Memorials and Museums

Starbucks

Although the day was destined to be a busy one, it started at the same place as yesterday: Starbucks near the National Archives. It met my criteria for patronage: (1) It was open, not a given since many were still closed in DC. (2) It was within walking distance, which required me cross the National Mall from South West DC. (3) It had an outdoor seating area, which is always preferable to indoor stuffiness. For those who know me, it will come as no surprise that I spent at least an hour and a half there, sipping coffee, eating breakfast, and watching YouTube. But, I would be getting company today, so I knew when I had to get back to the hotel and then to L'Enfant Metro Station to meet my friend Kieran. He took the day off and came in from Annapolis. Neither of us had a must-do list, so we let the day unfold as it wanted. And the day wanted us to walk the mall, enjoy the memorials and museums, and sup on 7th at Jaleo, which should be on everybody's must-eat list if they visit DC. You may have heard of its innovative chef, José Andrés, a well known celebrity, author, and humanitarian. St. Christopher, the patron of travelers, must have been smiling on us because we completely escaped the downpour that drenched those who arrived later than we did.

Eisenhower Memorial

The Eisenhower Memorial 

It stretches an entire block just south of the National Air and Space Museum, so not far off the National Mall. It honors Eisenhower as both General and President, but both Kieran and I agreed it has to rank as one of the most poorly designed memorials in the District. I had walked by it several times already, and it took me a while to figure out whose life it was built to commemorate. "Dwight D. Eisenhower" does not appear very prominently anywhere. The tall vertical cylinders were also a mystery to us: What did they represent? Pillars of virtue or mal-proportioned Kansas silos? And the block-long, gray-tone mural was impossible to decipher, but a woman we met told us it laid out the invasion of Normandy. The statues themselves seem like they are out of the 19th century. So much for architect Frank Gehry's reputation in my book! He was the architect who designed it. But, I guess I should end on a couple of positive notes: (1) The statues of Ike as a small boy was intimate and appealing. (2) A diagonal swath through the memorial site preserved the full view of the Capitol. (3) It's probably magnificent at night! So, what constitutes the best memorial to Eisenhower as President? The Interstate Highway System we have today. That's his legacy.

African American History Museum

The Smithsonian Museums seem to be reopening on different schedules. More were closed than I thought. In fact, we were going to make a run through Natural History, but it was completely closed, so we decided on the American History Museum, but it was closed to us! We had not made a reservation on line and the doors were locked. Another visitor sitting outside said they only open the doors at appointment times. We had been to both of these museums anyway, so we set our sights on the newest: the African American History Museum. Once again, though, you had to make an appointment for an entry time: No exceptions said the guards outside. A few moments later, lady luck intervened. Two young men were approaching the entrance and I overheard them say to another group that they had four passes (on their cell phone) but were only using two. "How much do you want for them?" I asked, almost without thinking. For $5, we both got to follow our temporary brothers into the museum on their cell phone passes. Then we were all on our own. The exhibits were comprehensive, detailed, and engaging. But the most moving part of the visit was some impromptu performance art I got to observe. A mother was there with her tweenage daughter. The mother made sure her girl understood what she was seeing, and that she was seeing it as an African American, as a woman, and as the offspring of a mom who had lived through or vicariously remembered a lot of it. The mom really knew her stuff! When 4 o'clock came, though, we had to leave but we did manage to at least get a glimpse of all five floors.

Outside and Inside: A Cemetery and A Museum

Elbridge Gerry

Congressional Cemetery
It's two miles east of the Capitol and a tourist attraction in its own right. I took the Metro. It is my first visit to a cemetery in DC, so eventually I will be posting some pictures from the nation's capital on Geographically Yours Cemeteries. In my cemetery rambling, I usually depend on serendipity to find graves of interest, but this time I had one particular grave in mind: the final resting place of Elbridge Gerry. He was from Massachusetts (and served as governor) but died in Washington while serving as Vice-President. You may have never heard of him, but you will hear is name almost daily for the next year as states re-draw congressional districts on the basis of the 2020 Census. Many will be tempted to gerrymander those districts to favor one party or another. Guess where the name gerrymander comes from. Its a portmanteau of Gerry + salamander (which is what the original gerrymander looked like on the map of Massachusetts). Perhaps Elbridge Gerry should be considered one of the fathers of applied political geography. 

