Discounted Travel

Senior Discounts have become plentiful.  Most are minor, two or three dollars off admission to a museum or an event.  Some are substantial.  My adjacent state of Pennsylvania offers a big one.  SEPTA , the regional transit system, allows seniors to ride free anywhere within the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.  The nearest station is across the state line in Pennsylvania and my destination is nearly always Philadelphia, so I need only provide four quarters for parking each time I ride.  Once in the city, I need only swipe my card on their subways, els, or buses for another free ride.  It worked rather well.  I visited the Liberty Bell, grabbed a snack at the Reading Terminal Market, walked around a bit through the historical area.  As I did that, I noted other places I might like to sample like the American Jewish History Museum a block or so away.

This good deal has a few limits.  If I take the SEPTA train to Delaware or New Jersey, they charge half-fare, which remains a significant discount.  

As much as I like being a tourist, eager to sample perhaps the Mutter Museum or maybe go to a Penn football game in the fall, this SEPTA pass also serves as my entry to discounted New York City.  I can either catch the Megabus, which departs a short walk from the main train station or I can take SEPTA to Trenton, pay the half fare, then get a half-price train to NYC.  Both the bus and discounted NJ Transit cost about the same, so it seems more a matter of convenience.  I think the bus would be faster than taking SEPTA the additional ride to Trenton, then taking a commuter train, so I'll likely try this first.

As a young fellow, probably until my early married years, I used to visit NYC frequently, mooching a commuter ride with my father or a neighbor.  Later it became a destination to be planned.  Discounted weekends of my young adult years are long gone.  In recent years, I could get an economical bus from my town, leaving early AM, catching a 6PM return from Manhattan.  I would depend on my wife to transport me to the bus station, which sits in a seedy, not entirely safe part of town.  That bus service has gotten more expensive as well as more difficult to find a return trip with the same carrier.  But travel between Philly and NYC or Trenton and NYC takes place frequently in both directions.  Its fare undercuts my local fare by about two-thirds, so it is something I must arrange to do, perhaps twice this summer.  I need not inconvenience my wife at all.

NYC has sights, as does Philadelphia.  It also has friends, and at one time my children, which Philadelphia does not.  And so low cost that I need only consider convenience and destination, not expense.  A periodic must-do.

Maybe Give Florida Another Go

One full year has elapsed since Covid-19 altered our customary activities.  Had I not retired when I did, I would have functioned amid the medical fray, finding myself desperately in need of a vacation but limited to mostly a staycation, assuming they allowed their docs some periodic respite.  Even soldiers in modern warfare have some R&R provisions.  As a forced indoor cat, I probably did better than most.  My car counts as isolation, so a daily drive usually to nowhere became the norm.  For a while I went to stores but soon lost interest in being a consumer of anything other than food.  I never liked take-out, preferring a menu with the rituals of a waitress.  There not being many options for this, it became a special occasion, one whose absence became less bothersome as the months proceeded.  I had some destinations.  State Parks allowed fishing.  Two state beaches got visits without the deviants among us expressing their autonomy by endangering the public, as I saw in news reports from elsewhere.  I even ventured onto an airplane for my son's wedding, a much muted venture limited to puttering around my former campus and neighborhoods in St. Louis, eating outdoors twice, but not having the hotel amenities that add to previous short trips.  I also made three modest day trips, one to a Philadelphia's Italian Market, another to Ladew Topiary Gardens with grounds open but mansion closed, and another to a more distant state park while zipping briefly for coffee or pizza in the small town America that barely survives the nearby malls.  I even had a trip planned to the Everglades, but cancelled as the toll of Covid-19 peaked enough to make travel to the that part of Florida beyond prudent risk.  Now we have immunization, or will soon.  We also have places that depend on visitors trying to have their Second Act. Each day an airline or two tries to entice customers with air fares that undercut any other means of traversing that distance.  And Atlantic Florida being overbuilt, overscheduled by competing airlines, and without any need to transport cruise ship passengers, again emerges as an economical destination, though as safety improves, bargains have become more restrictive.

