Travel Journal

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Oh Say Can You See?
Washington D.C. in Five Days
June 2022

By Sandra Bertrand

It’s important to realize when you first set foot on the National Mall that you are a little dot on the landscape. Don’t take it personally. With the Mall two miles long and 0.3 miles wide, bordered by the U.S. Capitol on the east and the Lincoln Memorial to the west, sporting ten thousand tons of grass seed, flanked by 9,000 elm trees, you can be excused for feeling a little out of proportion to your surroundings.

It wasn’t the first time my partner Joanne and I had visited the Capitol, and we knew all too well we would only be adding to a long list of must-sees in our wanderings. Our first morning in the Capitol Hill district – after settling the night before into a comfortable Airbnb rowhouse along with two other New York city friends – was a chilly awakening. After a one-stop trip on the Metro, we landed at the Mall. Parka-bundled and with masks in our pockets, we were ready for action.

Heading for the National Gallery of Art was our first priority. Does one ever exhaust the opportunity when it presents itself to experience great art? Entering through the Sculpture Garden’s winding pathway, I was greeted by Barry Flanagan’s humorous take on Rodin’s The Thinker. Flanagan’s 1997 version is an auspicious hare, worthy of a minute or two of contemplation before the more serious enterprise ahead.

​The West Wing’s ground floor rotunda with its beaux-arts fountain is only one of several visual delights designed by architects John Russell Pope and I.M. Pei. I had to remind myself that a special exhibition of Harlem photographer James Van Der Zee’s portraits was close by and definitely worth a look-see. It’s a perfectly rendered glimpse of Jazz Age Black celebrities and ordinary citizens of the period. A momentary lingering before marching backward in time to Leonardo Da Vinci’s Ginevra de’ Benci from the fifteenth century. Imagine the Mona Lisa absent that winsome smile, frozen for all time with that implacable ivory gaze. Rembrandt’s genius was readily on hand, along with offerings by El Greco, Vermeer, and Monet as well as enough others to dizzy the senses.

A brief break between the West and East Wings provided the chance to traverse the underground moving walkway, replete with its whirling star show. Before departing, I managed to purchase a paperback copy of The Private Lives of the Impressionists by Sue Roe and a slim volume of paintings by Marianne Von Werefkin, a Russian Expressionist émigré whose amazing talents were heretofore unknown to me. 

​I must share a few words about our arrival the day before and our emerging Capitol Hill district. I say ‘emerging’ because it takes little imagination to see the dilapidated charm and resident funk that still hangs on, seeping through the sidewalks and walls where manicured row houses proudly announce themselves. It’s a block-to-block interracial waystation, from the wealthy to the homeless. For the tourist with a healthy sense of adventure, it’s a desirable choice with shops and restaurants lining Eighth Street to please the most discerning appetite.  

Our first stop was the Eastern Market, a 19th century brick Italianate structure, with a bustling main hallway, filled on both sides of the aisle with fresh fruits, vegetables, meats, poultry, and a rear bakery where I purchased oversized Russian teacakes and flying-saucer size chocolate chip cookies. That was followed by cheeses – Morbier, gouda, and a blue cheese variety I insisted upon. My companions were meanwhile in serious conversation with the resident butcher about the differences between a New York cut and a thick sirloin. We found a nearby wine shop for our celebratory champagne and Cabernet Sauvignon then quickly headed home. I should mention that the Market is celebrated for their blueberry buckwheat pancakes, which I promise to sample on a future trip.

Roses, Stephen Robin ~ Federal Triangle

Our rowhouse is midway down the block on Ellen Wilson Place SE, home to a mixed-income housing development. In 1999, the townhomes were built with funding from the federal government at a cost of $25 million. Thirty-three of the units are reserved for those making less than 25 percent of the area’s median income; 34 are reserved for those making 25-50% less, with the remainder paying market rates. We had no idea in what category our temporary residence lay, but we did notice that unlike other dwellings on our street, our ground floor windows were left unbarred. (I could only surmise a barred window could be off-putting to any takers!) Once settled in, we could only admire the coziness and cleanliness of our two-story abode, with its white walls, two full baths, ample dining quarters, and a sizable cow portrait to keep us company during meals. Our steaks were an all-around success, though Joanne did manage to set off the alarm, requiring us to throw open the front and rear doors, pour another glass of wine and wait for the smoke to clear.

