Georgetown is picturesque, cozy, and thanks to the Georgetown University, rather high-spirited on the main street at night. I didn’t know what to expect other than a lot of old very expensive homes. We walked through the quiet, dimly illuminated, narrow stone streets, feeling like intruders on the carefully decorated parlors visible through appropriately fragile curtains. I felt the warmth of care in the faithfully restored facades, bountiful planting boxes, and neatly trimmed hedges. I also felt the exclusivity of the rows of luxury cars narrowing the already narrow lanes.
As part of the tour we hit one of the local bars where I promptly lost several games of pool to a Russian, Korean, and a Brazilian. Other than the dense clouds of smoke, we had a lot of fun. That is, until we tried to get back to the hostel. The tour guide, now gone, failed to mention that the particular bus we needed to take stopped running at midnight. Ever hopeful, we waited at a different bus stop with a number of locals that looked like they were expecting a bus anytime. After about 20 minutes the taxis were looking good. After about 30 minutes, we were ready to take one, and then a bus showed up. Using my slightly fuddled brain, I inquired with the driver before we boarded the bus to avoid ending up somewhere we didn’t want to be. He assured me that he was going to within five blocks of the hostel. Great! We got on. What I failed to ask the driver was for him to let us know when that stop of close proximity occurred. We had passed it a while back when we jumped off close to the National Archives and waited for another bus that the driver said would take us right to the hostel. After half an hour of waiting on the cold damp benches the bus of the specified number showed up, and dropped us off around the corner because he didn’t go the way we wanted. Exhausted, cold, and bleary-eyed at the current time of 1:30 a.m., we walked many blocks to the hostel, showed our ID and room receipts as requested and everyone but me went up to the rooms to sleep. I was told that I was checked out earlier that day and could not go back to my room. Even though I had paid for the room for another week, the computer didn’t show it and I had to plead with the desk clerk to go get my receipt from my room to prove I paid. I provided the receipt, but had to change rooms at 2 a.m. I was too tired to get upset, I just wanted a bed. C’est la vie, no?
