Day 188 Spy vs. Spy Museum

They were asking for it. It is not my fault. They made me do it. Numerous signs and staff inform visitors that no photography is allowed—this is in a museum that has extensive exhibits of secret photography methods and equipment. There was no way I could pass up that challenge. Particularly when I have a tiny camera I purchased just for discreet photography as I travel. There are many places I do not feel comfortable to wave my big camera around and yet I want to take pictures. In this case, it was verboten! Nein! Perfect!

So maybe I wasn’t risking incarceration, torture, or death, but I could very easily have gotten a stern warning from the cherubic twentyish guard. I know what you are thinking; I was really living on the edge, pushing the envelope. You know, sometimes you have to take risks to truly live life. In exchange for a little danger I was able to smuggle out a few blurry pictures of Eric and a lipstick gun, and some decent video of the automated spy car exhibit. I could have served my country well.

Eric was dying to see the spy museum. It was my third time because I had first gone by myself, then with Patrícia, and now with Eric. The museum is very slick and has an impressive collection of actual historical spy gear and info as well as pop culture exhibits. The difference between the two is striking. The popular media glorification of the profession is completely opposite of the terrifying and occasionally mundane reality. The last thing a spy wants is to stand out and end up getting caught. There have been a few spies that did it for ego, but even they knew well enough not to cruise around Monte Carlo in a tricked out Aston Martin, throwing their reputation and libido around like craps dice. Also, I think being a spy was generally dangerous, scary, and difficult enough of work that people avoided things like fake volcanoes equipped with huge laser cannons and/or moon rockets, but that is the evil doctor department anyway.

I think the best part of the whole thing for Eric was the gift shop afterward. It is good to end the often somber museum experience with some joyful, unbridled consumerism. Spy toys! And nothing says that you are a spy like branded plastic gear from the International Spy Museum does. They do have a lot of cool stuff. It is too bad that the little bit of really cool gear is priced accordingly.

I picked up a t-shirt with a Chinese cultural revolution design that I thought was really cool. Under a picture of some people looking nobly forward, it said, “Working toward a glorious future.” I assumed that the Chinese writing said the same. Once again my assumption was wrong. A few days later at breakfast in the guesthouse, a fellow traveler, Jasmine (Chou Fei (spelling?)) told me what it actually said: “We criticize the honor of the criminals that came before us.” Or something equally non-glorious. It was kind of like someone telling you that your favorite jeans make your butt look fat. I still like wearing the blatant propaganda but I feel self-conscious in front of Chinese people.

Luckily, Jasmine did not hold it against me and went with me (in the shirt) to watch congress debate a bill for tracking where our money in Iraq goes. The Republicans opposed it for a reason that escaped me. Why would we want to know how our tax dollars were spent? Hmmmn…. Then we had lunch in one of the House of Representatives office buildings with some of our elected leaders and half a billion lobbyists. I didn’t see “freedom fries” on the menu, thank God.

Before Eric went back home, we squeezed in a visit to the Bureau of Engraving, also known as the Mint, where we saw them print millions of dollars of our beloved greenbacks. The process is complicated and very controlled. They keep track of every tiny bit of paper to keep people from taking their work home with them. It was weird to pull out a bill from my wallet and know that those guys behind the glass printed it. It wasn’t a long tour, but as always, it ended in the gift shop. Eric couldn’t resist the big bag of shredded money. I wonder if anyone has ever tried to paste it back together; for $4 you can get a bag of $500 worth of shredded bills. I am sure someone has tried.

Day 187 Eric and My DC

As I have described before, going back to the same city is easier and comfortable. Going back to DC was much more than that. Everywhere I went I was reminded of the three weeks I spent with Patrícia there. It is where we met and fell for each other. From the moment the bus carried me back into the capitol city, the bliss of our early days surged back. I love DC. I love all the metro trains, platforms, escalators, bus stops, buses, street corners, monuments, museums, restaurants, food carts, movie theaters, and the infinite interstices where time stopped for us. I keep feeling like she is just around the corner.

I was of course eager to share the city with Eric. Not because of my experience here, but because it is a fascinating place to visit. I had not seen him for three months so the first thing to do was to load him up with trinkets from my travels: country flags, Asterix figures, Banania, etc.... Then I surprised him with Rollerblades of his own (and pads). The second thing we did was to hit the Washington Mall and see the monuments at night. He was very surprised to find out how far apart everything is because pictures tend to compress the distances. For instance, it is 2.2 miles from one end of the mall to the other.