Of course, there are other public servants interred in the Congressional Cemetery. That would include Senators and Representatives and the longest-serving director of the FBI, J. Edgar Hoover, one of the scoundrels of my generation, but popular among many as evidenced by his honorific and well-maintained grave site. I also found the grave of DC Mayor Marion Berry, someone else whose career hit a few ruts along the way. As for members of Congress: Today, if one of them died in DC, we would expect the body to be flown back home. But, in the early days, you were buried where you died. If you died in DC, you were probably buried in DC. That was the origin of Congressional Cemetery's pedigree. And, even after bodies could be transported long distances, the cemetery continued to erect a cenotaph (memorial without a body beneath) to commemorate members of Congress who died while on Capitol Hill (or nearby).

International Spy Museum

Ghillie suit

Washington is the perfect place for a spy museum. Evidence: the old one quickly outgrew its original home and relocated to a new, massive structure at L'Enfant Plaza, one of the Metro hubs in Washington and basically the "downtown" of Southwest DC. The museum covers just about everything from the Trojan Horse to kings who spied on their people by reading letters carried by their postal services; from Mata Hari, who was executed for espionage during World War I, to Allen Dulles, the longest-serving CIA director; from the blood-stained axe used to kill Leon Trotsky to a model of the Bin Laden compound in Pakistan and an interactive game that lets you decide whether there was enough intelligence for President Obama to give the go-ahead for Seal Team 6. My favorite artifact was billed as the original invisibility cloak: a ghillie suit (seen here) worn by Malcolm Nance in Jalalabad, Afghanistan. I must admit, I thought about the ghillie weed that Harry Potter took advantage of to survive. 

From Norfolk to Washington

NFK Station

Destination: The District of Columbia by Train
My backpack and I are off to Washington, D.C., on one of the two Amtrak trains that make the run daily. It will be the first American non-commuter train I have ridden since the 1970s when Debbie and I enjoyed the seemingly long ride from Rhode Island to Harrisburg, Pa. Only vague memories of that trip remain: watching the scenery whiz by, dealing with our luggage, and changing trains in Philadelphia. But, why has it been so long, and why don't more people avail themselves of this Northeast Corridor Route? Especially given the price: I bought a ticket for $35 OW. Even the bus costs more. Of course, in the 1970s Debbie and I were childless, but now we have two grown children one of whom is dropping me at the Norfolk Station before he goes to work. In the 1970s, we had no technology either, but now I am traveling with a cell phone/charger, wireless ear buds/charger, a laptop computer/charger, and a digital camera/charger. Yes, four chargers (and a outlet adaptor)!  Entrepreneurs, where are you? Speaking of technology: To check in onboard, I simply got out my cell phone so the conductor could scan the QR code. And, there were two plugs under the window so I could charge my devices.

The trip was supposed to take 4.5 hours but ended up taking 5 because.... as the conductor put it: The President is on the move and it is holding up traffic. By the time we arrived, the seven cars (which included one dining car) were pretty full. These were the stops we made to pick up and drop off:

All aboard!

• Norfolk (newest)
• Petersburg (quietest)
• Richmond (blandest)
• Ashland (showiest)
• Fredericksburg  (viewiest)
• Quantico (quaintest)
• Alexandria (busiest)
• Washington (intermodalest)

The Northeast Corridor Route ends in Boston. But, my trip ended at Union Station in Washington, just downslope from Capitol Hill. Wow! Does the food court (a ham and cheese sub for me) and everything else about Union Station look like it has been devastated by Covid? It's the end of May, usually prime time for school field trips and other visitors, but there were few people around. Perhaps they wanted to come but decided that too few museums were still closed, or they didn't know a lot had just opened. My intention was to walk to the hotel on C Street SW, but it was raining, so I took the Metro: no problem, since I had $6.45 left on my Metro card from the last trip, which was to a Washington Map Society lecture before Covid hit. 

The Holiday Inn is located in South West Washington, a part of the city I never knew very well. It's very institutional with nothing of historical value. But, first impressions could be wrong. Since it continued to rain, I decided to go to the movies. Why? (1) I wanted to prove to myself that Covid was over. No comments, please. (2) I wanted to get some value out of my Regal Cinema yearly subscription which I used for about 3 months before all the theaters closed. I wasn't even sure it had been extended into 2021, but it had. I saw a movie with a strange title: Those Who Wish Me Dead, a thriller with a few light touches and plenty of gore, not to mention life-threatening Montana forest fires. Good action, good acting; weak plot but well worth seeing. And, it should be seen on the big screen for full effect.

Empty storefronts on 7th

I made my regal adventure into a field trip. I took 7th Avenue from SW to NW Washington and found the cinema inside Gallery Place, which is the site of a Metro stop on a major north-south business corridor which includes the Capitol One Arena. The whole area looked like it had been hit hard by Covid: rows of stores looked abandoned, many restaurants still closed, night life non-existent. A few establishments had just reopened, including Regal only a few days ago. I was the only person in my theatre (one of at least 13); on my way out I thought I saw one other patron; and there were only two employees working. It was a really comfortable theatre, though! 

