On Broadway between Fleet and Baltimore Streets, the morning rush begins around 5 a.m.

Boisterous young day laborers assemble outside the 7-11 on the corner of Broadway and Lombard. Clad in layers of oversized clothes, the men wait for someone to drive by and offer them a day's work. Some find work quickly. Others wait all day in vain. Some wait sick, others wait intoxicated, but all are anxious to connect with an employer who will pay them modest wages in cash.

Across the street, Cirilo Coseilla is parked outside St. Patrick's Church. At this early hour he stands over a hot stove in the back of his large tin truck cooking fresh chicken, beef, pork, tongue, and tortillas-key ingredients for the gorditas, tacos and tamales he intends to sell to hungry customers during the lunch hours.

By 9 a.m., the area's small business owners are setting up their shops. Some live above the store; their commute is a flight of stairs. Others come from as far as Washington, D.C. to stock their shelves, sweep their floors or prepare their kitchens. The day ahead can be taxing, especially servicing customers who expect them to communicate in a language they are still struggling to learn.

By 10:30 a.m., all doors on the upper portion of South Broadway are open and the heart of Baltimore's up-and-coming immigrant community is in full swing. English is rarely spoken along this strip of Upper Fells Point these days; the animated greetings and earnest conversations are in Spanish. Store front signs declare "Se Habla Español." Spanish language periodicals entitled Opinón Latina and El Tiempo Latino are stacked high on newspaper stands.

In the area loosely bounded in the west by Central Avenue, by Baltimore and Fleet Streets in the north and south, and extending as far east as Haven Street in Highlandtown, Hispanics are beginning to show the semblance of a community. Although these immigrants hail from twenty different countries, their unifying thread is the Spanish language. The national and ethnic differences that bedevil many larger Hispanic communities elsewhere in the United States don't yet afflict Baltimore. Here, Hispanics are grateful just to stumble upon someone who speaks their language. "In New York, the communities are much bigger and there are many problems between people coming from different countries, but here it is very small and I don't see any problems," observes Isaac Burak, who immigrated to New York from Buenos Aires, Argentina, when he was 14 years old. The 40-year-old businessman moved to Baltimore in 2003 to open his first Sin Fronteras store on the 300 block of Broadway. "[Hispanic] people [in Baltimore] like to see others who speak Spanish."

Whatever their point of origin, almost all members of the Hispanic population came to Baltimore for the same reason: to embark on a new and more fruitful life than they could realize in their native countries. Day laborers, clerks, waiters, small business owners-whatever their endeavor, Hispanics in Baltimore are working tirelessly to adjust, cope, make ends meet and, possibly, to thrive.

"Business is good," nods Coseilla as he watches the line extend outside his truck at lunchtime. Though his truck, known as "la troca" or "la lonchera" by most of his customers, has become a neighborhood favorite, Coseilla hopes he will soon find an affordable space where he can open his own restaurant. "It could be better. There is always something with the truck. If it rains or snows, things can get slow."

Victor Cruz has what Cirilo Coseilla dreams of, a stable space for his business, and he's optimistic about the future. "There is great opportunity here," he says. Cruz's grocery La Famosita has been open on the corner of Fleet and Ann streets for six months. Originally from Puebla, Mexico, Cruz immigrated to Brooklyn, New York, in 1974, where he worked in a grocery store that is the model for La Famosita.

Cruz says he moved to Baltimore two years ago because it is "más tranquilo [more mellow]." Now Cruz can almost always be found behind the glass display case at La Famosita in his stained apron and worn out baseball cap with a logo that pays homage to his home country, ready to wait on customers. His wife is often around to help. So are his 8- and 9-year-old sons when they are not in school.

Cruz has lived in the United States for thirty years, and still his English is severely limited. He has been working since he was very young and had little, if any, time for formal education. He understands enough English to be able to greet, serve and thank his English-speaking customers. While this is sufficient, he would like to learn more if he can ever find the time.

The language barrier can be even more of an issue at a place like La Cazuela, an Ecuadorian restaurant popular among Hispanics and Anglos alike. The Ecuadorian owners, Marina and Enrique Tapia, do what they can to serve their American clientele, but often have trouble understanding them. Their bilingual 16-year-old son works as a waiter to mediate between the customers and the kitchen.

For many of the first-generation immigrants like Coseilla, Cruz and the Tapias, language becomes even more of a problem outside the workplace. The rapid influx of Hispanic residents-in the past decade alone, Baltimore's Hispanic population has nearly tripled, reaching an estimated 55,000-caught the city by surprise. Many public and private institutions are still not equipped to cater to people who do not speak English.

Spanish speakers who call city agencies are routinely routed through the Mayor's Hispanic Liaison Office, which has a staff of just two. Public school staff members are often unable to communicate with Spanish-speaking parents, making it difficult for parents to play an active role in their children's education. "Kids have to be translators at parent-teacher conferences, which defeats the purpose of a parent-teacher conference," explains Jessica Robinson, the project coordinator at Education Based Latino Outreach (EBLO). EBLO has been in Baltimore since the early 1980s and aims to help educate Hispanic children and adults through various programs about various subjects. "[Parents] want their kids to do well in school but don't know how to help them."

In addition to EBLO, other nonprofit organizations have been established to address the numerous challenges that face the city's Hispanic population. The Hispanic Apostolate, the Assisi House, Centro de la Comunidad, and CASA de Maryland perform community outreach, job placement, and legal advocacy work to help improve the quality of life for these new immigrants in Baltimore.

