Summer of 76: The Trip, Part Two: Anniversary
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 »
