How to fit in in D.C.: Dress nice. Carry a briefcase. Walk tall. Eyes up. Don't smile or say hi. Look like you know where you are going and what you are doing. Unfortunately we didn't meet any of these requirements, as we lugged our packs down the sidewalk dressed in shorts and a tank top, smiling at grim robots who passed, me staring at the phone for directions and swiveling my head for street signs at every road crossing. We had taken a train from Harper's Ferry to Union Station to spend a few days in D.C. Though I had been there many years before, Firefly had never visited, and we decided it would never again be cheaper or more convenient to go to the Nation's capital. It was a foreign country, as we navigated our way to the hostel to drop off our packs.
We made our way to the Capitol building, then to the Air and Space Museum. Our stomachs were calling for a second breakfast so we soon left and headed to the food court.
The White House was only a few blocks away, so that was our next stop, and we managed to squeeze between hoards of school children for a quick picture.
Across the street a man protested war. I was shocked; his yellow signs and display were the same ones from 10 years ago! He would have seen at least two elections from his sidewalk home, each one bringing false hope that he would finally be heard.
We completed the loop around the National Mall, visiting the monuments. On my dying phone I looked up the bus route back to the hostel and found we were close to Arlington. I convinced Firefly it was worth the trip so headed to the bus stop. As we walked, I heard a woman behind us talking about going to Arlington. "We're going to Arlington too!" I said excitedly. She didn't seem to share my enthusiasm for the fact that we were going to the same place. They were looking for the blue line and found the correct bus. It wasn't at the place where we were supposed to get on but when the lady asked if it was going to Arlington the driver said yes.
We climbed up to the second level in the open air seating. After a while, I started to wonder if this was the right bus. I was pretty sure the metro bus didn't have top seating, plus we hadn't paid anything when we boarded. I asked the lady in front of us if we could borrow her map. As I looked it over, I realized we were indeed on the wrong bus. I wasn't too concerned; I would pay the fare, it couldn't be too much more than the metro bus. Then I flipped over the map and found the pricing. There was only one solid fee: $32 for a full days' ride. Shoot. It was the end of the day. I was NOT paying $32 for one bus ride. I tried to act normal, like I had a ticket, like I wasn't stealing a bus ride. The bridge was closed so the bus driver took a longer route which wore my nerves thin. I was just waiting for somebody to come around asking for tickets, and imagined jumping off the rolling bus and running like in the movies. As we neared Arlington, Firefly and I got ready to go. We were the first ones off the bus and walked quickly away. No one stopped us. Whew!
We made it to the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier just in time. I was surprised at how much I could remember from my 8th grade trip. The guard paced 21 steps. Stop. Click heels. Turn. Count 21 seconds. Click heels. Turn. 21 seconds. Switch gun to other shoulder. Pace. Back and forth back and forth.
After a stressful adventure navigating the metro subway we wearily got food from Walmart and headed back to the hostel.
The people in the hostel were the total opposite of thruhikers. Be social, but keep up an image.... talk, but say nothing personal. The people here were different, but there was no trail experience to unite those differences. I missed the thruhiking culture already. This was the first time in three months I had been away from it. I didn't realize what it was until it was gone.
The morning was spent gathering tickets and the afternoon was spent rushing from place to place. From the Museum of Natural History where I learned that phytoplankton provide 50% of the earth's oxygen, to the Holocaust Museum where I saw the shoes of thousands of victims, then to the Washington Monument where we ascended over 500 feet into the sky, and finally to the Bureau of Printing and Engraving where I saw a million dollars with my own eyes.
With the smell of money still in our noses we hurried to the bus. Public transportation took 40 minutes which left us with almost no time to grab our bags from the hostel. We ran down the sidewalk, packs bouncing against our back, and cut through the train station in hopes of a shortcut. I frantically read the signs and prayed my memory was correct about which train we needed. No time to buy tickets in advance. We navigated the station and raced past other late arrivers. Minutes before the train pulled away we ran up to the attendant and asked if we could get tickets on the spot. "Yeah, but it will cost you extra... where you going? Harpers Ferry?" He asked, eyeing our packs. "Yeah." He looked around, then nodded toward the train. "Get on." Later when he came around to collect the tickets he purposefully skipped over us; securing a free ride back. Trail magic in the city. I breathed a sigh of relief as the train pulled out, the city stresses flying away as we melted back into familiar territory.
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