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Day Two

Miriam is obsessively thorough in her research of hotels, so we knew in advance that our room in Richmond contained a small refrigerator.  This was good news, since she always has leftovers from dinner, and getting two meals out of one is a good way to save money on the road.  Alas, we awoke to the disappointment of finding our room’s refrigerator not cold at all.  When we went to the desk to complain the clerk explained that they unplug the appliances when guests check out to save energy.  That’s a fine idea, but I wish they’d told us in advance.  Miriam’s breakfast was lost.  Fortunately, the regretful clerk offered us their buffet for free.  I made my own waffle, and placed it atop a mountain of bacon.  And, in spite of the refrigerator blunder, the hotel was quite nice and a good value.  By the end of the day, however, we’d be sleeping in a hotel so opulent that it would make even the fanciest of hotels seem like a Bangladeshi sewage treatment plant.

We were packed into the car and heading back north on I-95 as soon as we finished breakfast.  Our destination was Washington, D.C., but in the mean time I was excited to be traveling through the real heart of the Civil War.  The names of towns, counties, and rivers that we passed along our route stood out to me as landmarks in some great historical atlas.  I vividly recall the roadsigns for battlefields seeming like a chronicle of the War’s progression: Fredericksburg, Gaines’ Mill, Wilderness, Chancellorsville, Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, Petersburg, and so on.   I remember looking out the window as we crossed the Rappahannock River.  The highway went from maybe six lanes to at least a dozen as we approached the Beltway encircling the District of Columbia.  In the middle was a lane that can be used for traffic going in either direction, which can be changed depending on the time of day.  We crossed the Potomac and got our first look at Washington.

I have driven a car in Puerto Rico, so almost no amount of traffic or dangerous road conditions can upset me too much anymore.  That said, Washington is a frustrating place to drive, if only because unpredictable road closures render almost any system of navigation, old-fashioned or electronic, useless.  Miriam is fond of using the GPS device on her phone.  In many places that gadget would suffice.  In Washington, however, it will say, “Turn right at Pennsylvania Avenue”, unaware that attempting to turn right at Pennsylvania Avenue would result in a significant Department of Homeland Security incident.  We had a hotel reservation and a car.  But we didn’t want to valet to park our car at the hotel because that would be absurdly expensive.  Finding a reasonably-priced garage near our hotel was challenging.  Meanwhile, Miriam was nervous that the hotel would demand a substantial deposit above and beyond the price of the room, which was already paid.  In Puerto Rico last year, the resort there demanded many hundreds of dollars as a deposit, which significantly depleted our walkin’ around money.  The price of our room in San Juan, however, was a bargain compared to the price of our room in Washington.  If we had to pay a thousand dollars as a deposit in D.C., our time there would be significantly less lavish.  I could not imagine how they would expect guests to front so much money, so I was not nearly as worried as Miriam.  And, thankfully for both of us, no unreasonable deposit was required.

The Willard Hotel is historic.  There is no disputing that fact.  Every important political figure of the past two centuries has either stayed there or visited.  The original building has been replaced by a far more grandiose one, which would look quite at home in Paris, but the new building has a legacy almost as rich.  The lobby is opulent, with the seals of the fifty states painted on the coffered ceiling.  Behind the reception desk are old fashioned slots for room keys.  The Pennsylvania Avenue side of the hotel is one floor lower than the F Street side: to get up to F Street you pass through a long corridor and up some steps, where there is a second small, but still fancy lobby.  Our room, No. 914, was on a high floor facing east.  You can see our room’s window, surrounded by fluted stonework, directly above the very center of this photograph.  When we first got to our room a tuxedo-clad man was exiting, having just left a basket of fruit on a table by the window.  The radio was on, and I took it as a good sign that Schumann’s Konzertstück for For Horns was playing.  The furnishings were elegant, and the bed was comfortable.  The bathroom appeared to be made entirely of marble.

We didn’t stay in the room long.  In fact, we put our bags down and almost immediately took off for the Mall.  On our previous trip to Washington, the National Museum of American History was closed.  We were so disappointed to miss it then, and our return trip was prompted, in large part, by our desire to see the treasures that great museum holds.  We walked briskly down 14th Street and entered the building along Constitution Avenue.  Inside the lobby, long glass display cases hold assorted neat things: fancy jars for leeches, pretty kitty dresses, C-3POs, shirts for Magnum, P.I.s, and so on.  The Smithsonian exhibits are arranged by subject, with a “featured artifact” displayed prominently.  At the transportation exhibit, for example, a historic locomotive sits on rails.  In that area they had an old car from the Chicago L, a D.C. streetcar, old automobiles, a ship’s engine, and several locomotives, including one spectacular early-twentieth century engine with wheels as tall as me.  The first ladies’ gowns were extremely popular, and people pressed their faces against the glass to get a look.  Everyone who passed it stopped and stared at Mrs. Obama’s dress.  Another star attraction at the Smithsonian is Julia Child’s kitchen.  We spent so much time looking at every little thing that the museum closed and we had to leave.  We weren’t willing to rush it and miss things, so we decided we’d come back the next day.

