PART ONE: FLYING TO PHILADELPHIA

It was the trip that was almost “the trip that never happened”……the trip to visit Fayez and his wife. Even after having gone there and after arriving back home, it still seems just a little bit surreal.

In the first place, I never expected to receive a serious, credible invitation for the visit. Sorry, Fayez…. There were the occasional little gestures, little hints of an invitation. “Why don’t you come and visit us?” These “invitations” were always abandoned at that stage, however. There was never any sense of insistence….or persistence.

Yeah, I admit, I am pretty much assimilated into the culture of the USA and our way of doing things. Saying, “Why don’t you come for a visit sometime.” or “Stop by the next time you are in town.” or “We should get together again sometime.” are really only our way of being polite. They are part of our “polite culture.” I am not going to say we really do not mean it when we say things like that. But, our culture more or less accepts that we say things like this because it is courteous. It is a form of social nicety….. Sort of like saying, “How are you?” or “How is everything going?” Come on now…. Do we really want an answer? Do we really want a detailed explanation of someone’s health? Of course not. We are just being polite. “How are you?” is almost a figure of speech. Just like, “Stop by sometime when you have time.”

If I…..or almost anybody else….wants somebody to come and visit, even if just for a drink or for lunch, we are going to say something like, “What are you doing tomorrow night?” or “What are you doing next Wednesday night?” or “Do you want to meet for lunch on Thursday?” Something specific or concrete.

Asking to visit somebody in their home is even a little more sensitive….especially if you have never been to their home before. People are busy. It is rarely….if ever….socially acceptable to simply drop in on somebody without their prior knowledge or even their approval. What if they have other guests? What if they have other plans for that night? What if they are going to bed early that night because they have to get up early the next morning? …… Or, What if they simply do not want you to come. Period!

OK…. Now…. Let’s translate that into an overnight visit….or two days……or two weeks. At this point, things start to get serious. I realize that just because I am retired and have more freedom to arrange my time as I want…..this may not…and probably is not….true of most people. I belong to a couple international hospitality organizations. I often welcome people into my home for short periods of time. Strangers….people whom I have never seen before. The vast majority of these visitors….strangers….are very interesting and appreciative people. Sure… I have had my quota of weirdos. But, even they usually appreciate the hospitality. Most of them don’t even realize they are weird! On the other hand, they probably are asking themselves, “Man, who is this weirdo that I am staying with?” At any rate, I always have the option of accepting the guests that I want….when I want…..and for as long as I want.

In that respect, the guests that I accept from the hospitality organizations are not imposing themselves on me. I have advertised for them…. and I have willingly accepted them This is a little bit different from me telling Fayez, “Hey, I am coming to visit you for a couple weeks!”

Thus….. After three or four of the general….generic….invitations, I decided to test his level of sincerity. “OK… When do you want me to come?” This was my way of giving him a way out….a semi-graceful way out, at least. He could have said something like…. “Oh, maybe sometimes when I have some free time.” (Which, translated into Fayez’s language would mean “Never”.) Or he could have said, “I will let you know.” (Which, also translated, means “Never”.)

However, instead of saying either of these things, he immediately started suggesting some possible times. Or maybe it was just one possible time. Nevertheless, a definite, concrete time was agreed upon. I would arrive on Friday, August 13 (certainly an auspicious day in our society) and would depart on Tuesday, August 17.

With those dates decided upon, I waited for a message saying, “Sorry…. Our apartment complex burned to the ground last night so we don’t have a room for you.” Or “We had an earthquake and all the transportation into and out of Philadelphia is suspended indefinitely.” Or “Our apartment complex doesn’t allow visitors from Kansas because they are so vastly superior to the people of New Jersey, and they intimidate us by making us feel inferior.”

Fortunately, none of these possibilities materialized…..and it began to appear that I was headed for New Jersey to visit Fayez and his wife.   They were living in a town called Mt. Laurel, part of Greater Philadelphia.

Most of my friends were happy that I was able to go. They know that I like to travel….and they are aware that it has been a long time since I have been able to go somewhere. The main questions that my friends here in Kansas asked were, “Will his wife be there?” And “Will you get to meet his wife?” And “Will you be able to talk to his wife?”

“I don’t know,” I told them. “Ask me when I get back.”

All I was concerned with was just getting there…..and getting back.

Anyway, getting back to the story….. I delayed buying a ticket. I was not sure that I could actually pull it off…..the trip, I mean. Back in the “old days”…..even ten years ago….. I thought nothing of flying to Germany once a year. In fact, it was an exciting adventure. Usually, however, back then somebody drove me to Kansas City International Airport….delivered me to the front door, so to speak…..and also came and picked me up and drove me back home again. After I retired, I could usually spend three weeks in Germany. Having somebody take me to the airport was more of an economic thing than a “convenience” thing…..considering it costs $7.50 a day to park in the long-term economy parking lot! Remember…. Beryl is poor! On the other hand, I have to admit, it was pretty nice to simply get my suitcase out of the trunk and walk inside.

For about a week, I vacillated back and forth, trying to consider if I wanted to face the stress of traveling by myself. A lot of you know that I have literally traveled around the world….twice! I have about twenty trips to Europe….alone. Not a problem. I didn’t even think twice about it. But… That was back when I was young(er). Back in those days, nothing frightened me. Trips like these were not daunting at all. Also….But…. Back in those days, I was stronger…. I could walk better….see better…..react faster. And, I was probably just a little bit crazy….if you know what I mean.

I wanted very much to make the trip. I was eager to see Fayez again. It was a rather scary commitment. Finally, I decided. What the heck! And, I searched online for a direct flight to….and from….Philadelphia. I figured that if I got lost in the airport or in the wrong terminal or in the wrong parking lot ….or at the wrong airport….. Well, surely somebody would find me and ship me back home. I arranged for the Indian couple who live in the townhouse next to mine to pick up my mail. I told Kelly, our manager, that I would be gone for four nights. I told my friend Jason….and Sam…. Surely, if they didn’t see me around for a couple months, somebody might start checking on my whereabouts…..maybe.

Friday about 10:00 in the morning, I put my suitcase and little carry-on bag in the car and took off for the airport. Unlike the route from Ozawkie, the trip to KC from Topeka is entirely interstate highway. Topeka is slightly further away…..but faster. I arrived at Parking Lot A…..the lot that serves American Airlines….around 11:15….plenty of time to spare, since my flight didn’t depart until 1:50. I drove up and down the rows of cars looking for a space to park. Man…. Was everybody leaving Kansas City for the weekend? There weren’t any available parking spaces. I kept searching.

Finally, I found a parking space at the far end, next to the fence….and what seemed a few miles (but only maybe a long city block) from the bus stop. I was the only person waiting at the bus stop. I was glad. It gave me some time to rest…..and to decide if I wanted to retrace my steps to the car and drive back home! Here came the Blue Bus, the bus that serves Long Term Economy Parking Lot A. I lifted my suitcase….and more importantly, myself….onto the bus and sat down in the nearest available seat. “Which airline?” the driver asked.

“OK… This sounds promising,” I thought. As the driver wound his way around the vast parking area, other passengers got on the bus.

“Oh, NO!” They were all wearing masks! I had gotten on the bus without my mask. I almost panicked. It was too late to go back to the car and get my mask…. We were already well on our way to the terminal. “Maybe I can buy a mask at the terminal,” I thought. Or, if not, I would have no other choice but to get back on a bus….go back to my car and get mine. For the entire trip from the parking lot to Terminal A, I felt that every eye on the bus was focused on me……and they probably were. I felt that I may as well have been naked! Fortunately, as I got ready to step off the bus, some wonderful, beautiful, considerate, compassionate woman suddenly approached me and asked if I needed a mask! I could have kissed her! I could have given her every cent that I have in my savings account! Thank Heavens for kind people!

“Terminal A…. American Airlines!” the driver announced as the bus came to a halt. Everybody climbed down off the bus. I looked around. “What is this? Where is American Airlines?” I asked one of the baggage handlers. He pointed back the other direction. The driver, out of laziness or out of ignorance, had stopped a quarter mile from the American Airlines ticket counter. Another long walk…. Once inside the terminal….and in the general vicinity of the ticket counter, I felt like I was home free… I should have known better. Checking in was no problem. I had taken care of all the details in advance.

“Where is my gate?” I asked the lady who checked me in.

“It’s just down there,” she said pointing the way. And…. She was right. The gate was only a short walk away. However…. The line of people waiting stretched out almost into infinity! I kept walking….and walking…..and walking…. I was almost sure I would end up back in the parking lot! There was ONE security checkpoint for TEN gates.

This was when I started thinking, “Wow, I wish I had fifty thousand dollars so I could just charter a private airplane.” I didn’t…..so, along with the other five thousand people, I inched my way slowly toward the security inspection point. The worst part of this ordeal was the fact that there was nothing to hang onto or to lean against. I briefly considered hanging onto the person in front of me…..but I did not look forward to finding myself in the hospital….or unconscious on the floor…..or in a jail cell. Sometime later….maybe a birthday or two later…..I finally reached the security checkpoint.

Going through security was a breeze. I had already checked my suitcase, and my little under-size kiddie backpack contained only a book, a seat belt extender, and all the papers I had copied with trip information. The sign said, “Passengers 70 and over do not need to remove their shoes.” ….. Just a small benefit of being a very senior citizen. I told one of the inspectors that I had a pacemaker. She directed me to a sort of bubble- shaped contraption, which hopefully did not contain any magnetic waves. Another guard performed a half-hearted “pat down” and waved me through.

Finally….. All I had to do was sit down and wait for time to board the airplane. Fortunately, the TV monitor in the waiting room was tuned to CNN….and not Fox. The USA had just pulled most of our troops out of Afghanistan, so of course, this was the one and only news story being covered….as is usual with most twenty-four hour news channels. At least, I was hearing some “news” and not right-wing, political propaganda….like Fox’s “this is the way we wish it were” news.

Considering the amount of time it took to get from the parking lot to the terminal….and the amount of time I spent in the security check line….it wasn’t very long before we boarded the flight to Philadelphia. Aboard the airplane, I began to relax a bit. The two and a half hour flight went smoothly. While in flight, we were treated to a small bag of pretzels and a tiny paper cup of “the beverage of our choice”. Their combined value was probably somewhere around twenty-five cents! I ate the pretzels as slowly as I could…..attempting to prolong the pleasure of eating the hard, starchy, salty treats. The total elapsed time was probably an astounding fifteen minutes! A young Black woman sat next to me, in the window seat. She never looked at me or spoke a word to me during the entire trip…..except to say, “Excuse me,” when she apparently went to the restroom. So much for conversation to pass the time….

