Friday morning we took the train overnight from Savannah to Philly, where we beheld a sunny morning.  We checked our luggage and our reservation at Club Quarters Philadelphia, and set out for the Mütter Museum (see “Thumbs Up”) and the Mummers Museum later that afternoon.  Both are worth seeing, but don’t confuse the two or you will be permanently messed in the head.

Like the Mütter Museum, the Mummers Museum is not for everybody.  I was drawn to it because I am fascinated by community-created rituals, and Philadelphia’s New Year’s Day Mummer Parade is a bizarre and wonderful example of how folk traditions are initiated, institutionalized, and passed down to new participants.

Philly is home to several Mummers “clubs” (which resemble New Orleans Mardi Gras krewes) that march and dance in a garish New Year’s Day parade, replete with “comics” (clowns), “string bands,” “wenches,” and “fancy brigades.”  The clubs can spend $100-$200k outfitting their membership in fantastical costumes (properly called “suits”) and they compete in themed choreographic presentations that are rehearsed for months on a volunteer basis.

This is a five-minute documentary featuring a champion mummer club, the South Philly Vikings.  (Note: as of 2009, there are no more cash prizes…these folks are mummers for love and bragging rights, and spend much of the year fundraising to make their show possible.  Shades of SpiderCow!!)

The Mummers Museum documents the evolution of the parade from its roots in ancient mummer traditions to its modern regulated state. The museum itself is a little dusty and many of the exhibits are aging and nonfunctional, but we found a few bits of history to enlighten us–the archive photos of early parades are fantastic.  It’s clear the parade was once a subversive romp by a mostly immigrant population–Samuel likened it to the “Burning Man” of its time–but now it is a big money establishment-run affair, and the Mummers Museum helps one understand this evolution from high-spirited improvisational mischief to manic civic competition.

The volunteers who run the museum–members of mummers clubs themselves–will enthusiastically talk your ear off about the Mummer phenomenon.   One is left wondering if there’s a kind of wonderful antic madness running through Philly, or if there just aren’t enough other activities to keep people gainfully occupied.  It’s easy to forgive them for oversharing their excitement though–lots of sparkles for New Year’s Day, a massive and serious contest, and an even more massive and serious party afterwards!!

The Mummers Museum is outside the main tourist area of town where I guess rent is cheap for non-profits–we had a nerve-wracking walk through a rough section of Philly to get back to our hotel.  That tired us out so we opted to have dinner close by at a cloyingly hip place on Chestnut called Continental Midtown, a “global tapas” diner (which translates as small plates, but you can’t say “small” in these recessionary days, even around foodie types who should know better.)

We had our Regionally Required Dish–Philly Cheese Steak–in a won ton wrapper, and it tasted pretty good, if lacking in Philly street cred.

Sadly, Philly street CRUD was all we had that night at our hotel, Club Quarters Philadelphia.

About one-thirty in the morning, the nightclub downstairs spawned what Samuel dubbed a “horn artist,” i.e. some schmuck who leaned into his/her car horn for about two hours.  That, the shrieking and yelling from the clubgoers, and the consequent sirens two hours later kept us stone awake until about four a.m.  So lovely, as we had to get up at 5:30 a.m. to make our train to New York.

We were beyond zombied and miserable when we went downstairs that morning–mind you, we were on the NINTH FLOOR and the ruckus sounded like it was just outside the window–and Club Quarters gave no quarter when I complained upon check-out.  “Oh yeah, that’s the club downstairs” was all they said, politely, and our only recourse was to write a ruthlessly truthful review on TripAdvisor about our night there.  They didn’t even have their lobby coffee ready.  We were traumatized but too exhausted to actually freak out on it.

It’s really too bad–Club Quarters could have been a nice experience if they had made some attempt to deal with the situation, or with us.  As it is, if it’s a weekend–run away, run away!!

At six a.m. we slogged onto the train to Penn Station, NYC, where we transferred to the Amtrak Empire State up the Hudson River Valley to Niagara Falls.  It was a packed train, which surprised us, but the scenery was beautiful.

We arrived in Niagara in the late afternoon and were driven to our inn by an Indian taxi driver who drove like Batman having a panic attack (as it ended up, all our taxi drivers were Indian; apparently in Niagara there are a substantial number of immigrants and tourists from India, who often come via Canada.)

From the first moments of our arrival, it was clear Niagara Falls was not all we had been led to believe, though it has kept a few of its maidenly virtues intact.  Sadly, the “Honeymoon Capital of the World” has lost much of its business to the meretricious development across the river on The Canadian Side.  It seems to be sad days for the U.S. portion of Niagara, but maybe that’s about to change???….

….More on that Hard Rock Border War and the Lack of a Honeymoon “There” There when next I post….stay tuned!