By Trish Boppert

My mission: to experience Philadelphia, the city I call home, through the eyes of its international visitors. How hard could it be, I reasoned, with overseas visitors flocking to Philly in record-breaking numbers?

In 2003, Philadelphia welcomed a whopping 397,000 overseas visitors, ranking 12th (up from 21st place in 2000) on the global hit parade of U.S. destinations. At the height of the warm weather tourist season, natives in a hurry dodge slow-moving clusters of them on every corner of the city's historic district. They stroll cobblestone streets trod by Ben Franklin, Betsy Ross and enough founding fathers to sign a little old thing called the Declaration of Independence. They mug for the camera beside historic landmarks, enjoy an eclectic array of dining and shopping options and catch their breath on benches lining Washington Square, one of several jewel box parks created/established by William Penn and designed by Thomas Holme.

But first, they usually head for the Liberty Bell, recognized worldwide as an icon of freedom and a focal point of "America's most historic square mile." On Market Street between 5th and 6th streets, it's just a block from Independence Hall (where both the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution were born), and steps away from the Independence Visitors Center and the new National Constitution Center. All sit within Independence National Historic Park, as do 17 other buildings of historical interest also open to the public.

Overseas tourists may come for the history (or to jog up the Art Museum steps like Rocky Balboa), but what do they make of, say, Philadelphia's reverence for cheese steaks and soft pretzels? To find out, I headed for the Liberty Bell on a sweltering August day, when neither heat, humidity, lengthy lines, nor heightened security measures deterred tourists intent on seeing the most famous cracked bell on planet Earth.

Pen in hand, I eavesdropped on a group I'd pegged (based solely on their lack of fanny packs) as Parisian, prepared to capture their every "ooh la la" for prosperity. Behind me, an authoritative eight-year-old held her grandmother's hand, shifting effortlessly from English to Russian and back again as she provided a running commentary. "You can't touch the bell; it's not allowed, and you'll get yelled at if you try," she cautioned, making me wonder whether Granny had a history of lunging past security guards to fondle forbidden objects.

The Parisians, it turned out, hailed from Indiana. Once through the metal detectors, I bid the Hoosier contingent adieu and zeroed in on a family speaking rapid-fire Japanese. When I asked if this was their first visit to Philadelphia, the father smiled, bowed and handed me a camera before scurrying back to his beaming family for a group photo. After capturing their blurry image for prosperity, I returned the camera amidst a flurry of bows.

Undeterred, I headed hopefully toward Independence Hall, ears perked for any language but my own. Zut alors! Could it be? A gaggle of stylish middle-aged types, led by a dapper guide, all chattering in fast and furious French, approached. Pen quivering, I waited for my moment to pounce. Which never came, because the guide led them to a private tour bus, and like elegant goslings, they boarded it one by one.

Deciding to cast my foreign tourist net wider, I hopped aboard a double-decker Big Bus for an expertly guided tour that included the historic district, Penn's Landing on the Delaware River, Center City's sky-scraping bustle, University City's ivied charms (home to the University of Pennsylvania), and everything in between. Perched up top, I had a bird's-eye view of Chinatown's Friendship Gate at 10th and Arch streets. Adorned with fire-breathing dragons, the multi-colored arch was a joint project between Philadelphia and Chinese sister city Tianjin. Riding above the traffic, I soon spotted the Philadelphia Museum of Art (its steps recognized worldwide as film character Rocky Balboa's training ground). Glowing golden in the sun, the museum stands guard above the Schuylkill River, where scullers skim across the surface like agile aquatic insects. Home to the Dad Vail Regatta, this section of the river is lined by the Victorian Gothic Boathouse Row.

Tearing myself from the view, I surreptitiously appraised my fellow passengers in hope of discovering an English-speaking visitor with a desire to divulge detailed impressions of the city. Hearing an accent to the rear of the bus, I lurched down the aisle, pad in hand, and introduced myself to a Croatian fellow who was enjoying the view in the company of his mother and daughter. Now living in Washington, DC, he'd been in the States for about a year.

"Philadelphia is a very cosmopolitan U.S. city, with wonderful, historic and modern buildings, and it's very much easier to get around here than New York," he enthused as his mom (enjoying her first visit to the U.S. and to Philadelphia) nodded affably. "Philly is just fine," agreed his young daughter, "but why does the guide have to talk so much?"

Next on my agenda: the Lights of Liberty show, where I was delighted to learn that several German tourists had signed up for the very tour I'd be taking. I soon spotted them chatting quietly to one another in what I hoped, mistakenly as events were to prove, was English. Billed as a "sound and light spectacular," the entertaining nighttime walking tour is a bombastic blend of sound and special effects (including five-story light projections) designed to bring the American Revolution to life.

Tours commence (and headphones in several languages are issued) at the PECO Liberty Center near Independence Hall. Headphones on backward, I stumbled gamely through the dusk, pen in hand, unable to hear a single word the Germans uttered. As shouts of invisible mobs and galloping horsemen thrummed in my ears, I peered myopically at the Germans, futilely attempting to read their lips in the dark.

I approached the Germans with a hearty, albeit confusing, Guten morgen, only to learn that they were leaving the U.S. in a matter of hours. Hopes of embedding myself among them cruelly dashed, I asked if they enjoyed their visit. Struggling nobly to overcome our mutual language barrier, they assured me that Philadelphia was both wunderbar and "cozy."

My so-called "strategy"—lurking around historic sites and approaching unsuspecting tourists—had come up small. Was it possible, I wondered in desperation, to get the skinny on the international Philly experience via phone and e-mail? Dashing off a few notes to friends of friends who were also recent (and English-speaking) visitors to my fair city, I quickly hit pay dirt.

Doreen, a German native with a thing for Edgar Allan Poe (which she's several times indulged at Philly's Edgar Allan Poe National Historic Site), has visited Philadelphia at least 10 times. Wowed by Philly's Chinatown, she writes from Munich that even New York City's Chinatown can't compare.

Mission accomplished!

To plan your next trip to Philadelphia, call or visit your local AAA Travel Counselor today.

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