We actually landed in Philadelphia a few minutes before our scheduled arrival time. What a feeling of relief when the airplane touched the runway! “Ahhh…. Now I get to see Fayez,” I thought. I disembarked the airplane. I looked around for the baggage carousels. Not a baggage carousel in sight! Really? Usually, that is the first thing a person encounters after leaving the airplane. Not in Philadelphia. I asked an employee….probably a custodian….where I could pick up my suitcase. She pointed toward a door. “Just follow the signs,” she said. I went through the door. Sure enough. There were signs. “Baggage Claim”….with an arrow pointing the way.

“Oh, OK.” I went through the door. Another sign. “Baggage Claim”. Another arrow. Another door. Another sign. Another arrow. I was starting to become a little nervous. A little apprehensive. I began to wonder if this was some sort of trick! Maybe the people of Philadelphia had a rather strange sense of humor. I was starting to think, “Oh well, if I can’t find my suitcase, maybe I can get Fayez to take me shopping, and I will just buy all new clothes.” After a while, they would surely ship my suitcase back home.

But, finally, in a land far, far away, I opened the magic door. Eureka! Success at last! I had finally located the elusive, mysterious baggage carousels. I had expected to see the carousels rotating round and round….maybe with my suitcase as the last item to be claimed. For some unknown reason, I had arrived before any of the baggage had been unloaded. There were three carousels. Now…. Just figure out which one my flight would be using. There was no indication…. No flight numbers; no nothing. The only solution was to watch all three baggage carousels….just like everybody else.

Shortly after I arrived, the baggage carousels ground into action. Nervously, my eyes began to dart from one carousel to the next. OK…. Here came the very first suitcase. It was a maroon suitcase. It had two pieces of tape on each handle….a piece of pink tape and a piece of yellow tape. I stared at it again…. Could this be my suitcase? The very first one to enter the carousel? Surely not. I have never been lucky! But… It was my suitcase. A miracle. An anomaly! A fluke of nature. I happily grabbed the suitcase and headed toward the public waiting room…..the reception area….to meet Fayez.

But…. Wait a second. I looked around for a sign to point the way to the waiting room. There was no such sign. There were signs pointing to other concourses, to restrooms, to other gates…. But, No Waiting Room. No Public Area. Again, I became just a little panicked. What is this? Some sort of a trap…..a trap to keep passengers from actually entering Philadelphia? Maybe Philadelphia thought they had enough people without admitting a bunch of “foreigners”. “Maybe I should just buy a ticket and fly back home,” I thought. “Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.”

I spotted a rather elderly, friendly looking securing guard sitting in the hallway. “Somebody is meeting me. Where do I go to meet him?”

He pointed to a door that said “Exit”…..logical enough. “Do you have everything you need?” he asked. “When you go through that door, you can’t re-enter.”

Yes….. Now I have found it. Fayez would surely be waiting on the other side of the door. What a relief! I felt myself relaxing….and the tension fleeing my body.

I eagerly opened the door. “What is this? Where am I? What did I just do?” I was not in a waiting room. I was outside! Outside…. with a locked door behind me. I stood for a few minutes just considering the situation…. Contemplating my options.

I decided the best plan was to call Fayez and tell him that I had arrived…..and explain to the best of my ability where I was located. The truth of the matter was…. I had no idea where I was! Literally. I had fully expected to end up in a waiting area…..and Fayez would be standing there, smiling (I hoped), and eager to welcome me to Philadelphia. However, now I was standing outside a locked door wondering where in the heck I was.

I could tell that I was in a loading zone….or a pick-up zone. And, that was about all I knew. I had no sense of directions….. no way to orient myself. I saw a sign that said “American” …..and a gate number. There was a bench almost directly beneath the sign. “OK. This is my best bet…..my only option.” Surely from that information, Fayez will surely find me……someday. Either that, or he will just give up and go back home and pretend like it never happened. And, I would be left homeless, wandering the streets of Philadelphia….sleeping under bridges…..begging for food. Or…. I could just buy a ticket back to Kansas City….and with the help of some therapy and maybe some intense hypnosis, block their entire ordeal from my memory.

Sitting on that hard metal bench, not having a clue where I was, I made a solemn, but firm, promise to myself: Never again was I going to fly in an airplane on a domestic flight.

After several phone conversations with Fayez…..and after maybe forty or forty five minutes, he finally found me, with his trademark smile. I could relax and start my long anticipated visit with Fayez.

PART TWO: FINALLY PHILADELPHIA

Yeah…. Believe me, the metal grated bench I was sitting on was getting uncomfortable. Steel is not the most comfortable surface to sit on, just in case you have never tried it. My back….and other parts of my lower anatomy….were getting sore. I was already somewhat frustrated by the trip. I was pretty sure I was in Philadelphia….and at the airport. Other than that, I really did not have a clue. Fortunately, the outside loading zone was semi-underground, so it was shaded from the unmerciful sun that was beating down that Friday afternoon.

I sat and watched as hundreds of other passengers whipped out their cell phones to consult with others….presumably people who were coming to pick them up. I watched as dozens of cars pulled up to the curb and the waiting passengers were greeted happily… threw their suitcases into the trunks of cars….. and drove off into the heat of the late afternoon. I continued to sit on the metal bench which could have well been discarded from a nearby torture chamber. I was starting to become just a little apprehensive…although never frightened. I thought, “Well, if Fayez hasn’t arrived by sunset, he has probably just given up and gone back home. I can always find my way back into the airport…..and buy a ticket back home.”

Actually, I really didn’t see Fayez when he first pulled up. It had been a year and a half since I had seen his car, and I really wasn’t sure what I was looking for. As for Fayez…. Who can ever forget that face….that ray of sunshine! My eyes were constantly darting back and forth, as I watched the never-ending stream of vehicles, coming and going, stopping to pick passengers and then departing…..only to be instantly replaced by other vehicles with a similar mission. My head felt much like it was automated: Swivel left; swivel right….back and forth. On one of the right-hand swivels, I caught sight of a silver car…a compact car. It did no good to look for a Kansas license plate, which would have been almost positive identification, because Fayez hand long since changed from Kansas plates to Missouri plates to New Jersey plates.

There was no way to mistake the guy who got out of the car, though. It would take more than a year and a half to change that smiling face. Ahhh now…. I became one of those people swinging his suitcase into the back seat (actually Fayez did it) and driving away….leaving behind the hundreds of other passengers still waiting eagerly….or nervously….or desperately…..for their escape from the confusion and disorder of the Philadelphia airport.

It was good to see Fayez again. Nothing really had changed. He was still the Fayez that I knew and remembered. Same sunshine smile; same, but an ever-changing black beard. Good old Fayez. Even the gap of about a year and half seemed to evaporate away. Suddenly, the trip became worth it.

It was getting late in the afternoon when the airplane landed in Philadelphia. And, it was much later when I finally maneuvered all the intricacies of the airport. It was approaching early evening by the time Fayez found me and we actually left the airport. Before driving to the apartment where Fayez and his wife live, Fayez gave me a sort of introductory taste of the city.

Aside from Washington, D. C, of course, and maybe Boston, Philadelphia no doubt contains more of our nation’s history than any other city. If our country has a birth place….or at least a home for its first formative years before it began to stand on its own two feet and begin to take its first few faltering steps, Philadelphia is where it happened. Maybe it didn’t grow up there…..but it at least spent its childhood there.

Before I had left to travel to Philadelphia, I sent Fayez a list of sites that were on my Top Ten list of things to see: Almost all of them dealt with our nation’s early history….aside from a couple art venues. I had never been to Philadelphia prior to this visit. It is pretty well known that Philadelphia had steadily declined in population in the past fifty years. In fact, since 1950 it has lost about 25% of its population…..the number of people having dropped from a little over two million to a present day population of just over one and a half million people. However, the metro area of Philadelphia is home to a teeming excess of six million people. And, that is a lot of people! Philadelphia once was the 3rd largest city in the USA. Now it ranks 6th.

On the limited, introductory tour, I was aware that we saw only the smallest fraction of the city. However, I did immediately recognize some of the major landmarks from the research I had already done….Independence Hall, Philadelphia City Hall, Constitution Hall, the Philadelphia Museum of Art….just to name a few. We drove through a couple university districts, through a large portion of “downtown”….and other places where I had no idea where I was. The drive was entertaining…..but it also gave me an opportunity to orient myself….to get a sense of direction. And, to all of you who were born and raised in the Midwest, you know how important directions are. I never learned right from left until I was in the Army!

One thing struck me as we were driving around….. Philadelphia is a rather pretty city. At least the parts we drive through. It was an enticing prelude or preview of the closer inspection we would make the following day. This short journey also helped to dissipate some of the frustration I had experienced earlier. It helped jolt me out of any feeling of sluggishness or weariness that the flight had induced….and all the accompanying annoyances and irritations it had engendered. If nothing else, riding with Fayez is exciting. Forget that expensive visit to an amusement park. Don’t even consider seeking your thrill with a ride on a roller coaster. You only have to slide into the passenger seat of any vehicle with Fayez as the driver. You can be assured that this experience will test your nervous system to the max! It will be an adventure you will never forget….with equal amounts of danger, thrills, precariousness, and risks. If you were feeling sleepy or drowsy. This is the cure. In fact, it may be several days before you will sleep again! Actually, I kid Fayez a lot about his driving….most of it unjustified!

So…. Now that I have been introduced to Philadelphia…..and now that I am wide awake….our next destination was to the apartment where Fayez and his wife live. It is not in Philadelphia. Their apartment is located in Mt. Laurel, New Jersey….across the state line and across the Delaware River, but still well within the Philadelphia metropolitan area. They live in a large apartment complex called Ramblewood Village. Ramblewood Village is set in a rather idyllic setting of trees and lawns far removed from the noise and confusion of Philadelphia. Although in close proximity to all this noise and confusion….as well as to the amenities and necessities of comfortable living…..their apartment is quiet and serene with green lawns and an abundance of trees.

With Fayez carrying my suitcase and little backpack, I followed him to their apartment. Only about a week before I bought my ticket did he reveal a bit of information that almost ended the trip before it began. Fayez opened the door to their apartment, and before me lay an obstacle which appeared almost as challenging as Mt. Everest…… A flight of stairs. Their apartment was located on the second floor of the apartment building.

