The Triangle

Issue date: 1/9/09 Section: Arts & Entertainment

Media Credit: Alysson Cwyk

There is so much this city has to offer; shopping, dining, theater, history, museums, friendships. The list could go on, but you understand. Best of all, it's all within walking distance.

It was an unusually warm winter morning when we met my good friend at Starbucks. I met Gloria a mere two months prior but already was in love with her. She is the type of girl who is full of life, each step a dance and every word a song. Our party comprised of Gloria, my distant cousin Hans, and myself. Hans was in town from Frankfurt and we spent the day shopping. Walking down Walnut with someone who had never visited Philadelphia, you begin to notice all the things that you take for granted. Rittenhouse Square looked particularly beautiful, with its romantic statues and the tree decked for the holidays.

Oddly enough, the shops of which I've known for so long now became a new experience. As Hans searched the American racks for deals (the Euro was doing particularly well that day), I admired the stores for their many gems. I even bought a pair of earrings at Armani, and I've always been a die-hard French Couture aficionada (Dior is my fav at the moment).

We walked from our shopping (Walnut and 18th) up the long Benjamin Parkway accompanied by a chance encounter with my good friend Marcel, stopping in Love Park. Contrary usually lively self, in this crisp winter air it had a silent dignity; it is our lasting symbol of what this city represents, brotherly (and sisterly) love.

As we passed the rushing cars, filled with those who too take our city for granted, we admired the foreign flags lightly dancing in against the wind. We arrived at our good friend Rocky Balboa, and spent time paying him homage, after which participating in his tradition, taking our breaths at the head of the Art Museum. We sat along the fountain, admiring the columns. Marcel identified each, courtesy of Art History 101.

From here we descend the great stairway and proceeded to Cosi-up with some sandwiches and light banter. Our waiter was overly flirtatious, another friendly feature of this city's bounty of queens. A delightful veggie sandwich later, Hans and I parted ways with Marcel and Gloria and found ourselves in a delightful little night spot called Stir. Seated between Walnut and Locust on 17th, it is one of those little places that you must know to see. Nothing beats a secluded alley entrance to set the mood for a great bar. We entered to a dark interior, faced immediately with the bar. It was square, with seating on all four sides, very intimate. On either side were flat screen televisions, playing much to my delight Santa vs. the Martians. Across from us was an older man wearing a dirty jacket, grumbling something unintelligible. Though he addressed me, all I could do was nod as I could not make out what he was saying. Something about an old night spot past Broad Street from the seventies. Before my time, sorry. The bartender tended us, Hans in the German tradition of a beer and I with a Jackie O-No. My drink was a tropical delight, this just the right amount of liquor and a tad bit too much sugar. We sat there chatting the same old topics, his fut-balling (soccer for most Americans), Paris, and whatever came to mind.

Continued...

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