A Spring Weekend in the Nation’s Capital

Cathy’s Peace Corps Thailand ID.

In the fall of 1967, I arrived at Pranakorn Teachers College near Bangkok, Thailand — a 21-year-old Peace Corps volunteer assigned to teach English.  Chomsri, a 16-year-old student at the school, lived with me for the next three years.  She and I became fast friends, traveling all over Southeast Asia on jam-packed buses without doors, sleeper trains, rot-tuk-tuks (three-wheeled motorcycle cabs that spewed black smoke), ferryboats and un-air-conditioned taxis.

A few years ago, Chomsri invited me to meet her in Washington, D.C.—a city that I never tire of exploring on foot or by Metro.  We arrived on the first day of the annual Cherry Blossom Festival, just as pink blossoms were emerging around the Tidal Basin between the Mall and the Potomac River.  “What would you like to see and do?” Chomsri asked as the taxi turned onto M Street and headed toward Georgetown.

Chomsri and Cathy.

“I love this city.” I said.  “I’ll be your guide if you’re up to walking.”  

Washington is a wonderful city for anyone with good walking shoes and an inclination to explore.  In the 1990s, Kit and I led summer field trips on foot through the city’s diverse neighborhoods for a decade while training geography teachers from around the country at the National Geographic Society. 

In addition, during the two years he and I worked in Washington before moving to Missouri, we walked daily from our Adams-Morgan brownstone near the National Zoo to Society headquarters at 17th and M Street—a walk that took 30 minutes in the morning but often took all evening after work as we strolled up tree-lined streets dotted with an irresistible array of restaurants and outdoor cafes serving every kind of cuisine on the planet.

WWII Memorial in Washington DC.

After living in Missouri for so long, I was pleased to find that my mental walking map of Washington was still clear. By 9.m. of our first day back in the capital, Chomsri and I were wending our way along residential side streets and ceremonial avenues toward the Mall.  The World War II Memorial--located between the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial--was our first stop.  There, in the WWII Registry—a database of names of Americans in the war effort both in uniform and on the home front—I accessed pictures of my father and my maternal grandfather along with summaries of their military service in the war.

After a period of reflection, we walked around the Tidal Basin lined with historic Japanese cherry trees—including 100 of the original trees planted in 1912.  This walk included the Roosevelt Memorial where FDR’s three-term presidency is illustrated with quotes from each administration carved in granite on the memorial’s maze of walls.  Following a visit to the Jefferson Memorial, we headed to the American Indian Museum completed in 2004 near the Capitol building. Not to be missed is their splendid cafeteria featuring regional Native American cuisine from throughout the Western Hemisphere. 

Our final destination was a pilgrimage to the American History Museum to visit Julia Child’s kitchen, donated in its entirety from Julia and Paul Child’s home in Boston.  There the two choreographed 119 half-hour cooking programs called “The French Chef” that aired on Boston’s WGBH educational television station beginning in 1963.  Mixing improvisation with skills learned at the Cordon Bleu Culinary Institute in Paris following WWII, Julia demystified the art of French cooking for American audiences. A TV clip of the infectious 6’2” Julia Child explaining how to skin a “toe-ma-toe” --by plunging it into boiling water, holding it over a gas flame, or zapping it with a blow torch—delights gourmet foodies and fast foodies alike who flock to the exhibit.

Julia Child’s Kitchen.

Our late afternoon walk from the Mall back to Georgetown took us past the White House where forsythias were abloom on the front lawn, across Lafayette Park, and up 16th Street to Hubbard Hall where Alexander Graham Bell and other founders of the National Geographic Society first met in 1888.

Dinner that evening was at Asia Nora—a miraculous fusion of French technique, locally grown ingredients, and dashes of Thai, Chinese, Japanese and American flavors.  Imagine “Crispy Amish Chicken Breast with a Jalapeno-Cilantro Emulsion, fragrant Jasmine rice, Bangkok slaw, and roasted peanuts” followed by “Lemongrass Panna Cotta with passion fruit coulis.”  It was a meal Ms. Child would have deemed “simply divine.”

Like the delicious menu at Nora Pouillon’s creative organic restaurant, our second day afoot in Washington was filled with delightful encounters—sidewalk rug vendors from Afghanistan, French and British Impressionist art at the Phillips Gallery, and eggs benedict with asparagus and crab cakes at Afterwords Café in Kramer’s Bookstore near Dupont Circle.

Our post-brunch walk led us up Connecticut Avenue, over the Duke Ellington Bridge and finally through my old Adams-Morgan neighborhood.   There amidst ethnic cafés and shops we stopped for a libation at a funky local establishment where drinks are always ½ price for redheads. 

“What a capital idea!” I said.”  And with that we toasted our friendship of nearly four decades and took a cab back to our hotel.