Fayez had told me they were moving to another apartment, one which would be more convenient to his job and his wife’s college. He informed me that they had found an apartment which was located on the ground floor….two bedrooms. I don’t know if they did this so I could come and visit them…. It sounded to me to be very gracious, thoughtful. His consideration was very touching. Well…. At any rate, half of this description proved to be true: Their new apartment did indeed have two bedrooms. Back when I was a classroom teacher, 50% was not an enviable score!

One evening, during one of our regular twice-weekly conversations, he somewhat sheepishly….and probably reluctantly…. told me that the apartment they had originally wanted….maybe even been promised….had already been rented to somebody else. Thus, they were forced to rent an apartment on the second floor. Believe me…. This was not good news. Because of a rather advanced state of arthritis in my right knee…..and with a large dose of old age thrown in for good measure…. I find it very difficult to climb anything: mountains, ladders, trees…..and most of all, stairs.

The effect of this bit of unexpected news was rather similar to letting the air out of a balloon. The prospect of having to climb a steep flight of stairs was not part of the scenario that I had anticipated. Anyway…. Fayez unlocked the door to the apartment….and there it was: A stairway of about fifteen steps, disappearing upward into the Heavens above. As has always been true: Life is composed entirely of a series of choices.

At this point, I was staring into the face of two diametrical choices: Should I climb the stairs and face the prospect of falling down fifteen steps to the almost certain possibility of cracking my skull and ending up paralyzed for the remainder of my life with a broken spine? Or should I simply spend the nights sleeping in at the base of the stairs? I could have sat on the steps and read my book at night. Fayez could have brought some food down to me on a paper plate. In all likelihood, we could have carried on a conversation by shouting questions and answers to each other….as long as our voices held out.

With a feeling of great fear and sacrifice, I made the decision to climb the stairs to the apartment. Fayez walked slowly behind me…. To prop me up; to push me along; and to act as a cushion if I should fall. Actually, I climbed the stairs at least once a day. There was a strong, sturdy railing that I could hang on to. And…. The good news: I managed to live to write about the experience. Anyway…. As Fayez has always told me, “You’ve already lived long enough!”

As we were driving toward Fayez’s apartment, I was also wondering about some of the same questions people asked me before I made the trip: Would Fayez’s wife actually be there? Would she speak to me? Would she stay in the same room where I was….or would she avoid me? Would Fayez let me talk to her?

Fayez’s wife’s name is Maya. Well… That is not her real name, but it is what we agreed I could….and would….call her. I really do not know her given name. It is one of those names that people of the Western world….like me, for example…..are not supposed to be able to pronounce. But… It does start with the letter “M”. And, Maya is a name that I can pronounce….and she can pronounce. It is a name that I like….and that she likes. So…. To me, her name is Maya.

After I valiantly conquered the stairs, and having regained my ability to breathe and to talk again…. Fayez introduced me to his wife.

I was pleasantly surprised….not “surprised”!….but, you know what I mean. She is a lovely, pleasant, intelligent and articulate young lady. From the minute I met her, I knew that I would enjoy the my time with them…..and there would be no problems….cultural or otherwise. Knowing this, I immediately felt that I could just relax and have a good time.

Fayez gave me a brief tour of their apartment and then left me in what was to become “my room” for the next four nights. There really wasn’t much to unpack. The most immediate things I needed were the little “tablet” that AT&T gave me as some sort of reward when Sultan and I stopped in Reno, Nevada, to ask a question about my Internet service….and the book I had brought with me, my medicine…..and my glasses. The glasses were no doubt the most important of these items. There was really no need to unpack any clothing. I would be living out of my suitcase for the next three days.

My room looked out upon the “front yard” of the apartment complex…not that I had an opportunity to sit and look out. In comparison to my townhouse, which looks out on a parking area, the view from their apartment was green lawns and trees. Unlike my townhouse, which is usually busy with children playing noisily and enthusiastically in front of their homes, the scene outside their apartment was relatively quiet and serene.

There was not a lot of time to contemplate the setting or the scenery, though. It was approaching dinner time by the time we arrived at the apartment. It was only a few minutes later that Fayez announced that dinner was ready. Fayez had already told me that Maya is a great cook….and that I would be treated to come delicious food that she would prepare. He was correct.

That evening, Maya had prepared what I had long recognized as a typical Arab meal…..lamb, accompanied by rice and vegetables, plus a super-delicious salad. My taste buds were delighted. She also served some sort of beverage, similar….but not identical to….butter milk. It, too, was delicious in its own peculiar way. I was hungry, too. Other than a bowl of raisin bran that I had eaten at home early in the morning, the only other food that I had was a little bag of pretzels which was served on the airplane. I am sure that I ate my share of the food…..more than my share. It had been several months since I had tasted Arab food…..but neither my taste buds nor my stomach had forgotten. By the end of the meal, I had already ranked Maya’s culinary talents as equal to or even surpassing the extraordinary gastronomical talents of Fayez and Sultan. In any event, it certainly beat the little bag of pretzels I ate on the airplane.

 

 

 

The first evening we just sat around and talked. I was assigned to a desk chair….mostly because it was the easiest to get out of. Finally, it was time to call it a day. My bedroom was functional: a desk, a chair, and a bed with a surprisingly good mattress. The only problem that occurred…..and would continue to occur throughout my visit…..was that the blinds which covered the window got caught on something and would not close fully. I tried to “unstick” them, I only succeeded in knocking some stuff off the desk in the process. I gave up. “What the heck!” I thought. “If people want to stand and watch me undress…. Who am I to deprive them of their entertainment? The show would be well worth their time!”

After an unexpected good night’s sleep, I woke up around 8:00, fully expecting that Fayez had already been up for an hour…..and that I was delaying breakfast. There was no light shining under my door, and the apartment was silent. Finally, around 8:45 or 8:50, I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. One problem…. The door to the shower was locked. No big deal. I have read in several sources that Americans take too many showers….that taking a shower every day is not necessary. I washed my face, brushed my teeth and went back to my room to check my email and Facebook page.

After a leisurely breakfast of cereal, Fayez and I left the apartment around 10:30 or so for a day of sightseeing. Maya was spending the day with some friends. Back in the planning stages of the trip, I made a list of several places that I really wanted to see. Fayez readily agreed with my choices. A few of the places were merely “photo ops”, places that I figured would take 5 or 10 minutes at the most. Other places, such as the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Constitution Center would take longer. Actually, I was concerned that maybe we were going to end up with a lot of free time on our hands at the end of the afternoon.

Philadelphia is one of the birthplaces of our nation…..if something can have more than one birthplace….ranking with equal importance with Boston and Washington…..and maybe New York City, if we want to stretch the point. The Declaration of Independence was drafted; the First and Second Continental Congresses met; our Constitution was signed. These are all cornerstones of our nation. Also consider, Pennsylvania was the foundation of true religious freedom in the USA…..not to mention that the very first Presbyterian Church (to which I belong!) was established in Philadelphia.

Free time was the least of our problems. In fact, there was no time to spare. This was my first visit to Philadelphia. There were many elements and circumstances that I had failed to factor into my advance planning…..all of them purely out of ignorance…..and innocence, I might add. First of all, we started our day a little later than I had anticipated. Also, I was not familiar with the length of time it took to drive from Fayez’s apartment to downtown Philadelphia….nor the effect the traffic would have on our trip…..nor the time it would take to locate each venue….nor the difficulty we would face in finding a place to park…..nor the time we would stand in line at some of the sites we visited.

The first attraction we visited was the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Fayez and I went to see the superior collection of art. Many…..probably most….people go there because it is the “Rocky” museum. I doubt if the vast majority of people ever go inside the building. The Philadelphia Museum of Art is the location of the iconic set of stairs where the fictitious underdog boxer trained in the movie of the same name. The movie, “Rocky” was released in 1976 and proved to be wildly popular….so popular that it developed into a series of films….all of which were greeted with poor critical reviews, but to wide acceptance from the movie-going public, who do not demand a lot of quality in their movie choices. I too admit, however, that I saw the original “Rocky” movie, although it was years later that I learned that the iconic setting for the famous staircase scenes were filmed at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Those people who made a trip to this museum only to run up the stairs or to have their picture taken with the since famous “Rocky” statue, deprived themselves of a visual and important artistic treat. While the Philadelphia Art Museum may not be quite on the same level as some of the art museums in New York City and Washington, D. C., it contains some of the most famous and rare works of art, and it is recognized as one of the major art repositories in the USA …..no doubt about that.

As much as I would have liked to, entering the museum by the iconic front steps was not an option for me. We drove around to the “back” entrance, instead. I got out of the car to wait while Fayez went in search of another rare commodity: a parking space. The “back” of the museum is almost equally as impressive as the front entrance….minus the long flight of stairs. Not quite….but not too shabby. While I was waiting for Fayez to return, I took a few pictures, and then sat on even another uncomfortable bench. There is something about those metal benches in Philadelphia. I am not sure if they are built to accommodate or strengthen….or agitate a person’s back…..and even lower parts of the anatomy. Given the choice of standing or sitting, however….. I chose to sit. Fayez soon appeared, thirty-five dollars poorer. That was the fee to park in the museum parking lot. I am not sure…..but I think this may have been more than the price of an individual ticket to the museum. But, I suppose they had to keep their priorities straight: Money before art. With these preliminary steps accomplished, we put on our masks and prepared to feast our eyes on the beauty and elegance of some world-renowned art.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Philadelphia Art Museum is huge, rivaling the size of major art museums I visited in Berlin, Paris or Vienna. I can well imagine that several football games could have been played simultaneously…..or shall we say soccer, in deference to Fayez….within its walls. The building covered four floors, not including the basement level.

The museum would be impossible to adequately cover in one day. There were too many things to see. We had to prioritize our time. This was only the first of what we hoped would be several attractions we would see that day. Fayez’s first choice was to see older European masterpieces. I was most interested in looking at contemporary or abstract art, along with work by the more recent European and American artists. Fortunately, both of our preferences were adequately represented.

 

 

 

 

I will admit, however, that there was a distinct lack of contemporary and abstract paintings. This is probably because a couple other art galleries or museums are devoted exclusively to this genre of art. Both of these venues were included on my list of places I hoped we could visit.