We still had hours of daylight, and I thought we might check out the view from the tower at the Old Post Office, but, alas, it was closed.  So we took a leisurely walk back to the hotel to get ready for our night out.  We were looking sharp.

I had made us reservations at the Old Ebbitt Grill on 15th Street, just a half block from our hotel.  It’s an old place, and remarkably popular.  The bar is legendary.  It had a great atmosphere, and, to my great relief, Mrs. Hill was very pleased with the menu.  She loved her meal; I loved mine.  The service was impeccable.  The prices were not obscene.  Sure, it was more than we usually spend on a meal, but it was special.  They had a painting hanging on the wall there that I loved, and were it not larger than me, I’d have been tempted to snatch it off the wall and abscond with it.   All together, the dinner was an experience we won’t forget.

Though it was after ten o’clock, we weren’t ready to turn in just yet, so we took the short walk around the White House grounds.  The skies were cloudy, but the temperature was comfortable, and the walk back to our hotel was pleasant.  The lobby was quiet at that hour, and we took the time to explore more of the hotel before heading up to our room.  Once there, we found little chocolates on our bed, and the covers had been turned down.

Filed under: Dana Heritage Project, History, Musings, Special Occasions, Transportation, Travel on August 17th, 2010 | No Comments »

In the autumn of 2008, Miriam and I traveled by airplane to Washington, D.C.  It was my first time there, and I loved almost everything about the trip: the monuments, the memorials, the museums, the fancy hotel, and the amazing day trip to Mount Vernon.  But, though we spent several days in the District, we didn’t see everything wanted to, and since we had such a wonderful time it was certain that we would return.

The last weekend of May this year marked our fifth wedding anniversary, and with no scholastic obligations weighing me down, and with the car in good working order, we set out on a long road trip that would take us across much of the southeast United States, with the nation’s capital as our main attraction, and many other places of interest along the way.

Day One

We pulled out of the driveway before dawn on Thursday, May 27.  After stopping for some last-minute items, we got underway in earnest, and were making our way north out of Gainesville when the sun was coming up.  Perhaps because I have driven the route so many times, and perhaps because of the unremitting bleakness of the towns along the way (Waldo, Starke, Lawtey), Highway 301 south of Interstate 10 struck me as about the least visually rewarding stretch of road on our entire trip.  Only Interstate 95 through South Carolina rivaled it for sheer blight.

We had already reached Georgia by 7:30AM.  In fact, I missed getting a free map at the state welcome center because it was not yet open.  We crossed the Savannah River and were in South Carolina barely an hour later.  We drove on for another hour and twenty minutes before stopping for breakfast.  Interstate 95 spans an enormous distance across South Carolina, and the drive through that state seems to go on forever, with almost nothing beautiful to look at.  Miriam drove that leg of the trip, and we got to North Carolina around 12:30PM.  That time I got my free map.  I had never been further north on I-95 than the junction at I-40, but, truth be told, there isn’t much to look at:  the fake lighthouse in Kenly houses a Wendy’s.  We were in Virginia just before three o’clock, and as we speeded toward our destination, I became excited by the highway signs: we had traveled a long way!

Richmond was our destination that first day.  We arrived at our hotel around 4:30PM, checked in, and almost immediately headed back out.  We had to choose between two activities in the city that night: enjoying food and entertainment at the botanical garden, or visiting the Edgar Allen Poe Museum.  I am glad we chose the latter, because the Poe Museum in Richmond is a little gem.  Housed in the city’s oldest building (sadly, none of Poe’s former residences in Richmond still stand), the museum holds a surprising number of authentic items, including objects once owned by the writer, as well as autograph manuscripts, and extremely rare editions of his works.  Spread among a few modest old brick buildings, the museum even houses the staircase from Poe’s childhood home, fully reassembled.  Stepping outside into a lovely courtyard, we sat and listened to a singer while enjoying a snack.  The weather was perfect, though Richmonders repeatedly apologized to us for what they considered uncommonly hot temperatures.  Miriam bought a souvenir in the gift shop, and we said goodbye to the friendly staff, having experienced a splendid little place that cost nothing that night.  Plus, we parked directly in front of the front door!

A large model of nineteenth century Richmond at the Poe Museum drew my attention to the great state house that lies in the middle of that city.  It wasn’t far away, at all, and when we arrived we found it was unbelievably easy to park our car.  We climbed the steps at the southwest corner of the capitol grounds and found the place completely deserted.  It was still quite light outside, but nobody was around, so we decided to go exploring.  We walked right up to the great columns on the south portico of the building, and peeked in the enormous windows.  I don’t recall trying to open the door, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if we could have just strolled right in.  The view of the city from that high place was delightful.  We walked around to the east side of the grounds and found the old governor’s mansion.  Several presidents of the United States have lived there.  It sits so close to the state house that I envied the office holder’s one-minute commute.  The mansion itself is handsome but not ostentatious.  It has a low wall in front that one could easily jump over.  Looking to the west across the north face of the capitol we saw the tall statue of Washington upon a horse.  It was beginning to get dark, but we continued to explore the grounds.  Great trees hovered over statues of famous Virginians; attractive benches surrounded lovely fountains; and gorgeous roses mocked me.