Our second morning’s agenda was the National Archives Library, followed by the National Portrait Gallery, both choices promising a full day of discoveries. An early stroll through the Federal Triangle (formed by 15th Street NW, Constitution Avenue NW, Pennsylvania Avenue NW, and E Street NW) unearthed a memorable work of art. Woodrow Wilson Plaza was adorned with giant cast aluminum roses by Washington artist Stephen Robin. This sighting was made even more beautiful by their sudden unexpected appearance.

​Upon entering the National Archives rotunda, a dark, almost funereal hush greets the visitor. Bowed heads lean into the glass displays of the Declaration of Independence and U.S Constitution. Each sheet is meticulously protected for prosperity. After a few precious moments of reverence, I opted for a personal letter display which revealed the plight of a woman: Accused of sedition against the Loyalists, her house subsequently burned down. Another member of the Ku Klux Klan Women asked for “a Puritan America, one free of Decadent Europeans.” 

​The National Portrait Gallery was a total pleasure. Wandering the Great Hall, where guests once celebrated Lincoln’s second inauguration, I was eager to see images of so many twentieth-century Americans. I felt like a kid in a candy store. Was it adolescent infatuation or just the exalted company I was keeping? The writers – F. Scott Fitzgerald, Dashiel Hammett, E.E. Cummings; the performers – Tallulah Bankhead and Lotte Lenya; activist Betty Friedan; the producer Joe Papp; followed by the added delight of the third-floor mezzanine, where overhanging banners displayed the likes of Mary Martin and Marlon Brando!  

Courtyard, National Portrait Gallery

​After such excitement, lunch awaited us in the airy, flower-bedecked courtyard. My head was spinning but my stomach took precedence with tuna salad sandwiches. Late afternoon found us in front of the Hotel Monaco, directly opposite.

It seems that taxis don’t grow on D.C. avenues and after a half hour’s wait, we managed to hail one with a kindly driver from Ethiopia. “How’s business?” we inquired. “Dead,” he shrugged. “They all work from home.” We picked up a chicken and some scallops from Whole Foods, more wine, and headed to our adopted residence.

​Another day found us at the fabled Library of Congress. Today’s “Congressional Library” is not only the largest library in the world and a glorious tribute to Thomas Jefferson, but one of the most ornately beautiful structures your eyes will ever behold (at least on this side of the proverbial pond!).

​The Great Hall, the Italian Renaissance centerpiece upon entering, boasts a ceiling 75 feet above the marble floor, with stained glass skylights. Marble staircases flank the Hall, where halfway up, figures touching globes represent Africa, America, Europe and Asia. We lingered on the mezzanine, where the Virtues are painted in Pompeiian red panels and a stirring view of the Capitol can be seen through the windows.

​It was Thomas Jefferson who offered his own library of 6,487 books when the original building was burned down by the invading British in 1814. Congress purchased his collection for $23,950, which can be viewed today, with a friendly docent on hand to answer inquiries.  

​An unexpected treat awaited us on the second floor where a special exhibition, Rosa Parks: In Her Own Words, was showcased. She is known by many Americans for her 1955 refusal to give up her bus seat to a white man. The real Rosa Parks was a seasoned activist, whose bravery led to the dismantling of Jim Crow segregation. For three hundred and eighty-one days, African Americans of Montgomery, Alabama boycotted the city buses, due in large part to her garnering of public support. It’s an impressive exhibit, honoring the long and active life of this exceptional woman. In her words, “Most of all, I want to be remembered as a person who wanted to be free and wanted others to be free.”

Before departing, we visited the Gershwin Room, a permanent exhibit that displays his favored metronome and piano, as well as sheet music revealing his own scribbled notations. I like to think when the Library of Congress closes up at night, the great composer returns to tinkle a new tune on his favorite keys.

