I’ve never left the country, but I suppose that going to the cultural markets in Philadelphia is the closest to that experience that I’ll ever get. My entire family of 6 took a vacation to Pennsylvania over the summer to visit my grandmother, and we decided to go into the city to explore and check out what Pennsylvania has to offer. I wasn’t all that excited at the time, but I don’t remember why.

My mom told me I had been to Pennsylvania when I was little, but everything was new to me: all the sights, sounds, and smells were almost overwhelming. The actual street the markets were on was narrow with cracked pavement and faded paint, but the sidewalks were filled with people milling around, and many of the shops had tables on the uneven gray sidewalks that contained more items for sale.

Some of the stores had loud, foreign music playing on the radio that flooded my ears like a tidal wave as I walked by. A Spanish store had colorful, fluttering pieces of paper with intricate designs cut into them called papel picado that were hung up on string across scaffolding and created a magical effect. The brick walls and white plastic tables outside were shaded with various pinks, blues, and greens by the light that was shining through the paper.
Suddenly, the music and yelling was partially replaced by the clucking and tweeting of chickens and birds. I turned to look, and inside a small store were stacks and rows of cold, metal cages that each contained a different kind of bird. My dad told me that it was a live poultry shop where chickens and other birds were killed and sold directly to people. I stared in shock for a second or two before I was hit by the revolting smell that reminded me of a barnyard, and we left quickly after that.

About a block down the street was a tiny Italian cheese shop that I thought surely couldn’t hold my entire family. It had dark, creaky wooden floors and tall shelves that ran the entire length of the shop that were filled with spices and canned products. The walls were covered in a faded, peeling yellow paint and the shop was slightly dim but it was welcoming, with a few people working there and others just shopping. The radio was on some pop station, filling the small room with familiar music that everyone seemed to know the lyrics to.

The cheese and deli meat were kept on chilled plates behind a glass wall that could slide open on the opposite side so workers could access the food. We looked around and sampled things, and the man behind the counter with his brown burlap apron managed to convince us into buying two different kinds of cheese that I can no longer remember the names of. We left quickly before he could try to take any more of our money.

Before I even realized it, we were on the other side of the street where the sidewalks were slightly more crowded. The vendors had more trinkets for sale outside that took up more space. The actual interior of most of the stores were used for storage and checkout lines. This side of the street housed more food than the other side, with vivid fruit and vegetable stands and the salty scent of fish from seafood markets. One store even had baby turtles for sale in small, cube-shaped, glass tanks that were stacked on a table, but they weren’t being sold as pets!

Lastly, we went to a cheerful little dessert shop that sold everything from cupcakes to cannolis. The sickly sweet smell of sugar, coffee, and pastries was heavenly for about five minutes, then it began to get to my head and caused me to get a headache from it. Finally, when our feet ached from walking all day and we had our fill of the sights and sounds of the markets, we headed home to prepare for the next day of our trip.