The Washington Monument, or the pencil as Eric calls it, is cool at night. As a warning though, do not be tempted into standing on the steam vents at the base even if it is chilly out. Eric and I had fun playing with the swirling steam in the spot lights until a big burst gave Eric a little burn above his ankle socks. As mothers always say, "It is all fun and games until someone gets hurt." It was only a mild burn, but it was just in the right spot for his shoe to rub. I told him it was George Washington getting him back for calling his monument a pencil.

I think the Lincoln Memorial is best at night. The great man looks down at you, not dominantly or dismissively, but with concern. Concern for preserving the integrity of our democracy and our individual rights and freedoms we too frequently take for granted. Gazing up into that grave visage, I feel honored to be a small part of my nation's history. I may not make much of an impact, but I will try my best.

Day 21 Back in DC

We found a Spanish bar called Cafe Citron that not only had a little too delicious mojitos and great food, but a Flamenco dancer and singer. Now I have seen Flamenco in movies and was always intrigued; in person, it was captivating. The combination of the unique singing style, the pounding of the dancer's feet on the heavily worn floor, and the rythmic clapping, it was intense. Even better was being there with friends and having a great time comparing funny words that are not entirely suitable for this format. One of the best is the Brazilian word for the crack that shows when someone bends over with too low of pants--they call it a piggy bank. I had the urge all night to deposit some coins when the opportunity arose. It was a good night.

I have averaged $105/day in DC and Philly. It is more than I wanted for a few reasons. More expensive hotel stays in Philly, and perhaps most deserving of blame is the high cost of having a good time with your friends. Typically, $50/night is normal for food and drinks. I am looking forward to getting to a less expensive country. I leave for Portugal on Thursday, arriving on Friday night.

Day 13 In the Shoes of an Assassin

There I was today, standing in a doorway, mere inches behind a now empty chair, overlooking the stage of the Ford Theater where over a hundred years ago, on a dark day in our nation's history, John Wilkes Booth stood in my place. From only six inches away, he fired a bullet into the back of Abraham Lincoln's head, stabbed his guest, Major Rathbone, and clumsily leaped the 10 feet down to the stage. Whereas the rest of theater is not worthy of any special mention, the spot behind Lincoln's chair changed the whole feel from ho-hum to eerie.

Yesterday, we went to the National Zoo. It was nice that it was free to get in, though based on the meager quantity of exhibits and animals, I think they should start charging admission so they can get something worth seeing. It pales in comparison to almost every other zoo I have ever seen. It would have been a waste of day if I hadn't had such good company.

I have been trying to get over to the National Portait Gallery and Museum of American art. Maybe today.

Day 11 Exhaustion Sets In

I have been trying to stave off exhaustion, yet is has found me. I have been resting today. The thing that has surprised me is how much time I spend doing the little details of life; I had envisioned spending all of my days out exploring. In fact, I spend a fair amount of time washing clothes, shopping for food and small items, waiting for the bus, waiting for the very slow hostel elevator, waiting for the metro, waiting in line for an exhibit, waiting for friends to get ready to go somewhere, waiting for the bus some more, waiting at the always packed hostel front desk, waiting, waiting, waiting....and waiting is tiring. My legs are also sore from the walking. I know that I will grow accustomed sometime soon--I hope.

After I move into yet another room, because I want a room with a locker inside, I am going to the National Portrait Gallery with some people of whose names I am unsure--luckily that is not required here.

Day 9 Bus Trouble

Since the last posting, I have spent the days in a few of the 14 Smithsonian museums and the Aeronautical and Space Museum. It is almost too bad that there is an overwhelming amount of amazing exhibits and artifacts here, because it quickly raises the threshold of what it takes to be impressed. I have broken things up with going to a movie, taking an evening Georgetown tour, and tonight a large group of us is going bowling.

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?

Day 5 And on the Fifth Day He Rested

I spent most of the day reading books that I do not want to take with me further. Later in the day we went out for a walk on the mall, saw a brief glipse of the Smithsonian Castle Gallery and were propmtly kicked out because they were closing. The great thing about the Washington Mall is that everything is free, allowing you to wander in and out as you wish without worrying about wasting money. We wandered leisurely up to the Capital and then back to the hostel to relax in the common room until bedtime.

The picture above is of me and Patricia, a Brazilian who is here to attend English classes. She is gracious and patient enough to help me learn some Portuguese for my impending trip to Portugal. Apparently, my conversational accent is lousy, but she informed me, while doubled over laughing hysterically, that my gay Portuguese accent is just fabulous. Ah, humility is a wonderful thing when you are learning a new language.

