Trip to Washington DC

              

       John was on a panel of the National Academy of Science discussing storm water in Washington DC, so I joined him. Part of the reason I wanted to go was nostalgia. Of this Army brat's 21 childhood homes, two were in northern Virginia when my father was stationed at Ft. Belvoir, the Pentagon, and Bethesda, Maryland.

      We arrived at Reagan International Airport as the sun was setting and rented a Camry. John’s phone navigated us to the Monaco hotel in the heart of downtown District of Columbia.

The Monaco Hotel in Washington DC.

      It was built in 1839, and was the first marble building in Washington DC. Originally, it was the General Post Office. In each room there is a bust of Thomas Jefferson because he was a good friend of Robert Mills, the architect who designed the Monaco as well as the Washington Monument.

Our larger room on the third floor. 

       Our room was very small, and below ground. We could see the bottom halves of people walking by outside our window. It reminded me of Laverne & Shirley’s apartment. The National Academy of Science was paying for the room for John. The next day we paid to upgrade to a bigger room on the third floor. It made all the difference!

               

Day One, Sunday, November 19, 2017

This steampunk lion greets you at the
entrance of Dirty Habit. 

Our first morning in the District of Columbia, we ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant named Dirty Habit. It’s a popular spot for Sunday brunch.

After breakfast we shopped at The International Spy Museum next door to the hotel. It had lots of interesting spy books and gadgets. We bought some unique Christmas presents to take home.

Then we headed to Springfield, Virginia. That’s where I lived from October 1968 to July 1969. We moved there from Hawaii. The DC riots had exploded six months before we moved, in reaction to the assassination of Martin Luther King. My father drove us through the burned out streets where the riots had happened. It was a tumultuous time.

I was an 8^th grader at Edgar Allen Poe Junior High. I took Home Economics there and got an A on the first thing I ever sewed—a puffy sleeved, square necked, green floral dress. Maybe I should say my mom got an A on it, because she corrected all of my mistakes, and made it beautiful.

That's me in the top left corner. Out of 623
eighth graders, 620 were white, 1 was black
1 was Chinese and 1 was Hawaiian--me!

I'm wearing the dress I made in Home Economics between my friends
Linda and Denise.

 Poe Jr. High is also where I raced to PE in the fall because we played field hockey and there weren't enough shin pads for all of us, so I had to make sure I got mine!

       Driving along the route that I used to walk home on from the bus stop, the neighborhood looked very much the same. Our brick house also hadn’t changed much. They had taken out the sprawling junipers at the corners of the driveway that we used to call the ball eating bushes because of all the tennis balls and baseballs it ate, but otherwise it looked the same.

It is a small house, only two bedrooms. My sister and I shared the bedroom with the windows on the left front corner of the house. My parents had the master bedroom, and my poor brother’s room was on the back of the house in a converted porch. The space heater in there didn’t keep it warm so he piled on the blankets.

When we lived there, we got our dog, a black miniature poodle. He was a pedigree named Jacques. His first owner was a single female army officer who worked with my Dad. She said her poodle puppy cried whenever he heard children playing, so she thought he’d be happier with a family that had children. She was right. He loved family life. We re-named him Kimo. He dug for moles in that backyard and ate our strawberries when they got ripe.

Even though I enjoyed the US history and the landscape of the area, there’s a reason why of all the places we lived, northern Virginia ranks as my least favorite place. 

We only lived in Springfield for nine months. I spent at least one month of it being bullied on the bus ride home every day. The kids on the bus forced me to sit on the floor, in my dress or skirt because girls weren't allowed to wear pants. They spent the ride hitting me with a broom that the bus driver used to sweep the bus. They called me a gook and the n-word and laughed while they beat me. Then when I got up for my bus stop, they spit on me as I walked down the aisle and finished it up by leaning their heads out the windows to spit on me somemore. The bus driver thought it was hilarious. One of my friends told them off, but they mocked him and called him a n-lover. Nice bunch of kids. Great bus driver.  

Five years later, and three houses (in Kansas, southern Virginia and Louisiana) later, in December of 1974, my father was assigned to the Pentagon. My family moved to Fairfax, Virginia. 
By that time I was in college at Louisiana State University. My parents asked if I wanted to transfer to a college closer to them, but I loved LSU, and at that point, LSU was the 14^th school I had attended. As a sophomore, I’d finally break even—14 schools for 14 grade levels. 
I flew into what was then Washington National Airport for Christmases and summers. I worked at McDonald’s, Herndon high school, and House of Fabrics in the Seven Corners shopping center. At McDonald’s that was the first time I was sexually harassed on the job. An older female manager, Marge, came to my defense and ended it. The male manager just added to my negative opinion of the area.

The house in Mosby Woods, looked much the same except for the trees in the front yard. My room was in the front right corner of the house. The house looks small from the front, but it has a daylight basement that opens out into the wooded back yard with a small creek running through it.