Beacon of democracy

Walking there and back, I crossed the National Mall. In one direction was the Capitol and in the other the Washington Monument, Inspiring! Even in these times. 

Georgia: Atlanta's Oakland Cemetery

Oakland Cemetery is Atlanta’s burial place of record. It’s a city cemetery (with private ownership of lots). Many mayors are interred there including Maynard Jackson, Atlanta’s first black mayor. For him, land was made available even though space today is at a premium.  He and Margaret Mitchell are the most notable luminaries in Oakland, though neither grave is very distinctive. The most distinctive memorial is a mausoleum built by a nobody (sorry!) obsessed with his own immortality. On top of the family’s vault, he placed himself (see him?) in his favorite chair facing the cemetery’s main gate: absolutely the best way to keep track of those who visit (and those who don’t).  In Victorian cemeteries, the best way of rising above the pack was to commission a marble sculpture, build an ornate mausoleum, or erect a granite marker taller than anyone else’s. All must have cost a fortune, but you learn so little about the people they are supposed to commemorate. Rather, their symbolic language seems to have a two-fold purpose.

One is to deny death: Ivy is ubiquitous as a symbol of everlasting life; marble shrouds are everywhere waiting to be lifted; and outlines of bedframes around many graves suggest that death is as temporary as sleep. Another purpose seems to be an attempt to reclaim the glory of ancient Greece and Rome: Sarcophagi and symbolic urns crown many memorials; obelisks and their imitators are the cemetery’s exclamation points, and columns, capitals, and other classical design elements all seem to proclaim the grandeur of the long-lost past and its re-emergence in Atlanta.

A decade or so after the town was founded as a rail terminus, a hill outside of Marthasville was selected as a site for the cemetery. Before the town's name became Atlanta, it was Marthasville. In fact, Martha Lumpkin Compton is buried here. I suspect she is not very happy!  Oakland's early founding and the cachet that comes with its elevated position (geographically and socially) means that the entire history of the city is somehow reflected on the landscape: not just in its grave markers, but also in its spatial design. Segregation in the city's cemetery is one of the themes that betrays the city's past, not that the South was unique in this regard. There are separate sections for Jews, an example of requested segregation, and for African Americans, an example of forced segregation.  There are also sections for Civil War soldiers who lost their lives on the battlefields near Atlanta, and for paupers who could not afford a proper burial nor (needless to say) grave markers.

Maynard Jackson became mayor of Atlanta ten years after the Civil Rights Act became the law of the land.  When he died in 2003, the city attempted to negate its segregationist past by using the city cemetery symbolically.  Maynard Jackson is buried in the old (read: white and privileged) part of the cemetery (look right) with neighbors who must have been segregationists in their time. I suspect, though, that they welcomed him to the neighborhood and heartily approve what Atlanta has become in the post-segregationist, if not exactly post-racial, South.

Georgia: What Rhymes with McDonough?

McDonough.

It doesn’t rhyme with Done.  

It rhymes with McDonald.  

McDonough.
Internal rhyme.  Get it?

One of the souvenirs you can take home with you from any trip is a casket of correct pronunciations.  It’s information you can’t get from a map.  You can only get it in the field. How?  My preferred way is by talking to the locals (in a market where the old movie theatre sign may be on display).  As a backup, I tune into the local news on radio or television.  Articulacy (speaking well) is one of the most important skills of communication, and correct pronunciation is a component of articulacy – and of geography.  In fact, anyone who deals with place names needs to learn how to pronounce them like the locals. When you do, you have erased a barrier between ‘come heres' and 'born heres,' between 'outsiders' and 'insiders.'  And all travelers, in their heart of hearts, really want to be insiders.  

Another souvenir you can take home with you from any trip is a haircut.  In fact, it’s yet another way to go from outsider to insider: You start looking like the locals when you go their barbers.  Whenever, I need my ears lowered, I try to find a barbershop in a new place, preferably far from home.  On this trip, it must have been fate that drew me to the town’s senior barber (and local historian).  Out of town I was heading on the road south.  I had enjoyed looking around McDonough’s square, but when my half-hour of time on the meter was up, I left.  Soon, I hit the ‘new suburbs,’ not on the edge of town, but down the road a piece.  The sign caught my eye: Wayne’s Barber Shop. One U-turn later I was parking outside a typical suburban shopping center and sizing up the place.  I could see two barbers and one customer.  I was in luck: no waiting time. It was as if I had a reservation. Into the chair I popped, and the conversation never stopped.  I got a geography lesson about shifting business patterns (just because I asked who the street, Zack Hinton Parkway, was named after), the decline of cotton (there had been a gin in town, now a CVS if I got the story right), and a lifetime of barbering (Wayne is semi-retired, but his son has the next chair over). Through one of the windows I could see Russia from here.  Actually, the window was a TV and Sochi was showing.  That provided a few minutes of reminiscing about the ‘96 Olympics in nearby Atlanta. Through the other windows I could see the ridge that had at once been covered with pecan groves, and that provided a few minutes of reflecting on the tastes of the South.

