At least one Saturday this summer, I plan on strapping on a fanny pack, loading up on extra batteries for the camera, and heading into D.C. to play “tourist for a day.”
I’ll ride the metro, and cling for dear life to the standing pole while I scrutinize the system map. At each stop I’ll call out to whoever’s with me, “Okay, we’re getting off in __ stops!” We may even get off at the wrong stop, just once, for authenticity’s sake. Then we’ll huddle on the platform, obstructing other passengers’ route to the escalator, and talk loudly about which way we should go to get back to where we want to be, but we won’t ask anyone for help.
Once safely in the city and in the vicinity of the National Mall, we will disregard all crossing signals at major roads, preferably on the busiest and widest roads. We’ll take pictures of metro stops, city buses, pigeons. We will spread out across the whole sidewalk, regardless of how wide it may be, and look askance at any locals who attempt to pass us. We will talk and laugh and purchase hot dogs from sidewalk vendors and T-shirts that say “I ❤ DC,” and we’ll stop in our favorite museums and feed the geese at the reflecting pool and feel very patriotic.
We may take a tour of the Capitol.
We’ll definitely ride in one of those open-top tour buses.
We’ll stroll past the White House gates on Pennsylvania Avenue and strain to catch a glimpse–maybe–of President O, or Michelle or one of the girls. And if it’s open, we’ll climb the Washington Monument. Then we’ll have a picnic down by the water, near the Lincoln Memorial.
And we’ll end the day by watching the sunset down by the water.
Seriously, this is happening. And all are invited.