Occasional Jots and Tittles

Five years ago, my parents and I were in the middle of a road trip vacation. We’d left Baton Rouge on Monday, September 3 and driven to Atlanta. We stayed near my sister’s house and visited with her family until Wednesday morning, when we left and headed north. We stopped in North Carolina at the Replacements Ltd. warehouse and customer center, trying to identify my mother’s wedding crystal (no luck) and gawking at warehouses of old china and crystal covering, I think, about 5 football fields’ worth of land. We made it as far north as Petersburg, Virginia.

Thursday, we toured the Petersburg Civil War battlefield site, including the Battle of the Crater, where one of my mother’s relatives was injured and later died of his wounds. We also toured the historic cemetery where he’s buried, probably in an unmarked grave. That afternoon, we toured the “ancestral home” (what a quaint term) of the Harrison family, which gave us two presidents, and then drove as far as Colonial Williamsburg. Friday morning, I caught a train for DC, where I was going to compete in the gay rodeo over the weekend, while my parents did the Williamsburg thing. They drove up to Arlington, Virginia, where we planned to stay for a week touring D.C.

I joined them on Monday morning as we drove over to the National Cathedral, which is to this day one of my favorite spots in Washington. I remember the docent pointing out the pew where the President sits during services held at the Cathedral, and the pulpit from which he speaks when he addresses the crowd in the church. We saw a few other things that day, but then headed back to the hotel.

Tuesday morning, we were eating breakfast in our room while watching the news. Then came the cutaway to New York, with the pictures of the smoke billowing from the first tower. Like everyone else watching, we were engrossed in the story, and saw the sudden passing of a second plane and it striking the second tower. We knew then that this was no accident, but at the same time, it felt so far away and remote.

We headed downstairs to the lobby, which had a set of glass doors facing the parking lot and the highway beyond. Although there was a grove of trees near the highway, blocking the view, we were just across the road from Arlington National Cemetery, facing southeast. And directly beyond the cemetery, in the same direction, is a large, five-sided government office building. You can see the relative layouts of the buildings below.

My dad had gone to retrieve the car for the day’s touring when we heard a plane overhead. My mom looked up to see it, commenting that it was awfully low. I reminded her we weren’t far from National Airport, although I didn’t recall there being any approach paths in that direction. A moment later, we heard and felt an enormous blast. I was facing the hotel doors and noticed the entire glass facade shook, as though it were about to shatter. 30 seconds later, we heard the first sirens.

We returned to the room and made a quick decision to head west, towards Tennessee. We figured that if there were additional attacks, DC and New York were more likely targets, and we could at least continue our vacation, to the extent things would be open, in that region. We drove through the Great Smokeys that day, taking pictures and making it to the Sevierville/Pigeon Forge area. Wednesday, we toured Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg, and then headed west to Nashville. Over the next few days, we toured downtown Nashville, including the Ryman Auditorium (great) and the Country Music Hall of Fame (so-so); we saw Rock City & Lookout Mountain. East Tennessee is beautiful in September and the weather was gorgeous, but there was always the reminder, everywhere we went, of what had happened just a few days earlier.
There was a national prayer service on Friday at the National Cathedral, televised, of course, and I couldn’t shake the spooky feeling of how, just 24 hours before the planes struck, I was standing where the president was now speaking. At the time the guide told us which pew was used by the president, I never dreamed I’d see proof of his words just a few days later.

My mom to this day doesn’t like to talk about seeing that plane go by overhead. She’ll talk about it within the family, but not for long, and then we move on to other topics. And she still won’t return to Washington.

Rome. Greece may claim to be the birthplace of Western Civilization, but as usual with things invented elsewhere, the Italians took it and ran with it. With buildings 20 centuries old mixed among 20th century structures, and a grand mix of Medieval, Classical, and Baroque sprinkled in, there’s probably more to see here than anywhere else in the world. And great food.
Florence. More great art per square foot than you can shake a stick at. A cultural tradition stretching back, basically unbroken, for 1,000 years. And mountains. Interesting tidbit: most of what we think of as “French” cuisine (okay, basically all of it) really started here. The Italians invented cookbooks, recipes, and gourmet food.
Prague. When the director of Amadeus needed a setting that looked like 18th-century Austria, he went to Czechoslovakia. Germanic baroque still extant in a way unrivaled anywhere farther west. And a great deal of history in its own right.
St. Petersburg. Russian palaces. Faberge. What other reason do you need?
Amsterdam. Possibly the gay-friendliest and leather-friendliest city in the world. Every picture I’ve seen of the place makes it look chilly and mildly bleak, but then, that’s leather weather.
London. Why go to London? To see the Queen, silly. OK, so you probably won’t see her, personally, but seeing the palaces, the Tower, the Crown Jewels, Tower Bridge, St. Paul’s, Westminster Abbey. I’m sure the food sucks, but you can’t have everything.
Edinburgh. One of the ‘other’ capitals in Great Britain. When she’s being Queen of Scotland, this is where Elizabeth reigns. Many people don’t realize there’s a whole ‘nother Parliament and palace and castle up here, where the Queen spends her summer vacation (which lasts 2 or 3 months).
Marseilles. I can’t stomach the idea of visiting Paris, really; even though I’m of French descent. But I do want to see this southern port city. The cooking of southwest France is supposed to be among the great “country” cuisines of the world–hearty, rich, flavorful.
Seville. Likewise, Madrid leaves me kind of cold, mainly because of neglect during the Franco years. But this city is said to retain much of its medieval and later glory. Plus, there’s that great song from Victor/Victoria about the shady lady from Seville.

Berlin. Flashpoint of the Cold War, I want to see where the harshness of the border reached its peak. And I like German food, so I’m sure I’ll eat well.