Lessons learned: First, when traveling, depend on serendipity to deliver the best results.  Second, don’t reject the suburbs when you are looking for local color.  Third, always be prepared to make a U-turn.

U.S. Virgin Islands: End of the Safari

With no planning and no room reservations, I made it through a trip at the height of the Caribbean tourist season.  There shouldn’t have been any rooms available, but thanks to cancellations resulting from the Polar Vortex over the mainland, I was able to find shelter.

I spent four nights in Charlotte Amalie at the Galleon House, two nights on St. John in Cinnamon Bay campground, and one night on Tortola at the A & J Hotel.  I was pleased with them all and recommend them to you.  The islands I didn’t get to were St. Croix in the U.S. Virgins, and Anagada, in the British Virgins.  Of course, there were dozens of little islands I didn't get to either.  I hadn't planned on Anagada, but I had hoped to see St. Croix.  However, the seaplane service that serves the island charges at least $150 round trip from St. Thomas.  I promised myself St. Croix on a future trip: I would land in San Juan, Puerto Rico, take a sea plane to Vieques (in the so-called Spanish Virgin Islands), add another leg to St. Croix, then hop back to San Juan or maybe head on to Dutch/French St. Martin.  On any trip, always leave something undone; you will need a reason to come back.

The tourist industry seems to generate a good return here in the Virgin Islands, but more of the money needs to circulate to the locals.  I see too much of a dual economy: tourist and native. Another way of saying that is white and black.  I hope the government is pumping up the capacity of the University of the Virgin Islands to turn out ambitious and highly skilled graduates who can take charge of their own island.  Right now, the visitors, foreign firms, and come-heres seem to be in control. Charlotte Amalie has a downtown with a wasted wharfside, a 1671 Danish fort (post office mural to the left) that is a dilapidated cultural asset, barkers on the street who seem to terrorize tourists, night life downtown that is sparse, wifi coverage that is even sparser, and lots of crime after dark (at least, that's what everybody tells me).  On the other hand, history has been used quite nicely to refurbish streets and storefronts in Charlotte Amalie's downtown, the cruise ships keep motoring in, and the St. Thomas police have a reassuring presence everywhere.  As for St. John, I hope it keeps its small-town atmosphere.  May its resident population never exceed 5,000!

With my backpack packed, I headed off to the airport.  I now knew the transit system. For a dollar, I hopped on a safari (below) and rode it to one more place, the old submarine base that has been turned into a cruise ship terminal.  Yes, Charlotte Amalie has two cruise ship terminals.  This one is called Crown Bay.  For good or bad, the terminal is a microworld unto itself, complete with ersatz windmill that anchors yet another shopping precinct dedicated to meeting the needs of cruisers. Another safari took me to the airport's edge.  I would grab a sandwich roadside, then hike the half-mile to the terminal.  On one side of the airport are beaches on yet another bay, and on the other side is the University of the Virgin Islands, a reminder to me that work awaits.

U.S. Virgin Islands: Spectacular

From Charlotte Amalie, it was over the mountain for a great view of Magan’s Bay (pronounced as Megan's Bay), with its long bayhead beach that is so visible from Drake's Seat, the most popular overlook on the island.  Supposedly, Sir Francis chose this peak as a place to keep watch over his private armada.  For whatever reason, the the beach at Magan's Bay does not get good reviews, and it was not my choice of beaches for the day.  Coki Beach was, and it does get good reviews.  From the main road, you can jump off a safari and walk to Coki Beach.  It's about half a mile.  I had worn my trunks and was ready to swim, but Coki Beach was far too crowded (with rich white tourists, sorry) for me.  Still, I walked the length of the strand, found room only to stand, toed into the sand, and my getaway planned.  A surprise, however, slowed me down. I found a small graveyard next to the beach. It occupied me for a good half hour. Then, it was on to my next mission.  I had to get back to Red Hook.