 John and I drove a few houses up the street to a playground that I don’t remember being there. We walked through that and down a trail into the woods so we could see the back of my former house. They had added on a small deck where the bay window was in the dining room.

We looked for the McDonald’s that I’d worked in, but I couldn’t remember exactly where it was. When we found one that I thought was the right one, it was torn down for an extensive remodel. We didn’t drive out to Herndon High School where I was a teacher’s aide helping English as a Second Language students, but we did go to Seven Corners Shopping Center.

When it opened in 1956, Seven Corners was the largest mall in the area. I knew that the fabric store I had worked in wouldn’t be there and I was correct. They had remodeled the mall in the 1990s so that there was no longer a central interior area to walk through with an escalator to the second floor.

 Now, all the stores opened out to the parking lot. JoAnn fabric store, Home Depot, and Barnes & Noble are there now.

The little Italian place where I used to eat an Italian Sausage calzone for lunch was gone. The shopping center was not as upscale as it was when I was there. In those days Garfinkel’s and Woodward & Lothrop were anchor department stores.

 Even the Lord & Taylor across the street was no longer there. (Side Note: Seven Corners was the site of one of the Beltway Sniper attacks in 2002.)

 It looked like those upscale stores had moved to Tyson’s Corner. We drove over there and I was shocked. It was big when I lived there almost 40 years ago—1.2 million square feet on one level with Hecht’s and Woodward & Lothrop as well as 100 specialty stores. It has almost doubled in size to—2.1 million square feet, three levels with Nordstrom, Bloomingdales, Lord & Taylor, Macy’s and close to 300 specialty stores. It is now the largest shopping center in the state of Virginia!

After showing John my old stomping grounds, we drove the 26 miles back to DC. That night we set out to eat at City Tap House and used Google Maps on his I-phone. That was a disaster. The restaurant was only 3-4 blocks away, but following the directions on the phone, it sent us in the opposite direction and then made us walk in ever increasing spirals. When you’re in a car, it’s just annoying to drive around the block a few times, but when you’re on foot in a city you don’t know, “recalculating” is not fun.

We eventually went back to the hotel and started over using Maps. When we finally got to City Tap House, all the walking had built up our appetites. The juicy burgers and ice cold Austrian pilsners recommeded by a South Dakotan sitting next to us at the bar were a worthy reward for two of us who had wandered and were indeed lost.

Day Two, Monday, November 20, 2017

John had to go to his meeting a few blocks away from the hotel. I was free to explore the capital of our country! Two places on my must-see list were the Smithsonian Museum and the Vietnam War Memorial Wall. This time I wasn’t going to rely on my phone for directions. I got a paper map from the concierge. He told me which subway line I was on, and there are trolleys that run through The Mall area, but it was a beautiful, sunny morning with temperatures in the 50s, so I decided to walk.

At a little past 9:00, as a homeless man set up in a doorway across from the hotel, I made my way down 7^th Street with the office workers getting off the subway, past the US Navy Memorial and the National Archives where my father and I had once spent an afternoon looking at microfilm of old census records to research our genealogy.

I made a right on Madison Drive and with the Washington Monument towering in the distance, walked to the Smithsonian Natural History Museum only to find that it opened at 10:00.

 Rather than sit on the steps waiting for forty minutes, I decided to go to the other place on my list, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. I’d visit the Smithsonian on my way back. It was early enough in the morning that there weren’t many people around. I enjoyed the leisurely walk.

      The 50 American flags were flying proudly around the base of the Washington Monument which is closed until 2019 to modernize the elevator. Decades ago I climbed the 898 steps to the top of it with my Mom, Dad, brother and sister. In 1976 they closed the stairs to the public because too many people had heart attacks or fell while making the 20 minute climb.

I walked through the World War II memorial—an oval of 56 granite pillars with the engraved names of the 48 states from 1945, as well as the District of Columbia, the Alaska Territory and Territory of Hawaii, the Commonwealth of the Philippines, Puerto Rico, Guam, America Samoa, and the US Virgin Islands. In the center was a spectacular fountain. I didn’t remember touring this memorial when I lived in the area. That’s because it opened in 2004.

       I strolled beside the long rectangular reflecting pool on my way toward the Lincoln Memorial. Then I climbed the stairs to be in the towering presence of President Abraham Lincoln’s marble statue. It was no less impressive than the first time I saw it with my family in 1968.

Standing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial with my sister Cynthia and brother Bob. (The Washington Monument is behind us.) Fall 1968.

Then I turned to the northeast to visit the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The two 246’ black gabbro walls which seem to stretch forever were etched with the names of 58,318 service members who died in the Vietnam War.

Just past the bronze statue of The Three Soldiers are two directories listing all the names on the wall.