We wrung the last bit of daylight from the sky before leaving that place.  We went looking for a place to eat, but driving up and down the city streets yielded few obvious choices.  We were just looking in the wrong place.  According to our friends and Richmond natives, Kat and Harris, the area around the capitol clears out at night, while the nightlife moves to the west end.  There, along a very busy Main Street, we found the Star-lite.  It was intimate enough, though I was somewhat sad when they switched the television above the bar from the Nationals game to basketball.  I apparently had a milkshake for dinner.  On the way back to our hotel we drove down long avenues of elegant nineteenth century homes.  The entire city, it seems, was rebuilt in the 1870s, a hundred years before I was born.

Filed under: Dana Heritage Project, Geography, Musings, Transportation, Travel on August 17th, 2010 | No Comments »

Let us say that Summer began on the first of May.  That was the date this year when it turned hot.  Two days earlier the low temperature had been forty-five degrees; on May first the high was ninety-two degrees.

May first was also my graduation day.  My mother, my father, and all my living grandparents came to Gainesville and stood outside the O’Connell Center in the blazing sun for what seemed like an eternity waiting for the previous commencement ceremony to conclude.  When I was at last allowed to enter the building, sweaty and thirsty, I located my fellow English majors, and stood silently in line waiting to be ushered into the arena.  I didn’t know or even recognize anyone until the ceremony was under way, and even then, of the hundreds of names called that afternoon I recognized only two besides my own.  I had pleasant conversation with the girl sitting next to me.  She, too, was an English major, but her focus was literary theory, and mine was eighteenth- and nineteenth century British literature: our paths never crossed.  I was genuinely proud and happy to be there, and I thought the ceremony itself was dignified. Miriam captured a funny picture of me looking like Sasquatch as I crossed the stage.

After it concluded I gathered my people, and we made our way in several cars to Satchel’s.  I was frustrated by the experience, not because the restaurant was so crowded and the wait was so long; I expected that.  Rather, I was disappointed that Satchel’s made no attempt to reduce the suffering of their waiting patrons.  I knew I wanted one of the rare and desirable deep-dish pizzas–I had even reserved one ahead of time–but they wouldn’t start preparing it until we were seated, even though doing so would have freed a table forty minutes earlier for other patrons.  The lack of any real climate controlled waiting area was hard on my older relatives.  But the food was delicious, and everyone loved it.  Plus, Miriam brought a cake.

That day also marked the first time my mother and grandmother ever saw where I live.  I am sure they loved our home.  Miriam and I set our air conditioning down to seventy-six degrees to make sure everyone was comfortable, and it felt so comfortable that we decided then and there that we’d keep it that way all summer long.  I dubbed this “Summer of Seventy-Six”.

I received some nice graduation gifts: Miriam bought me new sneakers, my Grandma gave me a picture of her with my grandfather taken in the 1940s, and my Grandmom gave me a classy engraved pen.

That’s how summer began.  Just last week I received my diploma in the mail, so it’s official.  And now summer is ending.

Filed under: Dana Heritage Project, Family, Food, General, Meteorology, Musings, School on August 12th, 2010 | 1 Comment »

As a child, few occasions inspired as much dread for me as the dawning of a new school year.  August was a month-long count-down to misery, and the Sunday night before classes began–the first “school night” of the year–was undoubtedly my least favorite date on the calendar.  That date is nigh.

After a break from school that, for all intents and purposes, began last December, I am just one week from embarking on at least two grueling years of intensive study, and I am sad to see this summer pass away.  I have a great deal to look forward to, but at the same time, the uncertainties are many and the fear is strong.

Furthermore, with the commencement of autumn classes, this long, glorious summer will come to an end, and I will still not understand how it could have passed so quickly.

So, before that dreaded day arrives, I will reflect on these last few months in a series of posts that I hope will answer that age-old question: how I spent my summer vacation.

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Filed under: Musings, Nostalgia, School on August 12th, 2010 | No Comments »

Though its sonic palette doesn’t strike me as particularly æstival, The Hollies’ “Bus Stop” is, in fact, a summer song, and one I have loved for as long as I can remember.  If music is, as I believe, about conflict and resolution, then two things make the song special: first, the Picardy third coming out of the instrumental break; and, second, the vocal harmonies in the section that follows:

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And we can be glad to learn that, somewhat atypically, the speaker’s love lasts even when summer doesn’t.

Filed under: Musings, Popular Music on August 9th, 2010 | No Comments »