You will recall that Red Hook was where I had my eyes examined and where my new glasses would be delivered. Shipments came in after 3 and I had high hopes that Marlene, Dr. Friedenberg's assistant, would not have to mail them to me. That would be like not really getting them in the Virgin Islands; they would have lost a little of their tropical luster.  I checked at 3, not there.  I visited the marina. I checked at 3:30, not there. I found a homeless man sleeping in a mangrove tree (right). I checked at 4, not there.  I climbed the hill behind the plaza and took some pictures.  I checked at 4:30, not there.  I watched the last of the high school students, in their pink and maroon uniforms (really sharp looking, I thought) make their way home on the safaris.  I checked at 5, they had come in.  I lingered in the waiting room while the spectacles were fully assembled, watched a father and daughter choose new frames for a new prescription, marveled at how a home town doctor's office works, and finally was fitted.  The world came into focus!  A successful trip back to Charlotte Amalie, for $2 on a safari, meant that my mission had been accomplished.  The only thing ahead of me was the flight home. But first, I would enjoy one more great home-cooked breakfast (and great coffee) at the Galleon House the next morning.

U.S. Virgin Islands: The Liberty Bell

It was a touristy day.  In the morning, I climbed Government Hill (as in Danish government) via the famous 99 Steps and paid my $10 for the heritage walk:  packaged history.  In the afternoon, I paid my $21 and rode the Paradise Point Cable Car for an impressive view of the cruise ship berths and the commodious harbor:  packaged geography.

It is easy to see why St. Thomas is the cruise lines' most popular port in the Caribbean.  The harbor is large and deep, the scenery is excellent, and the Virgin Islands' public and private sectors have invested in infrastructure.  Each day, the Virgin Islands Daily News helps tell the story of high season on St. Thomas, with its two cruise ship terminals, Havensight and Crown Bay.  Note the capacity of each of the ships, and remember that the U.S. Census Bureau's definition of an urban place begins at 2,500 residents.  Note the inclusion of Cruz Bay, on St. John, where only the smallest of cruise liners can be accommodated.

Now, let me tell you what I found most interesting today:  a connection to Virginia history.  Did you know that the Jamestown settlers' last stop before sailing into the Chesapeake Bay and making landfall in Virginia Beach was on St. Thomas in the Danish Virgin Islands, right here in Charlotte Amalie on 4 April 1607? Who knew!  Virginia Beach doesn't get mentioned on the historical marker, but it should since Cape Henry, was the real place where permanent English colonization of America began.  Cape Henry was the site of the first landing after St. Thomas.  To us, the Jamestown settlement seems no more permanent than the foothold on Cape Henry. Here's the Liberty Bell, a gift from Virginia, that commemorates the Jamestown settlers' three-day stay in Charlotte Amalie.  Why Virginia chose a Liberty Bell, I cannot fathom since the real liberty bell rang in Philadelphia 170 years later.

British Virgin Islands: Haircut Day

It’s haircut day. I got my last haircut in Sandy Springs, Georgia (for $7!), but I like to get them out of the country when I can. You see:  I collect haircuts.  Today, I will get my first and probably only haircut in Road Town, Tortola, British Virgin Islands. Across the street from my hotel is the Designs Barber Shop and Snack Bar, 2^nd floor, where I found a young barber named Domingo, an immigrant from Santo Domingo! I seem to meet barbers from the Dominican Republic lots of places. My barber on Broadway in New York City is from the DR, and the my barber in San Francisco is from the DR. Styling hair must be a Dominican specialty. In fact, Domingo represents the industry well. He took his time and seemed intent on going after any hair that rose above the cut line. The cost was $12, which is usually what I expect to pay in the U.S. (That $7 clip was an exception!) Yes, the American dollar is the official currency in the British Virgins.  And, I will have to tell you how silly it seems to go through Her Majesty's passport control to get here. As you travel, you begin to think in contrasts. Here in Road Town, there were barbers galore. I had my choice. Back in Charlotte Amalie, I don’t remember seeing a single shop! I guess it was because all the store fronts were taken by jewelry stores.

If you are going to Road Town, walk the entire length of Main Street. It’s been bypassed by a street along the waterfront, so time has passed it by. I imagine it went into a state of decline decades ago (evidence: still lots of dilapidated buildings), but now it is coming back. Properties, not a chain store among them, are being commercialized and painted with the brightest of Caribbean colors. Plus, there is a good mix of churches, schools, old government buildings, restaurants (Midtown for the locals and Pusser’s for the tourists). Chickens run wild, gardenias bloom, and oversized vehicles fight with pedestrians for room to pass. I even found a modern coffee shop, the Live Well Bakery (at right), with an outdoor patio.  It is the kind of place I would spend every morning if I lived here.