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 184 Foreign Service Oral Assessment

I had waited a year for to take my Foreign Service Oral Assessment. I knew what I had to do to pass.

I missed the cutoff score last year by only one-third of a point because I screwed up the Case Management memo section. I was distracted and ran out of time, turning in a hasty and inadequate memo. This year I was prepared and finished that section with a satisfactory memo and time to spare. That went as planned; unfortunately, my six months of traveling left me unprepared for one of the other two sections, the interview.

The interview was my favorite part last year. This year, after six months of travel and intentionally forgetting everything about having a job, I could not come up with examples for their questions about my work experience. I blacked it all out. I rambled and struggled, and became nervous because I knew I was biffing it. It was terrible—my worst interview performance ever in my life.

At the end of the nerve wracking day I ended up with almost exactly the same score, one quarter of a point short. It was disappointing because it was my own stupid fault for not mentally preparing. I could have easily done better and passed I think. On the positive side, I get to continue traveling as planned rather than jumping into a demanding job. I will try again next year. It will be better timing anyway. Maybe I didn't really want it this year. I don’t feel overly disappointed.

The best part of the OA process is meeting the other applicants. I have been very impressed both times with the intelligence, skills, and experience of the other people. Not surprisingly, the challenging nature of the FS draws very interesting people from all over the world. Lucky for us, the OA process is riddled with long breaks between tasks, allowing everyone to share their stories. It was a good, albeit nerve wracking, day.