Despite the challenges of assimilating, Hispanic immigrants are having a positive impact on the neighborhood. Javier Bustamante, founder and CEO of Spanish Town Community Development, LLC, an organization dedicated to improving Upper Fells Point, says Hispanics are improving that neighborhood. "Hispanics bring a sense of vitality to the area that wasn't there before," Bustamante says. "The people come here to work, play, and live, and in doing so revitalize the area. Many start their own businesses, and all work like fiends."

Bustamante also points out that the variety of Hispanic cultures infused into the borough has created "one of the most diverse areas in the city." While the nickname "Spanish Town" has not yet become part of the Greater Baltimore vernacular, Hispanics have brought a new personality to an area previously in decline. Their restaurants, stores, and shops are unlike any Baltimore has seen before.

La Famosita, for example, carries everything from fresh cut chuletas [pork chops], to Mexican phone cards, to edible cactus plants. In Victor Cruz's native town of Puebla, Mexico, many consider cactus a delicacy.

At La Cazuela, Marina and Enrique Tapia serve Ecuadorian dishes, which many folks in the area have discovered are ideal for a leisurely lunch or dinner. "We don't eat tortillas," Marina explains about her native country's cuisine. "Our food is not like Mexico." Apparently it is a common misconception among outsiders that the foods of Central and South America are all alike. "We eat other foods like vegetables and yucca." She describes yucca as "a potato but más sabrosa [tastier]" that is "usually fried or eaten in soup."

Other stores in the area transcend nationalities and carry goods with a universal Hispanic appeal. At Don Pedro's Music Shop on Broadway, Puerto Rican-born Pedro Candelaría and his wife, Sandra, sell CDs of Latin music from all over, including salsa, meringue, bachata, flamenco, and reggae. Just one block up is Isaac Burak's Sin Fronteras where he sells authentic jerseys of different soccer clubs from South and Central American countries.

Even as they make progress toward their dreams, the aspiring Hispanics of Baltimore's " Spanish Town" are caught in a classic squeeze. The vitality they have brought to the neighborhood has inflated the cost of living and doing business there. "The Hispanic community has increased the property value here," Burak says proudly. Burak toiled as a wholesaler and commuted back and forth from New York for four years until he could afford his own business. In 2003, he opened Sin Fronteras in a rowhouse at 307 South Broadway. Burak installed a new floor, walls, and ceiling to make the place presentable. But he still can't afford to buy it because his own efforts keep pushing the price out of reach. "This place was nothing when I got it," he says. "When I came to the landlord four years ago, he wanted $30,000 for this place. Now he wants $140,000." So for now Burak lives above the store with his wife and 11-year-old daughter and, like many other Baltimore Hispanics, works for the day when his labors will finally pay off.

Nonetheless, Burak has high hopes for the future. "The area is growing so much and with so much need," he said. He recently opened his second business, Sin Fronteras II, which, like the original, sells athletic apparel, helps customers with money transfers and bill payments, and is also a travel agency. The original Sin Fronteras also has an outdoor kiosk that sells tortas [sandwiches] and liquados [smoothies], both neighborhood favorites.

Around the corner on Eastern Avenue, the Ramos family has settled in securely. Not only is their Mexican restaurant and grocery store, La Guadalupana, one of the city's best-known Hispanic businesses, but Cristobalina and Juan Ramos also own their entire side of the block between Wolfe and Ann Streets, where their eldest daughter, Daisy, owns and operates the bakery Panaderia Ramos. Their family of eight lives in a rowhouse attached to the back of their store, which is open seven days a week. "We are very happy with the neighborhood here," says Cristobalina, still struggling with her English after thirteen years in Baltimore. "It is very calm and business is good."

As she bakes fresh tortillas, Cristobalina talks about the family business's market niche. "We only sell Mexican products here, nothing else." The store's narrow aisles are stocked with various products one would very rarely find in the average grocery store. In the meat department, they carry fresh chorizo and cecina, fresh tortilla meat pre-prepared for the customer's convenience. In the front of the store in the produce section are barrels of fresh jalapeños and poblanos-a type of chili pepper usually eaten stuffed with cheese.

Juan and Cristobalina Ramos are among the few Hispanics who have been able to purchase property in burgeoning Upper Fells Point. Indeed, the escalating property values may someday scatter the Hispanic community. Many Hispanic immigrants are now looking to buy homes in other areas of the city and county. Fallstaff in the northwest and Brooklyn in the southern part of Baltimore City are two examples of other neighborhoods developing their own Hispanic presence.

As the busy day winds down, Carlos, a forlorn day laborer outside the 7-11 who would not give his last name, bespeaks the other end of the Hispanic experience in Baltimore. The 27 year old came to Baltimore from El Salvador two years ago and has been working any odd jobs he can muster. He has not been able to find work for two days now and stands waiting in the rain without a slicker.

"I miss my family," says Carlos, who has two children. His voice is muffled by what seems to be a harsh cold and quite possibly a sinus infection. "I think I will only be here three years more and then go back [to El Salvador]. I don't want to stay here."

But day labor and marginal existence don't represent the overall Hispanic experience in Baltimore, and certainly not their aspirations. The Hispanics of Upper Fells Point and the surrounding neighborhoods have firmly put their cultural imprint on the community. Baltimoreans may or may not come to speak of "Spanish Town" as familiarly as they do of Little Italy, but families like the Ramoses intend to stay. "We won't go back to Mexico," Cristobalina Ramos says. "We will probably be here the rest of
our lives."