6 A.D.
To continue the tale of yesterday's Manic Monday (or rather, just another day for us), after feeling no adverse effects from the Philly cheesesteaks, we moved on to the nearby indoor market in the hope of finding some Pennsylvania Dutch...only to discover that they're around preaching their good news every day besides Sunday and Monday. Why not Monday? And it wasn't just the Amish - a lot of Philadelphia didn't seem open on a Monday and we couldn't figure out why. But we didn't care that much either. [In a Louis Theroux voice] My time in Philadelphia was almost up, but before I left I wanted to check out Elfreth's Alley.
This is a tiny street on the north east side that has the dubious claim of being the oldest street in America. As you can see by Tim's reaction, he wasn't too convinced, but it was rather quaint. Nearby was the house of one Betty Ross, the lady who made the first ever US flag. Unfortunately, with it being Monday, her house was closed, but it too looked quaint. Then, with belly's rumbling, we headed down to South Street - supposedly the place to be for drinking and partying, but I wasn't particularly impressed, though had to admit it had more appeal than West Street back home.
Next morning we were up at 7.30 to hit the road to D.C. We arrived at the bus terminal a little early, so I nipped to the "Old Navy" store, which I'd been told by Chaz would provide me with some more affordable shorts than K-Mart. With it no longer being a Monday, I was confident that the place would be open, but I hadn't reckoned against a 10 a. m. start, and that's when our bus went. Still only one pair of shorts for me! Back at the terminal, the great conspiracy continued as we asked which gate our bus went from and were told number 7. When we queried it 10 minutes later, we were told number 6. What do they have lined-up for us next - travelling in the hold with the luggage???
The best thing about getting the bus at Philadelphia was that we met Giselle. She was originally from Tasmania, had recently been living in London, and had been travelling for more years than I should probably mention. She'd worked lots of interesting jobs in various countries and had been to a lot of the places we had lined up to see. Also, she is probably the only person we've met for a good long while who did not immediately think that we were brothers. Giselle's favourite Beatles album is Rubber soul. She promptly made us her friends on Facebook, which she says she doesn't usually do, so the Grayboys must have made a good impression with their Southport charm! Oh, and she'd been to Southport several times - what are the odds???
The bus stopped first at Wilmington, Delaware (yawn!) and than at Baltimore, Maryland - wow! This was where they filmed the TV show The Wire which I was addicted to for all five of its series. However, from the bus it looked like the dullest city on the planet and I didn't feel moved to take one photograph of the cityscape. At this point I should mention that I used the lavatory on the bus for the first time (it's a three hour journey)...a deep black hole of a chemical toilet, it's where lost souls go to die.
There was a bit of a traffic jam on the approach to Washington. Alongside were the type of Maryland woods in which The Blair Witch Project was filmed. Would this visit be as scary? Hopefully not, but the D.C. bus terminal was in a pretty rotten area. Plus it was hot - humid with it and by the time we'd said goodbye to Giselle (who was heading out to West Virginia), we were feeling the heat on our backpacks. I should remind you, dear readers, that this would be the first time we'd be sharing a room with other people. As we hiked beneath the blazing sun, I prayed for two timid little French girls, not for romantic reasons, mind, just that they'd be preferable to a couple of big bruiser blokes from eastern Europe who's farts can cause cracks in the windows.
We arrived at the "D.C. Lofty" at 2.30 and were immediately told to take our shoes off...not a good start. Walking around in my socks, it felt like going to visit my aunt and uncle when they've just had a new carpet fitted. Roma, the Russian-sounding landlady, was pleasant enough, but keen to enforce the rules of the house (remove your quilt from your duvet cover when you leave and put in a pile on the floor???) At that point the two bunk beds next to ours were empty and we were heading out to watch England's famous victory against Ukraine in whatever bar we could find (we ended up chatting to a guy who was born in the Ukraine - what are the odds???)