I couldn’t remember most of the names of my father’s fallen comrades. I paged through looking for the one name I did remember-- Kenneth Lima. He was a friend of father’s, who was also from Hawaii. I met SSGT Lima before he left for Vietnam. When he was killed on June 22, 1967, my father signed up for his second tour in Vietnam to honor him. I found his name etched on the wall. Kenneth K. Lima. It was an emotional moment.

I had some time to gather my thoughts as I made my way back to the Smithsonian Museum. Out front there was a convoy of yellow buses parked, mostly from Montgomery County, Maryland. Amazingly, admission was free! After passing through security, a giant elephant greets visitors.

I had to see the Hope Diamond. It was on the second floor. All 45.52 carats were sparkling as it slowly rotated.
      I think I was as excited to see the multi-colored minerals, crystals, and chunks of gold as the kids on field trips were.
      While wandering through that maze, I spotted a poster with a Hawaiian feather cape on it. It was for the Objects of Wonder exhibit that opened in March. They had a Hawaiian feather cape? I had to see that! I asked a worker where it was and she led me to it.

      It was displayed in a quiet corner with lights that only shined on it for limited intervals to preserve the colors of the feathers. The write up on it said that it was originally worn by Chief Kekuaokalani. Then Kamehameha II took it as a battle prize. Kamehameha III inherited the cape. He gave it to US Captain John Aulick in 1841. His family donated it to the Smithsonian in 1883. I was glad that I got to see it.

Around the corner from the cape was a wall of Native Alaskan artwork that reminded me of the rainy Washington that I now call home. I looked at iridescent butterfly collections and stood under gigantic dinosaur skeletons with roaming groups of inquisitive, enthusiastic school kids.

       My stomach was reminding me that it was well past lunch time, so I started back to the hotel. I dropped off the goodies that I bought in the museum gift shop and then decided to eat in Chinatown, just a few blocks away from the hotel.
       It’s funny what a difference a few blocks makes. I realized, too late, that I probably shouldn’t have gone there by myself. I walked past a few groups of shady looking characters and then ducked into a tiny Chinese restaurant with roasted ducks hanging in the window. On the walls were great food critic reviews from the New York Times and the Washington Post, talking about the owner making the noodles and stretching them by hand.

      I ordered Won Ton Mein—a bowl of noodles and won ton in broth. The noodles were good, but the soup was flavorless. Maybe I’d ordered the wrong thing. It was disappointing.
       We were checking out of the hotel the next day. I wanted to see the White House, and the Capital. It was 3:30. I thought I could make it to the White House and then back to the hotel by the time John got out of his meeting. Then I could go to the Capital on Tuesday before we left. 
      I started marching toward the White House, stopping at The Gap along the way to buy a scarf. It was getting colder dipping into the low 40s as the sun got lower in the sky, and I was wearing a light jacket and hadn’t packed a scarf or gloves. 
       With my new, warm scarf wrapped around my neck, I stood beside two other women on a corner waiting for the light to change. A homeless man was yelling at us, something about not being willing to pick up a penny on the street for him. We have a lot of homeless people in Washington state and there are a lot in Hawaii too, but in DC they are more aggressive and they try to shame you into giving.
       I passed the US Treasury next door to the White House. The street in front of the White House was closed off with cement barricades for security. Back in the day, you could drive right past. My dad would tell us to wave to the President.

      My parents had been invited to the White House once because one his men was receiving the Medal of Honor. They were honored to attend the ceremony held in the White House library and they got special clearance to drive our Vista Cruiser through the gates and onto the grounds of the White House. My mother wore a navy blue suit, pill box hat, and gloves. I think Richard Nixon was President. I'm sure he also wore a suit.

       I walked along the sidewalk with a street and two fences between me and the White House. Armed Secret Service agents kept an eye on tourists coming and going. I gave one of them a subtle thumbs up and he gave me the chin nod.
       I tried to stand where I could get a good picture of the White House, but there was a scruffy looking guy on a bike holding a big sign that said, “F—k Trump!” occupying the best vantage point. He was carrying on, proud to be a jerk with an audience. Some people were taking pictures with him. 

       It made me angry. I was glad that I didn’t have to explain him or his sign to young children. I don’t care what your political beliefs are, or who you voted for, you should respect the office of the Presidency, and respect other people around you. Why should I care about this random guy's opinion? Does it count more than anyone else’s? Did we all travel from around the country to see this guy and his sign?

I pushed my way around him and got my picture while I held my tongue. It was just as well, the big mouthed bicyclist followed me for several blocks down Pennsylvania Avenue as I headed back to the hotel.

That's the White House over my shoulder.

       That night John and I ate at a nearby restaurant that I’d spotted on my private walking tour. The HenQuarter specializes in Southern cooking. John had the Fried Chicken and I had Shrimp and Grits. Everything was tasty and the biscuits were out of this world. Our friendly waiter boxed up some extra biscuits for us to take with us.

