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I had an amazing week in our nation’s capital.  I went more places and saw more things than I thought possible, and for that I owe my incredibly sore feet a debt of gratitude.

I arrived at Washington National Airport last Saturday morning after taking the pre-dawn flight out of Gainesville.  In fact, I was already in Atlanta before sunrise.  The Omni Shoreham hotel is on the northwest side of DC, near Rock Creek Park.  As I wrote before, the hotel has a remarkable history.  But what I noticed most of all were the beautiful grounds.  The garden in the back was exquisite, made more so by the autumn leaves which, all over town, were at their peak.  The room itself was decent, though, since it was on only the second floor, the view was not as stunning as it might have been had it been higher.  The luxurious little touches–like the Washington Post and hot cocoa with homemade marshmallow cubes left outside the door each morning, or the little chocolates left on the pillows each evening–were pleasant, as was sitting outside on the patio in the evening by the fire.  The restaurant in the hotel was pricey–even more so than the already expensive food found all over Washington–so most meals were taken at a small restaurant right across the street called Open City.  It was always crowded and busy, but mostly tasty.  There was also a CVS and a McDonald’s right there, which was convenient, and I was extremely surprised to find that every McDonald’s I visited–even the fancy one right next to the very ugly FBI headquarters in the heart of the city, and the one at Reagan National Airport–had the Dollar Menu.  Some of the McDonald’s locations in Orlando don’t have the Dollar Menu, so I was pleased to save some money where I didn’t expect I’d be able to.

The Woodley Park-Zoo Metro station was only a block from the hotel, which was amazingly convenient, since I used it as my exclusive mode of transport in Washington.  Every subway station in town had its own little quirks, and the Woodley Park-Zoo stop has the most terrifyingly tall escalator I’ve ever seen.  It takes several minutes to ride.  My favorite Metro feature was the Walt Whitman quote in the marble above the tunnel into the Dupont Circle station.  Alas, the Metro, while indispensable, doesn’t quite go everywhere one needs it to go.  There is no stop at all in Georgetown, and nothing near the monuments along the National Mall.  To get to the Lincoln Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, the Roosevelt Memorial and the WWII, Korean War and Vietnam War memorials you have to hoof it.  And after you’ve already walked miles through amazing museums and historic sites, your feet begin to alert you to their overuse.  By Wednesday morning my feet–used to a great deal of walking–were aching to the point that I was limping.  But, following the ironic advice of the Little League coaches of my youth, I walked it off.

The Smithsonian museums along the Mall are full of amazing treasures.  The first I went to–Saturday afternoon–was the National Air and Space Museum, where I saw the Spirit of St. Louis and John Glenn’s Mercury Friendship 7 capsule exhibited together in the lobby.  Most astonishing, though, was seeing the very first airplane moments before seeing the suits worn by the first men to touch the moon (which for some reason I didn’t take a picture of!).  It was overwhelming.

That was just the beginning of my trip.  I’ll continue the story later, and write about how I watched the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington National Cemetery, where I also walked across the original wood floors in Robert E. Lee’s mansion; how, in the span of two days, I stood in the rooms where George Washington and Abraham Lincoln died; how I met a Kiwi; and how I stood in front of the White House the night the nation elected the first black president of the United States.

…the best word in the English language.

I am just in following an afternoon spent in airports and in the air, and it feels wonderful to be back in my own house among my own things, relaxing on my couch with my cat on my lap.

The Washington trip was beyond belief, and tomorrow (Sunday) I will certainly write all about it.

WASHINGTON — I am still taking in the news of Senator Obama’s decisive victory in yesterday’s election.  It almost doesn’t seem real.  I was in front of the White House last night, and as I stood before its magnificent north facade with my hands on the iron gate, I pondered the centuries of history made within its painted stone walls.  Americans generally divide their history into the administrations of the men that inhabit that great mansion.  There have been presidents that have meet the challenges of their times, and others who have failed.  We are situated, then, at the conclusion of a period of American history that is acknowledged by the public and scholars alike as having been disastrous.  The reputation of the United States abroad has suffered almost as much as its citizens have suffered from the consequences of failed economic policies at home.  Two wars, a strained military, rising poverty and income inequality, less access to healthcare, unresponsive and incompetently administered government agencies - the list of legitimate complaints against this administration is long.  Everywhere you turn, people have soured on President Bush, and are eager to see his tenure expire.