Getting around D.C. by Metro is the easiest and cheapest way to navigate, and for the most part, our decision to stay in the Capitol Hill District for our itinerary was the best decision. It was only when we added the National Cathedral to our agenda, that we realized the closest subway stop would not get us up the hill to that famed monolith of Gothic Revival. Having rambled around the Foggy Bottom neighborhood of George Washington University (GWU) and the Kennedy Center on a previous trip, we could scope the area from that metro stop, enjoy a leisure lunch, and call an Uber for our journey to Episcopalian splendor.
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Circa Restaurant was an easy pick, with a menu designed for youthful and hungry scholars. It worked for us as well, with flatbread drizzled with garlic butter on the house, a cheddar cheese hamburger special with fries, and a shared corn and tortilla soup.  

​A blustery, downright wicked wind greeted us as we emerged from our Uber. Once inside the massive entrance doors, the $12 dollar visitors’ fee seemed reasonable, especially considering the city’s great museums were free-of-charge. If traversing the National Mall makes you feel a bit inconsequential in the scheme of things, a visit to a fourteenth-century-style English Gothic Cathedral could add an extra touch of humility to your human aspirations. Construction began in 1907, when President Theodore Roosevelt and 20,000 others witnessed the first foundation stone laid. The final finial was placed in 1990 with President George H.W. Bush in attendance.

​After silently wandering the center aisles, gazing upwards at the stained-glass windows with a proper degree of reverence, we headed downstairs where an impressive array of tapestries celebrating the beheading of Goliath lie in wait. For this visitor, I was most touched by an unprepossessing statuette of Lincoln by Herbert Houck in a stairway corner. The image of the great man in a bowed pose of supplication is memorable. Before our departure, one of the resident guides pointed to the stained-glass window housing a piece of rock from the moon. It seems that astronaut Michael Collins had donated it from his 1969 voyage.

Ophelia's Fish House

​With a nod to a residual COVID wariness, vaccinations and boosters notwithstanding, Ophelia’s Fish House was our only evening dining experience for the week. An early reservation landed us in an almost empty covered patio, with time to unwind before the next morning’s Amtrak return home. A highly-recommended venue in the heart of Eighth Street, the highlight was a 4-7 p.m. array of appetizers, which included a ceviche, calamari, and grilled shrimp kabobs. I followed this with crab bisque, worthy of Savannah’s finest joints, with Joanne enjoying a crab cake the size of a Southern pancake. After a few glasses of Sauvignon Blanc, we finished with two generous slices of key lime pie. I didn’t meet Ophelia that night, but I will be forever in her thrall.

The neighborhood streetlamps accompanied our homeward stroll, a wooden heart placard hung on one announcing “I can’t wait to marry you, Nick!” There was no one around who could tell me if Nick’s paramour got his or her wish, but maybe it was enough to imagine that happy endings really do happen, even in Washington, D.C.

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PLACES OF INTEREST
Washington D.C.
 
National Gallery of Art
Constitution Avenue NW
Washington, D.C.  20565
202-737-4215
 
National Archives
700 Pennsylvania Avenue NW
Washington, D.C. 20408
866-272-6272
 
National Portrait Gallery
8th and G Streets
Washington, D.C. 20001
202-633-8300
 
Library of Congress
101 Independence Avenue SE
Washington, D.C. 20540
202-707-5000

PLACES OF INTEREST
Washington D.C.

National Cathedral
Cathedral Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul
3101 Wisconsin Avenue, NW
Washington, D.C. 20016
202-537-6200
 
Circa Restaurant
2221 I Street, NW
Washington, D.C.  20037
202-506-5589
 
Eastern Market
225 7th Street, SE
Washington, D.C.  20003
202-698-5253
 
Ophelia’s Fish House
501 8th Street, SE
Washington, D.C.  20003
202-543-1445

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​Sandra Bertrand is an award-winning playwright and painter. She is Chief Art Critic for Highbrow Magazine and a contributing writer for GALO Magazine. Prior to working for Sanctuary as Travel & Culture Editor, Sandra was a Featured Artist in May 2019.

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