 

 

 

 

Fayez likes the older European masterpieces.  While I  don’t “dislike” them, I do find them to be too dark….too foreboding….too depressing….for my personal taste. I simply do not relate to them. I lived the first ten years or so of my life without electricity, without running water, without natural gas, without a telephone…. And, I lived on a farm…. I prefer “modern”. I like living today. Living in the Medieval period of European history has never been on my Top Ten List of things to do. Even the peaceful, idyllic, pastoral scenes look spooky and threatening…..like something out of a Gothic murder novel. To me they seem to foreshadow all manner of evil and intrigue. Of course, this is certainly not their intention. But, still, these are the feelings they conjure up in me!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We didn’t have to worry. Happily, here were enough paintings to satisfy both our preferences. More than enough. If we had stopped and admired and contemplated and discussed each picture…. Chances are, we would still be there walking through the myriad of rooms and hallways, admiring the paintings and saying, “Oh, that’s a nice one!”

I never bothered to keep track of the number of paintings by each artist. In the vast collection, many world renowned artists were represented, however: Monet, Renoir, Rembrandt, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Picasso, Kandinsky, Chagall, Matisse, Rubens, and…and….and…. Paintings ranged from the subtle impressionism of Claude Monet, with his skillfully blended dabs of paint and genius illusions of light….to the strange and slightly weird works by Marc Chagall with his trademark little goats and other strange objects floating in the air and in other unexpected places….to the definitely eccentric and slightly unnatural paintings of Pablo Picasso. If I didn’t know any better (and I don’t), I would assume that Picasso was definitely smoking something illegal as he sat before his easel. Either that, or he most certainly needed a new pair of glasses.

 

 

 

Maybe the biggest disappointment for me was the apparent absence of paintings by American artist Jackson Pollack. The originality of Pollack’s “splattering” painting was what first attracted me to modern or abstract art way back when I was still a kid. There could have been a painting somewhere in the museum, and, if so, in our cursory inspection we overlooked it. We were, however, treated to works of other American artists such as Edward Hopper, Andy Warhol, Andrew Wyeth and Thomas Eakins.

Let’s talk about those early European paintings that Fayez wanted to see. Sure…. As I said, many of them are dark and foreboding….suggesting that evil is lurking somewhere in the shadows. However, on the other hand, this was the period of history three or four centuries before the invention of the camera. Today, if we want a picture of something or somebody, it is as simple as the click of a camera. And, perhaps unfortunately, with a camera “What you see is what you get!” A camera only records what is there. The camera can’t tell pretty from ugly…..but an artist can.

Centuries ago when the paintings hanging in the Philadelphia Museum of Art were painted, the one and only way of recording and preserving what a person looked like was to paint a picture. With today’s modern and instant photography, a person can have dozens of pictures to chose from. And, if everybody is like me…. They are going to choose the most flattering picture. Probably the same with you, too? Right? Well….back in “those days”, I can well imagine that if a person was going to pay out a rather large sum of money to have a portrait painted….a portrait of himself, his wife (or lover) or even his family…..he wanted that portrait to present the person to the very best advantage and in the very best visual appearance possible. Heck…. I would expect that if somebody painted a portrait of me today!

It has been suggested….even confirmed in most cases…..that the portraits we see hanging in art museums undoubtedly present the subject in the very best manner possible. Maybe that is not so different from modern day photo-editing techniques that are designed to accomplish the same objective! However, in the case of painting a portrait, the editing is done during the present….in the process….and not after the fact. Also, remember…. Only the affluent people….OK….the rich people….could afford to have portraits painted. And… Are rich people vain? I wouldn’t know. I have never had the opportunity to find out.

And, what about all those nude women? And, we think we have a fascination with nude women today? Nowadays, of course, the pictures of nude women are mostly photographs….mostly sexual in nature…..some unenlightened people would even call it pornography. And, of course, some of it….a lot of it….is. Stop and think. How many times have you driven down a public highway and have seen several nude women romping around? When was the last time you visited your local park only to find it overrun with naked women? Or, on that last stroll you took through the woods on our favorite walking trail? Was it abounding with girls completely without clothing?

Wouldn’t that be nice? Probably more people would visit their local park….and more people….men, at least….would take up hiking as a hobby. Even as a college history major, I am not sure how realistic these paintings are. Was this a normal part of social behavior back in those times? Were these people just not as prudish as some members of our society are today? Were these paintings somewhat realistic…..or were they a figment of the artist’s (wishful thinking) imagination? Who knows? Who cares? And, incidentally, I am almost sure were an equal number of nude males hanging through the museum.

At any rate, the Philadelphia Museum of Art has a generous number of nude paintings by highly acclaimed artists such as Goya, Matisse, Duchamp, and Manet. Even Picasso got into the act by painting his share of nudes…..although at first glance, a person may not have been aware of it. Unless you are also under the influence of whatever he was smoking at the time.

I had to fight to drag Fayez away from the nude pictures…..but, we had other places to visit. We had done a quick, but interesting and entertaining, walk-through of the museum. It was time to move on to other equally famous….and even more historical…..venues. There were a lot more things waiting for us out there in Philadelphia-land.

Back in Fayez’s car, we turned our attention from art to history. As pointed out earlier, Philadelphia is one of the most important cities in the history of our nation. I won’t go into any illusions or analogies now…. But, let’s say that Philadelphia was no doubt the “birthplace” of our nation…..and Boston, New York City, Concord and such places were…well, you know….what happens before birth can take place.

I had a list of historical sites that I wanted to visit. However, I had grossly misjudged a couple factors: We got a late start; the Philadelphia Museum of Art took longer than was planned (although I should have known that was going to happen); fighting Saturday traffic slowed us down significantly; and finding a parking space in downtown Philadelphia was a major problem.

It was already well into the afternoon when Fayez parked his car in a parking space about a block from the Liberty Bell. Finding the parking space was itself a major stroke of luck….almost like a Divine gift or reward. And…. parking on the street is a major bargain as compared to the excessive prices required by parking lots.

From the time that I was just a little boy, the story and legends and myths surrounding the Liberty Bell have been told and retold. It is one of those symbols of our liberty….of our freedom. As school kids, I am almost certain that we were fed a series of myths….the kind of story that kids are often told because it is easy for them to understand. As Kris Kristofferson would say, “Partly truth and partly fiction.” But, it is generally accepted that the Liberty Bell once hung in what is now known as Independence Hall and was used to call law makers to meetings. The bell cracked on its first use. It was recast….cracked again some years later. Its failed state of repair is what is on display today.

For some reason, I had always imagined that the Liberty Bell was on display out in the open…. in some historic park….properly sheltered and closely guarded, of course. The pictures that I have seen always show the Liberty Bell with buildings….Independence Hall, for example…..in the background. People were always gathered around it, admiring it, taking pictures….all the things a person does when viewing a famous monument. I can imagine that a vast majority of people who have not seen it in person have the same vision in their mind

It is a pity to shatter such patriotic illusions…..especially for my right wing Republican friends who know the Liberty Bell is important, but haven’t the vaguest idea what it is or what it stands for (like almost everything else in their life!) I was surprised and a little disappointed myself. The first day I was in Philadelphia….the day that Fayez was driving me around the downtown area, giving me an introductory tour…..I kept looking for a small, glass-wall pavilion with people crowded around. That, I had assumed, would be the Liberty Bell. Of course, I saw no such place…..because no such place existed.

Even on this sunny Saturday afternoon, I still visualizing the same misconception as we were searching for the famous landmark. We knew we were in very close proximity when we saw buildings with names such as National Constitution Center, Independence Visitor’s Center. This was about the time that Fayez spotted our much coveted parking spot. He slammed on the brakes and immediately backed into the parking space. Fayez asked a vendor on the corner where the Liberty Bell was located. He pointed to the park across the street. Good luck….and maybe good fate…was on our side. We had found the right place…..and only a short distance away, too…..and parking on the street cost only a fraction of what Fayez had paid at the art museum.

As we approached the large public space, we immediately spotted Independence Hall across the street from the park, maybe a block away. But….. The Liberty Bell? There was no glass-wall pavilion surrounded by happy, emotional citizens! No…. It became apparent that it was somewhat more complicated than that. There was another ubiquitous line to stand in. So…. Again, we took our place at the end of another long line. Sometimes it seemed that Fayez and I spent more time standing lines than we did looking at whatever attraction it happened to be.

Instead of being out in the open, as I had visualized it, the Liberty Bell was located in yet another building….a museum, I suppose one could call it. There were four steps involved in the process of viewing the Liberty Bell: (1) Stand in a long line and inch our way forward. (2) Enter the museum with lots of exhibits which nobody seemed to be interested in. (3) Locate the Liberty Bell, which was at the very end of the long museum and (4) Stand briefly….very briefly…..in front of it and have our picture taken….and there was also a fifth step, I suppose: Leave the museum by another door and wonder if it was worth the effort.

Of course it was. At least, for any person seeing the Liberty Bell for the first time. There it was: Just a rather plain-looking bell with a crack in it. This in no way detracted or subtracted from its historical significance. We had just seen….and had our pictures taken standing in front of…. the bell which was made and first used before the Declaration of Independence was signed. That, in itself was rather special. We had experienced an icon of United States history. And, it was one of the very few attractions that was absolutely free….except for the time we stood in line to see it.

While standing in line to enter the museum which housed the Liberty Bell, a recorded message which played over and over, continuously, gave instructions on what to do when we entered the building: Most important of which was Always Keep Your Mask On, Even While Taking Pictures. One of the workers or museum attendants also walked up and down the line at intervals giving the same verbal instructions: Always Keep Your Mask On, Even While Taking Pictures! I don’t know…. I had no problem understanding those simple instructions. He spoke reasonably distinctly….pronounced his words clearly….didn’t stutter. Amazingly enough, however, once people positioned themselves in front of the Liberty Bell to have their picture taken…. What was the first thigh they did? Yes…. You guessed it. They took off their mask! Of course, the security guard immediately told them, “Put your mask on!” If the security guard is being paid for the number of times he repeated that command or warning…. He is probably a rich man! Let me quickly assure you: Both Fayez and I kept our masks on. We certainly cannot be counted in the legions of idiots who somehow apparently thought the warning did not apply to them. And, of course, Fayez looks much better when he is wearing a mask!

