"Told ya."
November. It was over seventy degrees my first day in Washington DC. I spent--I don't know--five, six hours walking the city. I started out at 3rd and E Streets SE, walked down the mall, cut up Connecticut Avenue, through Dupont Circle, up to Adams Morgan. I was hoping I'd like Adams Morgan, because I didn't like what I had seen along the way. Maybe it'd be more appropriate to say that, at this point in the visit, I didn't want to like what I saw. It was 11:30 a.m. by the time I made it all the way to Colombia and 16th NW. It seemed to me that too many businesses were out of business in Adams Morgan. An Ethiopian restaurant gutted by fire at least had a story, somewhere, in the pile of blackened wicker furniture and bamboo curtains piled on the sidewalk--lots of other shops looked like they had withered away slowly. It was so bright out--bright and dirty. The main streets were a lot like The Mission, but not quite... right. One reason I was uncomfortable was because I kept trying to compare streets along my walk to Shattuck, Noe Valley, Valencia--trying to imagine I wasn't three thousand miles from home. Two nights later, just after dark, I would visit Adams Morgan again. On that night I would see young, hip folks out walking casually, smiling, on their way to or from dinner, a club, their apartment, the Metro. The streets would be alive then, and they had something to offer. Empty store fronts would be invisible in the dark, and open ones would come to life with lights and warmth. I had to laugh then, because I realized what the problem with Adams Morgan was, in the sun, at 11:30 in the morning.
Adams Morgan was hung over.
It wasn't easy to recover from that first day though. My Chuck Taylors were brand new, and after squeaking against my heel all day, I had a blister on the back of my foot that was pretty unbelievable. The next day--blister drained, and a second pair of shoes called to duty--I took it easier. I walked around Capitol Hill and Eastern Market, only out as far as Lincoln Park. Since I'm a geek, I marked my map and then walked briskly for ten minutes along one street. I marked my progress so that later I could draw "ten minute circles" around any points of interest: Metro stops, Amber's possible work locations, available apartments.
The third morning I knew I wasn't on the West Coast anymore. I came downstairs, ready to go up to Woodley Park--which, by the way, is absolutely gorgeous. The bridge over Rock Creek Park blew my mind. I've seen trees with red, orange, and yellow in them, but never so many of them in one place, with the sun behind them, leaves glowing like stained glass as they trickled out of the branches onto the brightly colored piles of their fallen friends. Anyway, I'm about to head out of the hotel. I can see beyond the glass front entrance that it's breezy outside, so I put on a hooded sweatshirt over my t-shirt, which is over a tank top--I'm ready to go. As I speed up toward the automatic doors, the woman behind the front desk says, accusingly, "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"
I freeze in place, "Well, I'm gonna look for some more apartments today."
She tells me, "Not like that you aren't. Today Californians are going to need jackets."
Hurt but defiant, I stand up and assure her--because maybe she didn't notice--"I'm wearing a sweatshirt."
"Not today you aren't."
I slowly move toward the door, "Well, I'll just step outside for a minute and see for myself." I had no intention of coming back into the hotel with my tail between my legs. It was pleasant yesterday, and the day before that it was seventy degrees! I'd come back in an hour if it was too cold.
Holy Hell! What is this? As soon as I got to the curb I knew she was right--yes, I was going to march straight back in to get my jacket--but I wanted to spend a second trying to figure out if it was just the wind right there, whipping around the hotel, or maybe the momentary shock of stepping out of the overly-warm foyer? Nope, no deal. She was right. It was cold out. Seriously, it was really cold. As it turns out, the temperature had dropped thirty five degrees in thirty six hours! But it was still completely clear and sunny out! It was unnatural.
As I walked past the front desk, my cheeks and nose rosy, she didn't even look up from her papers. She just smiled as she said, "Told ya."
Adams Morgan was hung over.
It wasn't easy to recover from that first day though. My Chuck Taylors were brand new, and after squeaking against my heel all day, I had a blister on the back of my foot that was pretty unbelievable. The next day--blister drained, and a second pair of shoes called to duty--I took it easier. I walked around Capitol Hill and Eastern Market, only out as far as Lincoln Park. Since I'm a geek, I marked my map and then walked briskly for ten minutes along one street. I marked my progress so that later I could draw "ten minute circles" around any points of interest: Metro stops, Amber's possible work locations, available apartments.
The third morning I knew I wasn't on the West Coast anymore. I came downstairs, ready to go up to Woodley Park--which, by the way, is absolutely gorgeous. The bridge over Rock Creek Park blew my mind. I've seen trees with red, orange, and yellow in them, but never so many of them in one place, with the sun behind them, leaves glowing like stained glass as they trickled out of the branches onto the brightly colored piles of their fallen friends. Anyway, I'm about to head out of the hotel. I can see beyond the glass front entrance that it's breezy outside, so I put on a hooded sweatshirt over my t-shirt, which is over a tank top--I'm ready to go. As I speed up toward the automatic doors, the woman behind the front desk says, accusingly, "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"
I freeze in place, "Well, I'm gonna look for some more apartments today."
She tells me, "Not like that you aren't. Today Californians are going to need jackets."
Hurt but defiant, I stand up and assure her--because maybe she didn't notice--"I'm wearing a sweatshirt."
"Not today you aren't."
I slowly move toward the door, "Well, I'll just step outside for a minute and see for myself." I had no intention of coming back into the hotel with my tail between my legs. It was pleasant yesterday, and the day before that it was seventy degrees! I'd come back in an hour if it was too cold.
Holy Hell! What is this? As soon as I got to the curb I knew she was right--yes, I was going to march straight back in to get my jacket--but I wanted to spend a second trying to figure out if it was just the wind right there, whipping around the hotel, or maybe the momentary shock of stepping out of the overly-warm foyer? Nope, no deal. She was right. It was cold out. Seriously, it was really cold. As it turns out, the temperature had dropped thirty five degrees in thirty six hours! But it was still completely clear and sunny out! It was unnatural.
As I walked past the front desk, my cheeks and nose rosy, she didn't even look up from her papers. She just smiled as she said, "Told ya."
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