Washington D.C.

Well. We’re back, and Daylight Savings Time is up, and it’s decidedly chillier than when we left. The cats are back, and Oliver was thrilled to discover that I’d neglected to throw away the Harris Teeter plastic bag we’d packed our shoes in. There’s something he finds irresistible about the handles. Delicious. Apparently.

I liked DC more than I thought I would. I mean, I knew it would be a fun trip. So much to see, so many monuments to take pictures of and museums to wander through. The zoo. I love zoos. But there were times—riding the Metro, half listening to conversations in languages I didn’t understand, walking past the White House and seeing a motorcade of black cars and SUVs, eating Chinese, Japanese, and Indian food, standing in front of the reflecting pool and thinking about Martin Luther King Jr.—there were times when I just felt the weight of the city, how wonderful it was.

At the beginning of our trip, we asked Jarvis what it was like to live there, and he said that DC was an important city. By the end of our vacation, I knew what he meant. There is a feeling in that city I hadn’t anticipated. San Francisco was fun, Paris was beautiful, Bukavu was tragic, Beijing was enigmatic. Hong Kong was money. Tokyo was energy. And DC was important.

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