 

 

 

 

After Fayez and I each had our pictures taken in front of the Liberty Bell, there wasn’t anything else to do except leave. Mission accomplished. Maybe an hour of standing in line. Maybe five minutes….and that is being generous….in front of the Liberty Bell….and it was all over. We walked through the door…..and we were outside again.

While we were standing in line, we had ample time and opportunity to take pictures of Independence Hall. It was right across the street from the Liberty Bell. Those were straight-on camera shots, probably the most common and familiar of the pictures we see in the travel brochures. From outside the “back door” of the Liberty Bell Museum we were able to take photos of Independence Hall from a different angle. No matter which angle a picture is taken from, it is virtually impossible to capture it without city skyscrapers in the background. It is easy to forget that famous buildings such as this….buildings that once stood in undeveloped isolation….are now merely a part of the city landscape. They sometimes stand out starkly in contrast to our modern day buildings. This is true of many iconic buildings. For example, The Alamo is almost always photographed close up to hide the fact that it is also located in downtown San Antonio, surrounded by the same sort of modern high rise buildings. Even when Fayez and I visited Niagara Falls, I was somewhat amazed to find that while wild and spectacular, the falls is also surrounded by a maze of hotels, high rise apartments and commercial buildings. The old contrasting with the new…..

Time was starting to get away from us by the time Fayez retrieved his car and picked me up. Fayez again drove past Philadelphia’s famous city hall, which I think I already mentioned is the largest municipal building in the USA, encompassing almost an entire city block.

As we continued to drive, by some stroke of good fortune, we spotted the famous Philadelphia “Love Sculpture”. It was one of the attractions I had written on my list of things to see, but since it has little historical significance, it was toward the end of the list. But…. There it was! It was much smaller than I had envisioned from the pictures of it on the Internet. The fact that it was not physically imposing did not keep people from crowding around it to have their pictures taken…..a lot of them, no doubt, couples or lovers who had come to Philadelphia to see it without any thought or knowledge of the city’s great historical importance. Everybody is interested in his own thing, I suppose.

Fayez was getting tired. I could tell…. I was tired, too. But, I am accustomed to being tired….to hurting…. I could have pushed on…. It is what I always have to do. Just try to keep going…. But, he was right. We had been on our feet since 11:30, and the time was now approaching the 5:00 hour. It was time to take it easy for a while. Fayez suggested we find a place to stop for a drink…..a suggestion with which I fully concurred. After driving around a bit, Fayez muttered, “Wa-Wa”, a couple times. I wasn’t sure if he was singing a nursery rhyme….or saying something in Arabic, which he often does, maybe unconsciously. I had not heard the term before….except maybe when somebody was talking to a baby. He turned a corner, and pulled the car to a stop.
“Let’s go to “Wa-Wa’s,” he said. I was starting to think that maybe he had indeed over-exerted himself or maybe the sun was starting to affect his speech. Neither of these was the case….at least, I don’t think so. “Wa-Wa’s” is the name of a locally or regionally owned convenience store…..maybe something like Casey’s or Kwik-Shop here in Kansas. While I sat down at one of the outside tables, Fayez went inside and ordered each of us a cold drink and a muffin. I sat watching the people and the traffic. Although we were on the fringes of downtown Philadelphia, we were close enough to have a good view of the impressive city skyline. We finished our drinks and left before it dawned on me that I never took a picture of the little store that I had never heard of….the store with the amusing, unlikely name.

Before I departed on the trip, one of my friends had asked me to take a picture of the home stadium of the Philadelphia Eagles, one of his favorite professional football teams…..They are a team that I view with total indifference….unless they are play either the Kansas City Chiefs or the Denver Broncos….and then I am definitely cheering for the Chiefs or the Broncos! I agreed to take the picture if the opportunity arose. More or less refreshed by our short time out at “Wa-Wa’s”, we set off to take pictures of the final tourist destination of the day. We had driven past the stadium at least a couple time previously, since it is located just off I-95, which apparently is the highway Fayez takes each day as he drives into the city for his job. As is true with many cities with multiple professional teams, the home of all three of Philadelphia’s major professional sports teams….the 76’ers basketball team, the Phillies baseball team, the Eagles football team….. are all located adjacent to each other and share a common parking area.

Upon arriving at the stadium….Lincoln Financial Field….we discovered there was a Phillies game that evening, and there was a fee to enter the parking lot. Not wanting to pay another parking fee, especially just to take a picture, we opted to take a few pictures of the stadium from the street and other assorted nearby temporary parking locations. Personally, none of these professional sports teams excite or interest me. They are an important part of Philadelphia….and they….at least, the Eagles football team…..are important to my friend, Jason.

Our sightseeing in Philadelphia basically had come to an end. We had visited or seen five of the attractions on the list I had sent to Fayez prior to the trip. Five out of maybe twelve or fifteen sites….. That really is not so bad. The day would have to be placed in the “Win” column, to put it in sports language. First-time visits are usually interesting, and instructive and enlightening. As I was searching the Internet for things to do in Philadelphia, my fear was not finding enough worthwhile places to visit….that we would go through the list too quickly and be left with a lot of idle, unfilled time on our hands.

 

 

 

 

 

Although I should have known better, I neglected to consider such factors as heavy traffic and the endless lines. Sites which I had thought to be only quick photo ops, turned out to be major time consuming events….such as the Liberty Bell. I have spent time in several major cities and have faced the same problems and situations. How quickly I forget such circumstances. New city….new expectations…new excitement, but old results, old outcomes. Any rational person….(Is that I?)… should expect that a day in Philadelphia is only the beginning of discovering all it has to offer…..sort of like the preface to a book. The fact that I arrived on a weekend…..in the middle of August….did not work to our advantage, either. But…. If I had seen it all….done it all: There would be no need to return to continue the adventure at another time.

After finding and photographing the Philadelphia professional sports complex, Fayez said that we were going to eat in the best pizza place in the city. Well….OK….a bit of hyperbole, but I was looking forward to sampling what it had to offer. We made our way back to the center city in search of the pizza parlor. Again….just like our good fortune at the Liberty Bell….a parking space opened up directly across the street from our destination. We must have been doing something right that day.

Pizzeria Ventri is a quaint Italian-style little restaurant. Customers are seated at long communal tables instead of more traditional booths. The restaurant was doing a brisk business, but Fayez and I were able to find a mostly unoccupied table that offered a degree of privacy. The friendly waitress bought our menus and left us to consider what we would order. I was rather astonished and puzzled that this was apparently not as “Italian” as I had suspected. The menu was extensive, and they offered a wide variety of pizzas. On this lengthy menu was a myriad of Italian food, including a long list of pizza. Only one of these pizzas….only one….. contained meat. And, as our luck would have it….. That single meat was pepperoni. A pork product!

 

 

 

 

As I said, I was mildly amazed and bewildered at this situation. Italians are famous meat eaters. Is there such a thing as a vegetarian Italian? Surely, there had to be other, unlisted choices. The waitress assured us that the menu was correct: What you see is what you get! Fayez seemed to be content to order a spinach pizza. Not I. Even though I am not a big fan of pepperoni….I prefer beef….I ordered it as a last resort. And, Yes… The food was good. Our hunger was satisfied. We enjoyed our meals. All is well that ends well….. But, authentic Italian pizza with no meat?

We spent the second evening sitting on their cozy balcony, relaxing, talking and enjoying the beauty and solitude of the little forest that grows behind their apartment.

 

 

 

 

PART 3: BORDERS AND THE BEACH

After another surprisingly good night’s sleep, I woke semi-refreshed on Sunday morning. And, Fayez had remembered to unlock the door to the shower, which sort of helped kick start the morning. I awoke around 8:00….rather early for me. Again, I was the first person awake, so I messed around in my room, checking email, checking Facebook….doing all the important things without which we cannot possibly live a normal, fulfilling life….while I waited for the morning to come alive.

The three of us ate breakfast together….something delicious, but which escapes my memory at the present time. While eating, we set our goals for the day and devised a plan to achieve them. The only remaining desire….or goal….that I had was to have a picture taken of me in front of three state border signs…..Connecticut, Delaware and Maryland. Well, of course, that is besides visiting with Fayez and Maya!

“Sightseeing”, as such, had ended with the sites we had seen in Philadelphia the previous day. It was a productive day, especially considering all the unforeseen and uncontrollable factors and circumstances that I did not have enough knowledge or experience to consider. Fayez had mentioned the possibility of taking a bus tour of Philadelphia, much like the one we had taken in New York City a few years previously. This was an option, although we never really gave it much serious consideration. On a tour such as this, we would have seen many more “attractions”….but only from the outside. At best, it would have been a very superficial event.

Fayez and I opted to take our chances and see whatever we could on our own. Yes, it is true that we we only able to explore two venues with any degree of thoroughness….the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Liberty Bell. There were also the brief encounter with Independence Hall, the quick, but adequate look at the Philadelphia sports complex and a fleeting view of Love Sculpture….but those were sufficient. Oh yes…. Let’s not forget Wa-Wa’s.

So….. Sightseeing was over. It was a new day. We were in pursuit of the two elusive state signs that we neglected to stop for during the previous trip. Although the matter was somewhat out of my control back in those days…..it does highlight an important point. Always take advantage of an opportunity when it arises. Believe me… It is so much easier….and less time consuming…..and less expensive….and less frustrating.

My philosophy of taking a trip….one by automobile…..is to enjoy it! Learn from it! Absorb it! Rejoice in the moment! Take it all in. Get lost in it… Make memories…. Why would a person even consider paying a large sum of money…..rental car, hotel rooms, food, campgrounds…..and then simply to get into a car and drive? If I wanted to do that, I can drive around Topeka for a couple weeks without stopping. To me, it makes no sense. Unless a person has a truly photographic memory….and maybe some rather strange and weird people do….the only way to capture these memories is to take pictures…..the more, the better.

Personally, I do not have anything that can be even remotely described as a photographic memory. But, I do have a camera….a digital camera. And, I can take almost an unlimited number of pictures…..of anything…..of everything. And, given this opportunity, why wouldn’t I? Why am I a thousand miles from home….driving through towering mountains or magnificent green forests or an enchanting, breathing beach. Surely I am not here just to keep my eyes on the never-ending ribbon of asphalt highway.

Anyway….. My suggestion…..goal…..for the day was to re-find and take pictures of the state signs we had neglected earlier. Today it would be Maryland and Delaware. For Fayez…. It was a trip to the beach.