To continue the tale of yesterday's Manic Monday (or rather, just another day for us), after feeling no adverse effects from the Philly cheesesteaks, we moved on to the nearby indoor market in the hope of finding some Pennsylvania Dutch...only to discover that they're around preaching their good news every day besides Sunday and Monday. Why not Monday? And it wasn't just the Amish - a lot of Philadelphia didn't seem open on a Monday and we couldn't figure out why. But we didn't care that much either. [In a Louis Theroux voice] My time in Philadelphia was almost up, but before I left I wanted to check out Elfreth's Alley.
This is a tiny street on the north east side that has the dubious claim of being the oldest street in America. As you can see by Tim's reaction, he wasn't too convinced, but it was rather quaint. Nearby was the house of one Betty Ross, the lady who made the first ever US flag. Unfortunately, with it being Monday, her house was closed, but it too looked quaint. Then, with belly's rumbling, we headed down to South Street - supposedly the place to be for drinking and partying, but I wasn't particularly impressed, though had to admit it had more appeal than West Street back home.
Next morning we were up at 7.30 to hit the road to D.C. We arrived at the bus terminal a little early, so I nipped to the "Old Navy" store, which I'd been told by Chaz would provide me with some more affordable shorts than K-Mart. With it no longer being a Monday, I was confident that the place would be open, but I hadn't reckoned against a 10 a. m. start, and that's when our bus went. Still only one pair of shorts for me! Back at the terminal, the great conspiracy continued as we asked which gate our bus went from and were told number 7. When we queried it 10 minutes later, we were told number 6. What do they have lined-up for us next - travelling in the hold with the luggage???
The best thing about getting the bus at Philadelphia was that we met Giselle. She was originally from Tasmania, had recently been living in London, and had been travelling for more years than I should probably mention. She'd worked lots of interesting jobs in various countries and had been to a lot of the places we had lined up to see. Also, she is probably the only person we've met for a good long while who did not immediately think that we were brothers. Giselle's favourite Beatles album is Rubber soul. She promptly made us her friends on Facebook, which she says she doesn't usually do, so the Grayboys must have made a good impression with their Southport charm! Oh, and she'd been to Southport several times - what are the odds???
The bus stopped first at Wilmington, Delaware (yawn!) and than at Baltimore, Maryland - wow! This was where they filmed the TV show The Wire which I was addicted to for all five of its series. However, from the bus it looked like the dullest city on the planet and I didn't feel moved to take one photograph of the cityscape. At this point I should mention that I used the lavatory on the bus for the first time (it's a three hour journey)...a deep black hole of a chemical toilet, it's where lost souls go to die.
There was a bit of a traffic jam on the approach to Washington. Alongside were the type of Maryland woods in which The Blair Witch Project was filmed. Would this visit be as scary? Hopefully not, but the D.C. bus terminal was in a pretty rotten area. Plus it was hot - humid with it and by the time we'd said goodbye to Giselle (who was heading out to West Virginia), we were feeling the heat on our backpacks. I should remind you, dear readers, that this would be the first time we'd be sharing a room with other people. As we hiked beneath the blazing sun, I prayed for two timid little French girls, not for romantic reasons, mind, just that they'd be preferable to a couple of big bruiser blokes from eastern Europe who's farts can cause cracks in the windows.
We arrived at the "D.C. Lofty" at 2.30 and were immediately told to take our shoes off...not a good start. Walking around in my socks, it felt like going to visit my aunt and uncle when they've just had a new carpet fitted. Roma, the Russian-sounding landlady, was pleasant enough, but keen to enforce the rules of the house (remove your quilt from your duvet cover when you leave and put in a pile on the floor???) At that point the two bunk beds next to ours were empty and we were heading out to watch England's famous victory against Ukraine in whatever bar we could find (we ended up chatting to a guy who was born in the Ukraine - what are the odds???)
[Don't stare too long at the legs or your eyes will burn!]
And when we returned, can you guess what our room mates were like? I'll leave you to chew on that tasty morsel `til tomorrow...
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