It's a place I never particularly sought out beyond making a trek to Disney World with the kids, something that has become largely obligatory one time, perhaps like the Hajj, for American parents.  My father lived in Boynton Beach for his final two decades, so a few trips worthy of Kavod Av got incorporated, though never truly what I think of as a personal vacation with that required element of escape for fun.  And I've been there in my professional capacity as a physician for two conferences.  It's not really the enticing destination where I would go to let my hair down let alone ride out my closing years like my father and some childhood friends have done, nor seek my adult destiny there, a venture taken by many friends as young adults.  Nobody who has done that seems to move on.  I found it a place where people like being catered to or having their entitlements reinforced, something that almost jeopardizes my pride of independence with the accomplishment that comes from doing as much as I can myself, mostly for myself.  

But a bargain is a bargain.  I have to look at the flights and places to stay.  What would I do if I were there for five days or so, or whatever length of stay qualifies for a discounted flight home?  The Everglades, which I have seen from the window of a small plane on a business related shuttle from Miami to Tampa, should be experienced at ground level.  I have a few friends there though with Covid still active, I don't know how receptive people are to guests.  When FB friends venture there and post photos, they invariably include gatherings of friends maintained over decades, and in far larger numbers, and likely in closeness, than my less gregarious nature has maintained.  There are beaches, but in the likely travel month of June we have wonderful beaches in driving distance. Hotels have outdoor pools there.  We have them indoors, though the outdoor ones are more likely to avoid suspension of activity by the regional health departments.  For parts of the area, there is a stronger Jewish presence than I have at home.  It would be pleasant to dine at a Kosher restaurant on some delicacy not readily duplicated in my own kitchen.  

Whatever is there that I might do, I think the strongest incentive remains being someplace other than here which has taken its toll.  My drive to nowhere to get me out of the house most days can be a drive to somewhere someplace else.  Check the airfares.  Check the calendars.  See who might be around.  But I'm ready for a more distant destination.

Philly's Italian Market

 

It's a place I always wanted to visit but never did despite it's proximity.  I've driven across one of its main intersections en route from Mercy Hospital to IKEA, looked down 9th Street from my driver's lane on Washington Street, but never got out of the car to walk around.  The Italian Market pops up on cooking shows, recently a major segment of an Andrew Zimmern feature on Philadelphia.  Yet I had never ventured there.  It made for a good day trip, some experiences expected, some very different than expected.

South Philadelphia has an Italian Heritage, Rizzo Country with stoked animosities of the 1970's repackaged nationally in our own day.  Of all the places in Philadelphia that I have driven through, South Philly between the sports stadiums and Center City captures my attention most.  As I drive along Broad Street, usually to get from my home to the Endocrine Society evening meetings at Jefferson University Medical Center, I glance at the many small shops, small churches, mostly Italian restaurants, unique street parking configurations, and the many other neighborhood retentions that have avoided the endless fast food franchises and chain pharmacies that dominate where I live.  The Italian Market was at the peak of Rizzo, Angelo Bruno who controlled the local Mafia, and Palumbo's that dominated entertainment as a place to be seen, the centerpiece.

Only fragments remain.  Andrew Zimmern skimmed those old elements, mega cheesesteak emporia of Pats and Genos, Ralph's which is one of the oldest continuously operating Italian restaurants in the USA, a nook bakery that served tomato pie from which I bought a delicious square at a nominal price.  Charm for sure, though not really accurate.  What dominated were not the eating places or shops with Italian names and legacies specializing in unique customized selections of meats or cheeses, but the outdoor produce stands.  Cities, including Philly, have their outdoor farmers markets, though these were not farmers.  They reflect the Italian heritage giving space to the Hispanics who have created a presence not only as green grocers but as restauranteurs and specialty baker outlets.  There's an Indochinese community with one shop I visited manned by a fellow whose knowledge of English seemed limited to the practicalities of handling American currency.  They had nearly sold out of $5 Biden caps, but still had an ample supply of Trump caps in a variety of  hues.  There wasn't any litter.  Outdoor seating was carved out into what used to be fought over parking space to enable the restaurants to function in a Covid-19 environment.  

Not many people shared 9th Street with me. I had read that parking lots filled quickly.  Not true when I was there, and fee not excessive.  I wandered into shops and past people waiting to order their hoagies or roast pork sandwiches from the eatery window.  No long lines, few customers in any of the shops.  In order to make the transition from Italian to Hispanic presence, the Italians had to give up their stores or restaurants.  And today, maybe accelerated by Covid, retail space for rent did not seem scarce.  