The borders or state lines were not so far away, an easy drive from Fayez’s apartment. Fayez had located border crossings on state highways where we could easily and safely stop and take pictures of the state signs. Armed with Fayez’s calculations, we set off for the adventures of the day. I have no idea where we were….somewhere in New Jersey heading toward the Delaware border.

Actually, there was not a lot of see. The scenery was pretty. It was pleasant. There was more farm land than I had remembered seeing the last time I was there. The countryside we drove through looked much like eastern Kansas….maybe a few more trees, because the eastern part of the USA tends to get more rainfall than the Midwest. Overall, however, there were few, if any, authentic photo-ops along the way. Even I, who has been accused of taking too many picture, saw nothing that was really worthy of a photo. The journey did give us the time and opportunity to visit, which in itself, made the trip worthwhile….second only to talking the picture. The truth is…. I didn’t care where we were going just so long as there was a sign saying, “Welcome to Delaware” waiting for us somewhere along the way.

Our efforts were rewarded. After a while, maybe an hour later, we did indeed come upon such a sign….in New Castle County, according to the sign, if that means anything. Fayez pulled his car over on the shoulder, and we proceeded to take the long-anticipated pictures of the Delaware state sign. With that mission accomplished, we got back into the car and moved toward our next objective…..the Maryland border sign. One down….one to go.

 

 

 

 

Having successfully taken an appropriate number of pictures of the Delaware state sign, we turned our attention to Maryland, a state named after Queen Mary of England, as the song title goes. All of the details of where it was located and how to best get there were left to the capable judgment of Fayez, who was not only the official driver, but also the official navigator with is ubiquitous GPS device. Again, I have no idea of how we got there. In fact, I really don’t care. All I was interested in was getting a picture of the Maryland state sign….with me standing firmly in front of it. After perhaps another hour of driving through some very similar rural environment, our target was in sight. Again, Fayez pulled his vehicle to a graceful stop; we all got out of the car; we took the usual combination of pictures: The state sign alone, by itself; a few pictures of Fayez in front of the sign; a couple pictures of him and Maya……and most important, some pictures of me.

 

 

 

To some people, it might sounds rather frivolous to do so much driving in order to snap a few pictures of a state border sign…..maybe just a bit like “cheating”. As I may have pointed out previously, it was not simply a matter of driving to a state border, stepping over an imaginary line, taking a couple pictures and then leaving black marks on the highway on our way to the next state. Not at all…. We had driven through both of these states….from one end of the state to the other….on a previous trip, but had never stopped to take the pictures. So…. Make no mistake. We had already thoroughly visited these states.

With the snapping of the final picture of the Maryland sign, my objectives for the day had been achieved. From that point on, it was Fayez’s ball game, so to speak. Fayez wanted to go to the beach….so that is where we headed. Again, I had no idea where we were or where we were headed, although I assumed it was in an easterly direction, since being a former geography teacher, I was vaguely aware that the Atlantic Ocean forms the eastern border of the USA!

Again we drove through some pleasant idyllic rural countryside. Green trees, green fields of whatever it was they grow there, an occasional meandering stream…..some quaint small villages or towns along the way. This, as I recalled from earlier visits, was typical New England landscape. As we drove along, we had the opportunity to visit….just talk about anything that entered our minds. It was a satisfying few hours….a refreshing break from the constant and perpetual traffic from the previous day.

Our final destination was Wildwood Beach….in Wildwood, New Jersey. The drive to the beach was not much different from the other two destinations. It was another hour’s drive through more flat countryside….more lush green trees…..more verdant fields of crops….more towns and villages. As before, the landscape was pleasing, if not exciting. There was not a lot to see, not any reason to stop and take pictures….but for me, at least, it was something new…..a change….a different “feeling” than driving in Kansas, even if it was not more exciting. The conversation with Fayez and Maya continued to be engaging and satisfying, which in reality, was the reason I made the trip.

The closer we got to the town of Wildwood…..and the beach….the heavier and denser the traffic became. Fayez was maneuvering the car through the ever-increasing traffic in his usual “thrill-ride” fashion. When I ride with Fayez, there is never any reason to waste money on a roller-coaster or other carnival ride. His driving is far more breathtaking than any amusement park ride could ever be. Somewhere behind us we heard the distinct sound of two automobiles crashing into each other. Thank Heaven it wasn’t us. We kept on driving. Within almost a matter of a few second, policemen were speeding toward the accident. Nothing serious. A fender-bender…..the result of inattentive driving. She was probably texting or talking on her cell phone. Fayez kept pushing on toward our destination…..The Beach.

As we approached our destination…..the Wildwood Beach….traffic was chaotic. Wildwood Beach is not just a beach. It is a conglomeration of tourists shops, cafes, motels….and an amusement park. It was apparently a major social destination….a hang-out….an authentic tourist trap. There appeared to be something for everybody, whether one wanted to buy something, eat something or see something.

Picture the scene: It is a sunny Sunday afternoon. Hardly a cloud in the sky. The sidewalks were hustling with people. People picking their way through cheap….but not inexpensive…. souvenir shops, people eating the expensive food either at outdoor tables or walking down the sidewalk, peering into shop windows, people lounging on the sidewalks talking and laughing. Cars clogging the much too narrow street. Fayez, Maya nor myself were interested in any of the gaudy enticements. We had come to see The Beach!

Yet another parking lot…another parking fee. We found a parking space….not very near the boardwalk to the beach, but, on the other hand, not the most distant one. Maybe we were lucky to even have found a parking space. In a teeming mass of humanity like this, Beggars can’t be choosers, as they say. We got out of the car. Fayez started unpacking the trunk. Three folding chair and an umbrella. I offered to carry my chair. I want to help, but Fayez brushes me off. He will carry the chairs; Maya will carry the umbrella. It was probably for the best, though. The beach, like mountains, is always further away that it looks. Even the sidewalk to the wooden boardwalk which leads to the beach is longer than it appears.

We start the long walk down the boardwalk path leading to the ocean. The good thing: It all slopes slight downhill. I try not to think of the trip back up. About halfway down, we stop. I use the time to masquerade as a photo-op. But, we had already walked maybe a quarter mile…..and at a fairly brisk pace, although Fayez was constantly urging me to slow down…..slow down….. I do not like for people to look at me with pity or sympathy, “That poor old man!” The opportunity to rest for a minute was not wasted, though. It was a natural opportunity to take some pictures. Even old people take pictures…..maybe even more than young people. Older people recognize the importance….the value…..of pictures…. Not only in the present moment, but even more for their importance as a historical record….a nostalgic, sentimental reminder of memories made…..memories which can be shared with family and friends yet to come…..memories which might otherwise be lost to the passage of time and age. Time doesn’t stop…..or if it does, pictures may be the only way to “stop” it.

Nevertheless, I took the opportunity to take pictures of the beach and ocean in front of us, of the amusement park in the not-so-far distance, pictures of Fayez and Maya. All those things that I wanted recorded permanently….for me and for posterity.

We moved onward toward the beach. First, we opted to set up the chairs on the back fringe of the crowded beach, only to discover that our major “attractions” were an assortment of beach chairs, coolers, umbrellas…..and of course, the backsides of hundreds of other people. Surely, this is not what we came to beach to see….to experience. Soon we picked up our “equipment” and moved it to a much more favorable location. Now people could look at our beach chairs…..and at us….while we looked at the ocean.

Maya and I sat and watched Fayez as he waded out into the ocean to swim. There really were not a lot of options. It did give us a chance to talk and become a little better acquainted. Normally, when people go to the beach, their main objective is to go swimming….or to walk along the edge of the water…..or to play volleyball or some other game…..or to fly a kite, like Fayez did on our trip to the Oregon Coast. Another alternative is to merely sit on the sand or on a log that has washed upon to the shore and simply watch the ocean….the waves as they wash against the shore. This Sunday afternoon, none of those choices were available to us. So…. We just sat in our folding chairs and tried to keep our eyes on Fayez.

The beach seemed to stretch along the Atlantic Coast forever. And…..so did the mass of humanity that blanketed it. The beach was crowded….or whatever the superlative of the word crowded might be. If there was truly anything interesting about Wildwood Beach, it was the people who had come there to soak up some sun and play. It was, at the very least, a people-watcher’s paradise. Name a category of people….young, skinny, Black, Middle Eastern, tattooed, sun-tanned, families, single. There were women who could have could have been featured in Playboy. Girls who were so desirable that I could hardly take my eyes off them. And….an equal number of women who should have never even considered wearing a two piece swim suit…. The ones who should have stayed at home. The same could be said of the men, too. There were guys who obviously spent all their leisure time at the gym…..and those who thought the word “Gym” was only a man’s name. These guys should have stayed at home, too…..or at least kept clothes on. And, let’s not forget the kids…..running around, mostly unsupervised….here and here, with little regard for anything except their fun.

In general, the atmosphere might be described as controlled chaos….impersonal pleasure. The beach was a patchwork of chairs, coolers, umbrellas, backpacks, toys, blankets and towels. Maybe it is similar to dining as a very popular restaurant. There are no individual tables…..just long communal tables. You sit down wherever there may be a small empty space. You and your friends simply ignore the people sitting next to you. You go ahead and talk to each other….you eat…. You do your own thing, You pretend that the other people are not there. And, they do the same. You co-exist…openly, but yet anonymously.

There really wasn’t any way to really relax…..not with the noise, the close proximity of hundreds of people. At any rate, Maya and I sat and watched the people….tried to carry on a conversation….watched the single engine airplanes as they towed advertising banners behind them….watched the lifeguards as they blew their whistles, warning people who were venturing too far from the shore. My participation in the afternoon was all very passive….sitting, looking, taking a few pictures.

Mostly we tried to watch Fayez…..to keep an eye on him….as he drifted further and further from the shore. The lifeguards were obviously watching him, too. More than once, they blew their shrill whistles to warn him that he was venturing too far out into the ocean…..into unsafe territory…..too far from the beach. It was never clear to me if he actually heard them, although he did begin to inch his way back toward the shore. I was more than a little concerned. If anything bad had happened, there was nothing I was capable of doing that could save him or to prevent a tragedy. Only after he was close enough to the shore did I feel a sense of relief.

This scene…..this spectacle….was interesting to me. Fascinating, in fact. I took swimming lessons as a child and spent many afternoons at the swimming pool in my hometown of Lyons. At some point, I simply stopped swimming. Why? I don’t really know. Maybe it was because starting when I was in junior high school, I always had a job. I spent most of my time working. At some point in my adult life, I realized that I no longer could swim. Many people find this to be rather strange….maybe a little bit unbelievable. Trust me…. It is true!