       When we got back to our room, I was tired. I checked my phone to see how far I’d walked that day. The grand total was 11.3 miles!

Day Three, Tuesday, November 21, 2017

       Our last day in DC! We got the hotel to extend our check out time to 1:00. I needed to get back to the hotel by 12:30 to get us checked out. The concierge would hold our suitcases until John came back at 3. Then we had to get the valet to bring our car around and head straight to the airport.

            

The last place I wanted to visit in DC was the US Capitol. It opened earlier than the Smithsonian, at 8:30. Congress wasn’t in session, so I wouldn’t be able to see them working on tax reform. I knew I wouldn’t have time for a tour, but there was always the gift shop. I walked down historic Pennsylvania Avenue with the White House behind me on another bright, sunny day with temperatures in the low 60s.
The Capitol building is magnificent and sits up on a gentle hill. I entered through the Peace Circle and followed the signs to the Visitor Center. There were still some fall leaves on the trees along the pathway.

        The Visitor Center is underground in the back of the Capital. I stood there for a few minutes picturing the crowds that gathered there during all of our Presidents’ inaugurations and appreciating the fact that I was standing where so many influential people had stood. So much history had happened here, at the most powerful place in the world. It’s a humbling experience.

        I passed through security with no problems because I’d read online what not to bring, and emptied my purse of any “contraband” beforehand. Decades ago, as a teenager, I had toured the Capital and sat up above watching Congress at work. It had been fun looking for the statues from every state.

On this day, I looked out over the roped off areas where people stood in line for tours and caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. It was the statue of King Kamehameha I with his gold cape holding his spear in his left hand and stretching his right arm out in a gesture of aloha! I’m a descendant of both King Kamehameha, and John Tamatoa Baker and his brother who were models for the Kamehameha statues.

King Kamehameha was at the base of the stairs. I hurried down to get a picture of him. Then I spotted another tourist with a 35mm camera. I asked him to use my phone to take a picture of me in front of the statue.

I thought King Kamehameha was in another part of the Capital when I took the tour long ago. Later, I looked it up. My memory was correct. He was dedicated along with a statue of Father Damien in 1969 and placed in the National Statuary Hall. Then in 2008, he was moved to the Emancipation Hall in the Visitor Center. I wished I had a lei to put on his outstretched arm, but if I did, I probably would’ve gotten in trouble.

I headed for the gift shop and bought souvenirs. When I finished up, with plenty of time to make it back to the hotel, I returned to where I had entered. The security guard told me I couldn’t leave the way I came in. I had to follow the signs to the Library of Congress. I asked if he was kidding and he assured me he wasn’t. Great!

I thought it would be a quick exit just a few feet away. Wrong! The hallway went forever. I asked several people along the way if I was going the right way. They all said I was, but I couldn’t believe they’d make you walk this far. It was the distance of a city block.

When I popped back up above ground like a mole, I had no idea where I was and it was noon! I looked for street signs. I was at the intersection of 2^nd Street and Independence Avenue across the street from the Folger Shakespeare Library—another historic place I’d visited when I was in college. I was going to have to hurry to get back to the hotel in time! I really didn’t want to be charged for another day in the hotel. I was about 1.5 miles away.

I was storm trooping past the botanical gardens and the reflecting pool, down Pennsylvania Avenue past the first place where the Star Spangled Banner was sung in public in 1814. 

Hauling it up 7^th Street, I blew past the homeless guy who thought I owed him money because he saw my shopping bag from the Capital.

I made it back with 10 minutes to spare, but I really didn’t like cutting it that close. I called a bellhop take our bags to the lobby and checked out.

Then I decided to eat lunch at a restaurant above the International Spy Museum called NOPA. That was an excellent decision! With all that speed walking and fretting, I was hungry. I had a bowl of Spiced Pear and Squash soup that they poured at the table and a brisket sandwich with coleslaw in it that was deliciously messy. 

The whole time I was eating, I was also looking out the window at the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery & Museum of American Art.

After I paid my bill, I had a half an hour until I met John, so I hopped on across the street to check out that museum.  It had a huge courtyard, one of Washington DC’s largest indoor public spaces, and its two gift shops were better than the main Smithsonian gift shop. 
I managed to see the art on one side of the ground floor, but that was all I had time for.

When I crossed the street to the hotel, I saw John waiting on another corner to cross the street. I handed the valet the ticket to get our car and while she went to get it, we collected our suitcases. I had gotten to see all of my must-see list, did some very specialized shopping, and ate a lot of great meals. It was an outstanding trip!

From Washington DC, we flew to New York to visit John’s family and spend Thanksgiving with them.

Laura Keolanui Stark appreciates that her kids took care of the pets and house while she and John were gone. She can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com.