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Surfing in the dunny
Jan. 28th, 2005 07:13 pmTime gets twisted overseas. Mind you, my sleep and work habits aren't the most regular, but here it's corkscrew time.
So I've dragged my incredibly non-ergonomic chair into the bathroom of this Hyatt to keep on cruising the net at oh-two-thirty local, without keeping the wife awake. Free wireless internet in every room. Cool.
Cool is the word of the day. I was running a sweat on Wednesday, so I thought I'd leave my leather jacket behind on Thursday. The sun was shining, it all looked clear and bright.
I was at the Iwo Jima Memorial, you know, the one with the guys all pushing the flagpole upright, before it sunk in that I might have made an erra.
Pushed on regardless. Arlington cemetery was running hot. I saw half a dozen hearses roll through the gates or along the roads in the couple of hours I was there. But that doesn't mean combat casualties. Maybe some were. But veterans are buried here, decades after they've left the ranks, as well as spouses and chilfren. Big place.
"Silence and respect" says the sign at JFK's grave with the eternal flame. But the only two keeping mum, it seemed, were me and the guard rugged up so hard all you could see were the gleam of sunglasses. I took off my beanie and froze for a bit. He's been forty years gone, but Kennedy deserves some respect yet. Some of the things he said in the Cold War are hot topics today, with the Pentagon visible down the hill, its scars repaired.
A brisk walk over the Potomac. I should have taken the subway, maybe, but it was interesting to cross a frozen river. We don't get quite this cold in Canberra.
Lincoln's memorial is icy cold with slippery marble steps. Impressive, but a bit of a worry. I said hello to Abe, who looks exactly like his photographs, but more of a presence in the flesh. The words of the Gettysburg Address are on the wall, and I reckon he nailed the Civil War with those few sentences. Democracy and republicanism were still pretty radical concepts in those days, and if the South had gone west, who knows what mix of petty nations might today make North America an echo of South?
A hot dog in a remarkably tiny bun helped keep out the cold for a bit. I shared a few crumbs with panhandling squirrels before setting off along the banks of the tidal basin to FDR's memorial.
Four terms, each of them full of challenges. A big ask for an able-bodied man, but Franklin was crippled up and ultimately in failing health. His list of quotes on the stone walls of his ground level, wheelchair friendly memorial all spoke of compassion and help for those least able. This must be a pleasant place in spring and summer, but for now the fountains and cascades are tumbled ice and the walks are empty. I patted Fala, pulled my beanie on tighter and hunched off into the wind.
The waterside walk was icy. Not a lot to prevent the walker from tumbling to the frozen surface below, and it wouldn't be hard to be laid low by a cherry tree branch. The path edged upwards to the bridge across to Jefferson's memorial and it was a mass of snow turned hard, deep and treacherous. I hung onto the rail beside the buried stairs.
Jefferson is about as cold and lofty as you can get in this town. His words were frosty and patrician. High ideals but remarkably cheerless. I thawed out a bit in the bookshop before pressing on, the frozen patterns of tumbled ice sheets reflecting Washington's monument across the water.
Then up past the mint into the chambers of the Holocaust Museum. Warm but chilling. I was touched by a wall of childrens artwork, each of whom seemed to have grasped the essence of the thing in a few words or lines or splashes of colour. Let there be more rainbows and fewer wire barbs.
"Why kill the children?" one tile asks, and though the museum provides the answers to how and why, the question lingers, ultimately skidding off into silence.
And that was my day. I took the Metro back to my hotel, had dinner with friends - cajun catfish and Rolling Rock beer - and woke in early morning, wondering if I could ever get a handle on what makes this nation great.
Is it the technology that allows me to communicate so effortlessly from a pre-dawn bathroom? Or is there something more driving the thing?
Pete, seeking inspiration
So I've dragged my incredibly non-ergonomic chair into the bathroom of this Hyatt to keep on cruising the net at oh-two-thirty local, without keeping the wife awake. Free wireless internet in every room. Cool.
Cool is the word of the day. I was running a sweat on Wednesday, so I thought I'd leave my leather jacket behind on Thursday. The sun was shining, it all looked clear and bright.
I was at the Iwo Jima Memorial, you know, the one with the guys all pushing the flagpole upright, before it sunk in that I might have made an erra.
Pushed on regardless. Arlington cemetery was running hot. I saw half a dozen hearses roll through the gates or along the roads in the couple of hours I was there. But that doesn't mean combat casualties. Maybe some were. But veterans are buried here, decades after they've left the ranks, as well as spouses and chilfren. Big place.
"Silence and respect" says the sign at JFK's grave with the eternal flame. But the only two keeping mum, it seemed, were me and the guard rugged up so hard all you could see were the gleam of sunglasses. I took off my beanie and froze for a bit. He's been forty years gone, but Kennedy deserves some respect yet. Some of the things he said in the Cold War are hot topics today, with the Pentagon visible down the hill, its scars repaired.
A brisk walk over the Potomac. I should have taken the subway, maybe, but it was interesting to cross a frozen river. We don't get quite this cold in Canberra.
Lincoln's memorial is icy cold with slippery marble steps. Impressive, but a bit of a worry. I said hello to Abe, who looks exactly like his photographs, but more of a presence in the flesh. The words of the Gettysburg Address are on the wall, and I reckon he nailed the Civil War with those few sentences. Democracy and republicanism were still pretty radical concepts in those days, and if the South had gone west, who knows what mix of petty nations might today make North America an echo of South?
A hot dog in a remarkably tiny bun helped keep out the cold for a bit. I shared a few crumbs with panhandling squirrels before setting off along the banks of the tidal basin to FDR's memorial.
Four terms, each of them full of challenges. A big ask for an able-bodied man, but Franklin was crippled up and ultimately in failing health. His list of quotes on the stone walls of his ground level, wheelchair friendly memorial all spoke of compassion and help for those least able. This must be a pleasant place in spring and summer, but for now the fountains and cascades are tumbled ice and the walks are empty. I patted Fala, pulled my beanie on tighter and hunched off into the wind.
The waterside walk was icy. Not a lot to prevent the walker from tumbling to the frozen surface below, and it wouldn't be hard to be laid low by a cherry tree branch. The path edged upwards to the bridge across to Jefferson's memorial and it was a mass of snow turned hard, deep and treacherous. I hung onto the rail beside the buried stairs.
Jefferson is about as cold and lofty as you can get in this town. His words were frosty and patrician. High ideals but remarkably cheerless. I thawed out a bit in the bookshop before pressing on, the frozen patterns of tumbled ice sheets reflecting Washington's monument across the water.
Then up past the mint into the chambers of the Holocaust Museum. Warm but chilling. I was touched by a wall of childrens artwork, each of whom seemed to have grasped the essence of the thing in a few words or lines or splashes of colour. Let there be more rainbows and fewer wire barbs.
"Why kill the children?" one tile asks, and though the museum provides the answers to how and why, the question lingers, ultimately skidding off into silence.
And that was my day. I took the Metro back to my hotel, had dinner with friends - cajun catfish and Rolling Rock beer - and woke in early morning, wondering if I could ever get a handle on what makes this nation great.
Is it the technology that allows me to communicate so effortlessly from a pre-dawn bathroom? Or is there something more driving the thing?
Pete, seeking inspiration