This year marked the fourth presidential election in which I have participated.  I distinctly recall 2004 as having been a campaign of critical importance.  I was bitterly disappointed that year.  The sheer length of the 2008 election was fatiguing.  There were frayed nerves on both sides. In all those years, however, I cannot remember a more passionate response to the outcome.  The cheers of the crowds in the streets of Washington last night lasted until the morning hours.  Barack Obama’s name is on everyone’s lips.  I haven’t heard gloating or boasting.  This is different.  It’s not even like a great sports victory.  It isn’t “we’re number one” that people are proclaiming.  It’s something else.  There is a sense, of course, of the thrill of being alive and present at a monumental moment in time.  But it’s more than that.

I never thought I wouldn’t see a black man elected president in my life.  I didn’t know when it would happen, but it didn’t seem as impossible to me as I know it seemed to many African Americans.  I haven’t walked a mile in their shoes, so I cannot see issues the way they do.  I don’t want to believe that we live in a country of racists, but I cannot always see what isn’t directed at me, and I have to be realistic.  It is being said that this election has demonstrated finally that America has moved past the wicked days of racial prejudice.  I am not so sure about that.  It may just prove that one extraordinarily brilliant man who happens to be black can win against an extraordinarily brave man whose talents were not perceived to be as relevant to our present needs.  Less obviously exceptional black men still may not find their opportunities measure up to those of unexceptional white men.  But that will change over time.  Senator Obama’s victory might show that all men are, at least, created equal.  Barack Obama rose to the level of his talent.  His speech to the crowd in Grant Park last night demonstrated his unrivaled ability to inspire.  I pray that that talent will also help him unify this divided nation.

The presidency is a much more glamorous sounding job than it probably is in practice.  There is a reason that George Washington never wanted it, and it clearly ages a man.  James Polk died very shortly after leaving office, so exhausting was his one term.  President-elect Obama is in an unenviable position.  The challenge he faces is almost insurmoutable.  Lincoln and Roosevelt had less encouraging circumstances, but few others have faced a steeper climb.  I am hopeful, though, that he is up to the task.  If he is, his likeness will one day grace a coin.

WASHINGTON — It seems like this presidential campaign has been going on for years, and, in effect, it has.  It wasn’t always clear that it would end up being Obama and McCain whose names would be on the ballot, but, here we are.

Obviously, I have been extremely interested in the election this year, and, as you know, I have a preference.  I am encouraged by the poll numbers for my guy, but you never know what will happen.  It will be a bittersweet win for either candidate, since the epic failure of the Bush administration will constrain the agenda of the next president.  There was an opportunity in 2004 to set things on a better course, but it didn’t come to pass.  The next four years are about clean up.

In any event, it’s critical that everyone remember that we are our government.  The extent to which it works for us or against us is on the line.  We don’t have direct democracy, so this election is our best opportunity to voice our opinions.  And that only can happen when we vote.  I already voted.  If you haven’t yet, I hope you will.

WASHINGTON — Until I was an adult I had never slept in a hotel.  A motel, yes, but a hotel–with hallways inside–was something I didn’t know anything about.  Since that first stay, in an old building on Boulevard de Magenta in Paris in May 2001, I have spent many nights in hotels in places near and far.  Some of these hotels have been dismal and some have been very comfortable and some have been quite fancy.  But the hotel where I am staying this week is opulent.  There’s really no other way to describe it than extreme luxury.

The Omni Shoreham is an historic hotel, opened in the early 1930s as the Depression was crippling the nation.  Roosevelt had is innagural ball here in 1933, and many presidents since then have as well.  The Beatles had their own floor in here in 1964.  The grounds are splendid, with a gorgeous garden.  And, though it requires a short subway ride to get to the Mall, the neighborhood is charming, and we’re right across the street from a popular and tasty eatery. When I woke up this morning there was hot chocolate and a Washington Post outside my door.

But, last night, as I was sitting on the patio above the garden next to a firebowl, watching the lights flickering in a fountain beneath bright yellow and crimson trees, I thought about how unlikely the situation was.  I study British literature, and a significant theme in 18th- and 19th Century novels is class.  Two hundred years ago, only the super rich would have ever experienced such opulence.  In fact, even when this hotel opened, only a select few Americans could afford to stay.  I am really surprised to find myself in this situation.