Expenses: $45.50

Day 4 Hostel Life

As an independent traveler, I was a little worried about getting lonely while traveling. If my brief experience so far is any indication, I have nothing to wory about.

My new friends pictured above are a perfect example: Victoria from Spain, Sky from Korea, Theresa also from Spain and an amazing look alike of a young Carrie Fisher, and Patricia from Brazil. We are all traveling alone and naturally gravitated toward each other. The language struggles are part of the fun and a learning experience for us all. Often it takes a couple of us to explain one concept well enough to one another.

Together we went to the Adams Morgan festival (a huge street party) and enjoyed people watching as much as anything else. Then we tried finding an open Karaoke place; alas, it was Sunday night(Whew!) Instead we went to Chinatown, adding Mark from London and very funny Eddy from Argentina/Miami to the group.

Over breakfast this morning, Eddy's equally funny Aunt invited me to stay with her in Argentina. The open friendliness and generosity of my fellow travelers is refreshing to the soul.

Daily expenses: $55.25

Day 3 DC Spy Museum

So as to not get monument burnout, I went to the Intenational Spy Museum which is only about 6 blocks from my hostel. It is a very cool and interesting place. $15 admission was well worth it. The exhibits are slick and well designed interactive multi-media. There are loads of real historical and current spy gear, including such classics as lipstick and cigarette case guns, bugging devices, cameras, and micro dots. The history of spying is told in small absorbable chunks to keep you from getting museum fatigue. This is by far the best non-art museum I have ever visited. Sorry, no cameras were allowed.

The overwhelming feeling that I was left with was that there is a whole other high-stakes world happening right around us. It made me feel left out; considering the life expectancy of spies, maybe that is a good thing.

Daily expenses: $94.50. I stocked up on groceries so I can make my own food in the hostel kitchen. My breakfasts have been bellpepper, mushroom and spinach omelets with salsa and sour cream. And orange juice. Yum!

Day 2 Washington DC

Finally rested, I headed over to the white house. It was intially quiet other than all of the security people watching me. They are overt, semi-overt, and I am sure quite covert. I have never seen so many people sitting around in vehicles with tinted windows. Many of the overt Secret Service people were carrying black bags that were about the right size for some serious weaponry. I was accordingly inclined to follow the signs about what not to do and where not to go.

The white house looked so peaceful, almost bucolic in one picture, as you will see in the DC gallery when I get it up. Then, as I was leaving, two airforce one helicopters roared directly over my head and landed on the south lawn briefly and then headed right back over me. Too far away, because of fencing, I could not get a good picture. I did feel special though, having the president fly by me on my first visit.

I have been looking forward to seeing the Lincoln Memorial, and standing before him, I felt just like the little boy pictured above. It was like being in Lincoln's presence--definitely something everyone should experience.

The WWII Memorial was also impressive and moving, but for a different reason; as I walked around listening to the small groups of old men talking to each other, I heard a repeated theme, "...we were pinned down for hours...," and "...they were coming at us from the north...." and so on. Large monuments, however grand as this one, cannot convey the personal impact that is memorialized like the people themselves. It makes one feel quite patriotic.

The Vietnam Memorial was almost dissapointing in comparison. It looked like just a long low slice of black granite. Not until I had walked past so many names and was standing among visitors touching individual names did the sheer size and personal nature of the list hit me. It was devoid of the granduer of the WWII Memorial. By not glorifying the onflict, the personal impact on our loved ones and neighbors was conveyed more clearly.

The Korean War Memorial was dissapointing. The statues and ghostly images on the granite gave me a feeling of Hollywood more than anything.

Arlington National Cemetary is aptly situated right next to the Pentagon. I hope they look out the windows often. I visited the graves of many people, from JFK and Jaqueline to Justice Marshal. Walking around the cemetary is like walking through the military history of the US. The endless gaves of our dead put perspective on the brief entries from my history class textbooks.

At the tomb of the unkown soldier, I watched the interesting and almost bizarely formalized ritual of the changing of the guard. And then to my surprise, a busload of foreign soldiers rolled up from Fort Meyers. Four uniformed soldiers, two Jordanians, an Afgani, and a Georgian, of the group participated in a wreath laying ceremony honoring the unkown soldier.

I was exhausted after walking all day in the heat and trying to assimilate all I had seen, so I took the Metro back to the hostel, stopping to get a delicious dinner at a Pakistani Deli.

Daily Expenses: $65