But….I am no stranger to beaches. Back in my younger days, I spent almost every summer vacation on the Oregon Coast…..or the Northern California coast. I spent unnumbered days hanging out with friends in South Vietnam on the beaches of the South China Sea. I am no stranger to the northern German beaches of the North Sea and the Baltic Sea. I have even visited the nude beaches of the French Riviera and the college beaches of the Texas Gulf. Even though I can’t swim, the ocean fascinates me….It beckons to me. It has a mysterious, magical attraction which I can feel, but which I cannot explain.

There is no doubt that I was not prepared for what greeted us at Wildwood Beach. Yeah….I had heard about the crowded beaches; I had even seen pictures. Even those did not adequately prepare my brain for the scene at greeted us. Normally….in fact, always….the beaches I have visited has been pristine beaches, uncrowded, unencumbered by commercial enterprise….long stretches of sand, stretching uninterrupted for miles in both directions. They were ours to enjoy. We could walk, alone, without meeting another human being, enjoying the solitude broken only by the sound of the constant waves washing upon the sand….at high tide, pounding against the shore. But, yet, there was a stillness, a sort of peace that prevailed. Maybe the kind of peace that only nature can provide.

On the Oregon Coast, where I have spent the most time, there was never a thought of being interrupted or disturbed by other human being….let alone hoards of humanity seeking their day in the sun. At almost any point along the miles of clean, unblemished sand, we could spread a blanket or a towel and sit for hours undisturbed. Or we could find the shelter of a log that had washed ashore and find shelter and refuge from the constant, ever-blowing ocean breeze. There was never a danger of our space being invaded by outsiders. In fact….. They were seeking the same thing we were: solitude…to be undisturbed.

Even in the popular tourist areas such as Beverly Beach, north of Newport, Oregon, the definition of “crowd” takes on a new meaning. A “crowded” beach in Oregon could fairly accurately be described as a “semi-deserted” beach along most of the Atlantic Coast. Even in the most crowded of the north Pacific Coast beaches would be considered as empty or uninhabited along the Atlantic Coast. Part of the explanation of this phenomenon lies in the population of the two areas. Part of it….maybe a large portion of it….lies in the attitude and policies of the state governments. The Atlantic Coast is largely in the hands of private ownership. It is very commercial and profit oriented. Large, untouched stretches of beach or coastline are rare…..almost non-existent. The coastal property has been “developed”….which means it is lined with a myriad of profit-making establishments….restaurant, cafes, souvenir shops, food vendors. Plus seemingly never-ending rows of apartments, motels, condos, and rental properties.

In the Western States…..the Pacific Northwest States….California, Oregon and Washington….all coastal property is public property….readily available to the people….inviting them, enticing them….to stop and walk on the beach. Up and down the almost 1300 miles coastline, are hundreds of “pull-in” places, observation points, rest stops…..all designed for the convenience of people who want to stop and take pictures or for a relaxing picnic…..or as a starting point for a walk on the beach.

Take a look at the pictures. You can see the difference…..the contrast. Now…. Are you still going to ask why I much prefer the Oregon Coast…..or sun-bathing on the French Riviera?

The afternoon was not without its drama, though. At some point in the afternoon, the lifeguards started blowing their whistles frantically. They were motioning for everybody to get out of the water and back on the beach. I do not think it was a suggestion or an invitation. It was urgent; it was an order. We checked to make sure we could still see Fayez….that he had not disappeared from sight. He was still in the ocean….far from the shore…further than he should have been…. but, at least, we could see him. He apparently had heard the whistle and had gotten the message. He, too, began to swim toward the beach.

From watching the lifeguards, the swimmers and the people milling around the beach, we could see that the attention of the lifeguards was focused on a point further to the south of where Maya and I were sitting. The lifeguards on duty began swimming toward the point of the problem. We heard people murmuring, “Somebody is drowning….somebody can’t make is back to shore….somebody was caught in the under-tows…..” There was nothing we could do except sit and watch…..and hope that the lifeguards could reach the person in time…..that he would be rescued.

Time passed. It was obvious that people were becoming concerned….worried….. The noise level on the beach reduced dramatically and activity diminished to almost a standstill as people stood….or sat….. and watched the rescue efforts. We were relieved that it wasn’t Fayez. In a what seemed like an eternity…..but was only a few minutes, two rescue vehicles a came speeding down the beach….speeding as fast as one can when there are a few thousand people standing and walking around…..and when hundreds of small kids are running about, paying no attention or heed to what is going on….and their parents are not there to control them.

The two rescue vehicles stopped almost directly in front of Maya and me. Immediately, they unloaded a couple items which appeared to be much like surf boards. These were apparently some sort of rescue apparatus. The members of the rescue team immediately started swimming toward the victim. Activity was still at a standstill as people stood somberly and waited for the results of the rescue effort. When a signal was given that the man’s life had been saved, a cheer went up as they waited for the team to bring him back to safety……and the swimmers slowly and gradually started to reenter the ocean.

By this time, Fayez had gotten out of the water and had rejoined Maya and I. We discussed briefly our relief that a tragedy had been averted…..and that the guy was probably feeling extremely fortunate and grateful that the rescue team had reached him in time and had saved his life.

Whatever sympathy I was feeling toward the guy quickly dissipated as he walked past us laughing and joking with his apparent friends….like it was a joke….or something to be proud of. Maybe his was only laughing because of his great relief for having his life spared. I hope so. If he thought that he had done something that he could later brag about or turn into a macho ego trip event…..then the guy was not worth any of my compassion or empathy. He, in fact. Would simply be mocking the efforts of the rescue team that saved his life.

I was going to mention that he was a foreigner……but I decided not to!

The afternoon was approaching its final hours. Fayez may have gone back into the water one more time. The afternoon at the beach was essentially over. A large number of the people had already abandoned the beach by the time we folded the chairs picked up the umbrella that we never used and started the slow, arduous journey back to the car. The path to the sidewalk was uphill. Not a steep incline, but steep enough to make the effects of gravity very noticeable on my feeble body! Again we employed the old trick of “stop and take pictures” as a tactic to grab a couple minutes of rest before continuing on. The pictures I took returning to the car were in sharp contrast to the pictures I took while walking down toward the beach. By the time we left, the beach was more than half deserted. A Sunday at the beach. Tomorrow was a work day.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time we reached Fayez’s apartment. A decision was made to order some Indian food to be delivered to the apartment. This was probably a wise decision. Probably nobody was in the mood to go out and eat. I rewarded myself with a much-needed nap. By the time Fayez woke me, the food had been delivered. The evening was again spent visiting…..just casual conversation. The time was getting late. It was most definitely time to call it a day. And, it was a successful day. I got photos of the two state signs that I wanted so badly. Fayez got his trip to the beach. And, Maya? She got both of them.

Around 11:00 I retired to my room. It was still a couple hours before my bed time…..a couple hours before my brain is accustomed to shutting down, turning off its screen and going to sleep for the night. As I usually do before I go to bed, I checked the email….my Facebook page….news headlines. I read the book I had brought with me. Then, I got ready to go to bed….wondering if there was an audience outside the window with the partially open blind waiting for one last moment of entertainment and awesome pleasure to also end their day. Tomorrow was another day…..the final day of my short visit.

DAY THREE: THE FINAL OBJECTIVE….FINDING CONNECTICUT

Monday, my last full day visiting Fayez and his wife started like all the other days. I awoke around 8:00….I first, as usual. Fayez, Maya and I ate a leisurely breakfast on the balcony overlooking their own mini-forest that grows behind their apartment. The sky was clear, and the birds were singing as we sat and enjoyed the pleasant morning.

As had become the norm, the time was approaching, if not surpassing, the ten o’clock hour when Fayez backed the car out of its parking spot and pulled out into the morning traffic for our day of fun and adventure.

Only a single objective was yet to be achieved. Find and photograph the state border sign of Connecticut. Sounds simple….but it was more time-consuming that one might suspect. A slave or servant to his GPS, Fayez headed north toward the point where the border might be located. Personally, I probably would not have taken the that route. But, on the other hand, I know how to read a map. You older people will know what I am talking about.

For the benefit of the younger generation, let me tell you a little about them. You’ve probably even seen them. Maybe you didn’t know what they are, though. Usually they come in a rather large book, sometimes called an Atlas. They have several pages with strange lines and little symbols on the pages. You can expect to find numbers on the lines. The lines normally are of a variety of colors. No…. This is not to make the page prettier. The different colors indicate the kind of highway or road…..perhaps an Interstate highway, or a US highway, or a state highway…..or maybe even a county or secondary road. All of these little lines lead somewhere! If you look closely, there are names of towns and cities…..maybe even counties or points of interest. Those are the places the lines connect. You know….. Sort of like those Connect the Dot Puzzles.

These pages, called maps, were what people used for literally hundreds of years. And, do you want to know a strange fact? People used them……and rarely ever got lost! They worked pretty well, in fact. And, they are accurate. By looking at these little lines….and following them….you were sure to arrive at your destination, and if you are really clever…..like I am, for example…..you might even save some time by following the shortest lines!

But, something happened. Somebody….actually the United States government….developed what is known as Global Positioning System or GPS for short.  This revolutionized the way we travel…..or messed it up, depending on how you want to look at it. This sunny Monday morning, I can imagine that Fayez was obeying his “Master”….his GPS…..instead of obeying the real authority: ME and my map.

It wasn’t all bad. In fact, it turned out be a rather interesting day. For me, at least. We spent most of the day on I-95, or at least I think that was the name of the highway. If we had been using a map, I would probably know for sure.

In reality, the trip to find the Connecticut border was rather interesting. Here in Kansas it is rare….no, unheard of…..to spend a day on a six or eight lane highway. Not that anybody wants to do this…..but still it is rare. For me, it was rather fascinating and novel to ride in a car for a hundred miles with a couple lanes of cars to the right….and a couple lanes to the left. Cars behind….cars ahead. In other words, cars everywhere. For people on the east coast….and on the west coast, too, for that matter…..this is normal….simply a fact of life. In fact, one might say that it is life.

For people from more rural states….and Kansas is one of them….this cacophony of cars can wear on the nerves a bit. I can imagine that it would easily turn a small town Kansas driver into a nervous wreck. And, when Fayez is driving….well, it has the same results!