If I had one destination shop, it was Fante's, an iconic supplier of high end kitchen ware for the discerning chef.  They had been sponsors of The Frugal Gourmet, that iconic cooking series that I watched every week at its peak popularity,  The star, Jeff Smith, who I termed The Cheap Chef to amuse my then preschool son, once stopped at a mall near us as part of a book tour.  I went with my son, a little starstruck when he pointed to the table where the author was personalizing copies of his latest book, and blurted to the crowd "that's the Cheap Chef."  Fantes would be forever linked to that, so it was a personal honor to tour the shop and appreciate what made The Frugal Gourmet such a devotee of what was a large but niche store with online shopping not to appear until long after Jeff Smith's passing.  I could see why aficionado's of their kitchen willing to invest in the best would come there preferentially one or two times to enable their culinary interest.  And not everything was blatantly excessive in price, though the coffee beans were.  Now I've been there.

Spent a little money.  Good value on tomato pie.  Disappointed with espresso.  Found a suitable item for a Hanukkah gift from the Indochinese shop whose Trump caps did not sell, And from the outdoor stand, good prices on oranges, berries, and fresh figs.

Home by late afternoon, whipped the rest of the heavy cream still in the fridge,placed copiously atop a generous mound of blackberries and raspberries for our dessert that evening. 

The Mummers

New Year's Day in Philadelphia brings a tradition.  Groups called Mummers, who prepare all years for their glimpse of fame, strut along South Broad Street, reaching City Hall which lies on a plaza where Market and Broad Streets intersect.  There is a set of bleachers for which people can buy tickets, while judges make some assessments and present awards.  They then strut, never march, around the corner.  A local TV station usually covers the parade from beginning to end, which in recent years includes some indoor presentation as one of the divisions, The Fancy Brigades, have costumes that are not weather friendly.

Having lived in metro Philadelphia the vast majority of my adult life, I had never attended the Mummers Parade and rarely watched much of it on TV.  I had seen them perform off season, which they often do to raise money for their ornate costumes or rental of a practice facility.  But the full parade, never.  Legitimate excuses abound.  Cold weather, having to work the next day, out of town that day only happened once, too much champagne the night before.  But for 2019, unseasonably warm weather, dry skies, a split of bubbly instead of a bottle, left me without excuses.

Getting to Center City Philadelphia has a few options, but the commuter rail seemed the most suitable.  Fare $5.25 each way, holiday rates.  Since I boarded the train at its onset, various revelers, some with New Years hats or similar insignia, joined in at each stop.  Some were annual revelers who knew exactly where to get off.  Our train pulled into Suburban Station and everyone exited.  I thought I could just follow everyone else, but the station is a big place, spanning several blocks of underground.  By asking a few people dressed as either policemen or Mummers, I eventually found my way to the parade route, at a site after the judging.  Getting to the front of the crowd barricade proved rather easy.  I stood next to a small post which would allow me to steady my camera, the adjustable one with zoom lens and the cell phone accessory which would allow me to transmit the movie or still images quickly.

Before long the brigades started coming.  Far from military discipline, the participants semi-danced along the parade route, stopping along the barricades to give High 5's or to place beaded necklaces on the little girls.  A new set of strutters would appear about every 10 minutes.  There was music from times gone by, though I left before the popular string bands had their turn.  Gaudy costumes, painted faces though the blackface tradition had long since been banned, small trucks to receive the gear at the end of the route.  Stayed about an hour, maybe a little longer, called the kids to wish them a happy New Year on their cell phone answering devices, then headed home.

I had not been to Suburban Station in many years.  Work days bring a lot of communter traffic, served by Dunkin Donuts and the like.  Since the underground comprises several blocks, some of it far from where people enter and exit their trains, some of the areas have gotten seedy.  For the vagrants the rent is cheap, mainly keeping an eye out for the police, rest rooms too much of a bother for some, and the price of some underused psychotropic medicine too high.  Nobody seemed drunk despite the night before being a prime night for intoxication, nobody panhandled, and nobody appeared aggressive.  It was an eyesore just the same but off the path for which the desired tourists to the city would walk to get to the glittering buildings that rose from the sidewalks at street level.  Mummers are unique.  People who prosperity has passed by are not.