the name of my brothers, my favorite color, and so forth.
Are you an artist?
Further down the road, waved to two older men sitting in an empty lot sandwiched between two homes. One holds a joint in his hand and the other stares into the street. A massive tree hangs overhead, casting large shadows. A perfect refuge from the sun.
Koo-Koo, Koo-Koo, Koo-Koo
I can hear a noise, but can’t tell where it's coming from. Sensing my confusion, the man with the joint laughs. He is the one making the noise and points.
Koo-Koo, Koo-Koo. You see that bird?
He’s courting a pigeon from across the street. The bird stands on the cornice of an apartment building, moving back and forth like a gymnast on a balancing beam. He turns his head every now and then, as if to taunt the man. They’re in the middle of a dance.
Koo-Koo, Koo-Koo
Downtown now, and a jazz trio plays in the park, but their set abruptly ends at the slightest drop of rain. One minute they were improvising and now they’re frantically packing their instruments. The crowd, sensing the band's urgency, scatters for a nearby shelter, and for good reason. A heavy rain begins to fall.
It’s been so hot and this precipitation is more than welcomed. I’m covered in rain , but my belongings are dry inside of my waterproof backpack. I just keep walking through the rain anyway. Back at my lodging for the night, there’s a collection of wind chimes in the backyard of an adjacent building. The wind produces a soothing melody, which comes and goes as I write this letter. My eyes feel heavy. It’s time for rest.
Just one more day in Philadelphia and then off to Baltimore. Thankfully, I’m not all that sunburnt from today’s jaunt and this incoming rain has brought cooler weather. We’re looking at 79º and sunny tomorrow—the perfect weather for a walk. I have plans to stop at a long standing tea shop, head to the west side, make my way back to South Philadelphia and of course find the best cheesesteak in all the land. Thanks to those who wrote in with suggestions. I’ll reveal my selection tomorrow.
Looking forward,
–Alex
Love the fourth one!