No…. I am just joking. Fayez was handling the traffic in a very cool and capable manner. Young drivers tend to handle heavy traffic better than older drivers. That statement has no basis in fact. I have no statistics or research to back up that claim. I am merely judging from my own personal point of view and experience.

I have lived and driven in several large cities in the course of my lifetime. I have lived and driven in Kansas City, San Francisco, Indianapolis….even for three years in Saigon, which could be the ultimate test of a person’s diving ability, not to mention the nervous system. All of this was back when I was young. Driving in heavy traffic didn’t bother me, mostly because it never entered my brain to let is bother me. I was “here” and I had to go to “there”…..so I got into the car and “went”. Simple as that. I don’t ever remember being intimidated by heavy traffic. Maybe I just figured the other drivers had as much right to be on the highway as I did. But, most likely…. I simply never thought about it at all.

Driving has been a way of life for me. It probably is for everybody who lives in a rural, Midwest state. It is virtually the only means of transportation. If you want to go somewhere…..You Drive! On my many trips and vacations around the USA, I insisted on doing all the driving. Mostly because I trusted myself more than I did anybody else. Simply put: I was the best driver.

As I got older, my eyesight started to fail. No…. I am not going blind. My vision is not as sharp….my peripheral vision was diminishing…..night vision started to fade dangerously….my visual perception decreased. Shortly after I retired….somewhere around 2007 or 2008, I made the decision to stop driving at night. Nobody forced me; nobody even suggested it. I just knew it was time….it was the right decision…..and the safe decision, for me and for all those other people driving on the streets and highways.

By the time Fayez and Sultan had become a part of my life, I was fairly content to simply let them do most of the driving. Although I remained by far the superior driver, it was just easier and more convenient to let them drive. I stopped driving in cities….or in any strange place where I had to make instant perceptual decisions. I decided to leave those driving tasks to them. Even though they were younger and less experienced and lacked the exceptionally remarkable skills that I had developed over the years, it was not so difficult to turn over the driving to them. My nerves have suffered because of this decision…..but I am still alive to talk about it.

Now…. Getting back to the story. The story of the trip was mostly traffic. Looming in the distance was the distinctive skyline of New York City, with its impressive display of towering skyscrapers. The division of Lower Manhattan and Upper Manhattan were clearly delineated. Fayez never told me that he planned to drive through New York City….parts of it, at least. Personally, I would have chosen another, less traveled route. However, the opportunity to say that I had been in New York City….again….was appealing, I suppose, even though I had sworn that I would never return to the city again.

We drove past the vast Newark International Airport, the airport and the departure point for many of my trips to Berlin. This was a first for me. I had seen the airport from the air….and certainly from the inside….but never from a highway. From a certain perspective, the airport looks almost as impressive from the land as it does from the air. Some of the super-long runways stretch out for more than two miles parallel to the highway. Others cut a perpendicular path. As we drove past….both going and coming…..an almost steady stream of aircraft were alternately taking off and landing. Just the sight of these anonymous take of these take-offs and landings made me nostalgic for another trip to Berlin.

But, for now, our objective was to locate a Connecticut state border sign. The state of Connecticut borders New York City to the north. Fayez kept pushing northward, staying on I-95, I think. But…. Who cares? All the highways look the same. From our previous trip to New York City in 2016, I was excited to recognize the George Washington Bridge which crosses the Hudson River and connects the state of New Jersey with the borough of Manhattan. Like many major vehicle bridges, the George Washington Bridge has an upper deck and a lower deck, each of which has multiple lanes going both directions. The upper deck carries traffic on four lanes in each direction. The lower level has a total of six lanes…..three in each direction. It is reportedly the busiest vehicle bridge in the world. And, obviously one of the slowest. We didn’t experience any serious delays, but driving was slow, and the bridge was clogged with vehicles of all kinds and descriptions.

It was a relief when we had cleared the bridge, which is more than four-fifth of a mile long….. not even close to what one would consider to be a “long” bridge. Once off the bridge, going in both directions, traffic speed picked up noticeably. We drove through endless blocks of humanity, packed into into a continual, monotonous conglomeration of apartment buildings. It was interesting; it was amazing; it was enlightening. But, most all, to me, it was depressing.

Having been born and raised in rural Kansas…..but also having spent a considerable amount to time living in cities around the world…..these faceless, anonymous, impersonal stretches of apartment complexes were completely alien to my perception of a good life….and the life I had lived….or even imagined. However, I couldn’t help but think that behind these upscale walls, behind these windows, there are families living what to them is a normal life….mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, all carrying on a life that to them is familiar and comfortable. Somewhere in the city were an equal, or even larger, number of not so affluent apartments where life is not so good. There are apartments where poverty is the norm, where crime is rampant; where fear is a constant emotion. Driving through such places as this make me feel grateful that I live in Kansas.

So…. We pressed on….out of the inner city into the endless suburbs, into the less populated areas of the city. Still surrounded by the urban sprawl, we entered area of single family dwellings with a more hometown atmosphere. Our mission was to find the Connecticut border. Because of the urban nature of our surroundings, this objective was not as easy as it may sound. Had we been on an open highway….maybe a state highway…. in a less populated area, the border would have been easier to find. It would have been noticeable and accessible.

I am going to offer some pure speculation, but at this point I think our search had been reduced to trial and error. It appeared that our trials were meeting with more error than success. As for me….. I was a completely irrelevant onlooker. I had no idea where we were….not a clue. This was Fayez’s game…..to win or to lose. I am not sure what happened. Let’s call it winner’s luck. As we were preparing to back-track and try another approach….. Wonder of wonders: Standing almost directly in front of was…. Yes, a sign saying “Welcome to Connecticut”. For a brief second, we were all mildly stunned….like, we couldn’t believe our eyes. There was even a little parking area where we could stop and take pictures. Whether it was Good Luck or Clean Living, it didn’t matter. We happily took the necessary pictures….and started back to Mt. Laurel.

 

 

 

 

Fayez guided the car back to good old I-95, and we began to retrace our route back to where we started from that morning. The traffic seemed heavier on our return trip. Maybe it was because it was late in the afternoon and rush hour had begun….or maybe it was just normal traffic. The trip back to Fayez and Maya’s apartment seemed to take longer. The approach to the George Washington Bridge seemed more clogged with traffic. All six lanes of the highway were packed with unrelenting traffic, everybody doing his own thing….everybody going somewhere….everybody probably had the same goal in mind: Just Get There.

Somewhere along the way, Fayez decided to stop and eat. Was it a random choice….or was it a place he had been before? I do not know. That is irrelevant. We stopped at a place called Cava. The food was good; it was an opportunity to get out of the car for a few minutes; and it was a good restroom stop. With our basic needs satisfied, we got back on the busy highway and continued on our journey to the apartment. The basic items on my wish list had been satisfied. There was nothing left to do except go back home.

 

 

 

 

Although we only had one objective to accomplish, it consumed the greater part of the day. It was an interesting day. I was able to take the picture of the state sign; I got to experience riding on a packed urban highway; I got to visit New York City again….partially, at least; I had another opportunity to visit with Fayez and his wife. And…..and this is probably the most important: It demonstrated to me why I would never want to live in a crowded urban area. I could see very few redeeming qualities. For me, it is a good place to visit…..but not a good place to live.

Somewhere on the way home…..in Mt. Laurel, I think….we stopped at a Mediterranean restaurant and picked up some carry-out food for our supper. After the long day, I am fairly sure that nobody was in the mood to do any sort of cooking. Again, it was late in the afternoon when Fayez parked the car in the parking lot, and I again….for the final time….made the long, torturous trip up the stairs to their apartment.

DAY FOUR: FLYING HOME

My suitcase was already packed; I am always planning ahead. We sat on the balcony and ate breakfast, enjoying the waning minutes of our short time together. The time had arrived. I said good-bye to Maya, made one more unsteady trek down the staircase, put on my shoes…..and it was over.

Before I left Philadelphia, there were two more pictures that I needed to take. These were not on my original list. In fact, they won’t appear on anybody’s list….except mine! Somehow I neglected to take a photo of a sign that said “Mt. Laurel”. That is the name of the suburban town in New Jersey where Fayez and Maya live. It is one of those pictures nobody would ever think of…..until I realized that I would need it for this blog. And probably nobody who goes to Philadelphia would ever have “Wa-Wa’s” on their of must-have photo list. Tell me…. What sane person from Kansas can go back home without a picture of this strange, unique name? I will never see another of these little convenience stores until my next trip to the east coast. I needed the picture to remind me of where Fayez and I had sat after a busy day of sightseeing….and enjoyed a cup of iced-coffee and a muffin. With those two pictures duly recorded, I was ready to head for the airport.

The trip was a success….a real pleasure. I had gotten to do all the things that I had wanted to do….partially, at least. Certainly, my main objective by far was to see Fayez again…..and to meet his wife. This objective, of course, could never be adequately satisfied. But, the visit was awesome….and I am happy and delighted to be able to meet Maya, Fayez’s wife, and to now feel that she is also part of my “family”. When I talk to Fayez on Skype, I know where he is, recognize his surroundings. This makes the conversation seem more authentic or real or personal, however you want to state it. I better understand his life and his environment.

On the other hand, I have been introduced to Philadelphia and its historical significance, even if only in the a superficial manner. Now I am more informed…..more aware….more prepared for my next visit. And, fortunately, we already have seen and photographed the two sites with the longest lines. That, in itself, is an achievement. Fayez and I drove around enough that I have at least a cursory idea of the city and the local environment. I will no longer feel like a complete stranger in the city.

As I said, my dominate mission was to spend time with Fayez….and to meet and become friends with wife. Those two achievement were what made the trip a success.

Now….. There is another realization that dawned on me, too. A realization that will probably change my attitude toward travel: I am never going to fly to any domestic destination again. I have come to realize that flying is simply not worth the money or effort. The next time I visit Fayez and Maya in their home in the suburbs of Philadelphia, they will be meeting me and picking me up at a railway station.

The trip back to Kansas City was uneventful…..if one can classify standing in line for a security check….sitting in a waiting room for a couple hours…..and sitting in a cramped seat on an airplane…..arriving in Kansas City and being dropped off in the long-range parking lot a quarter mile from my car….and driving back home on I-70 during rush hour….as being uneventful.

It was a great trip. I recommend Philadelphia to you. You probably won’t get to see Fayez….but everything else is there waiting for you.