Washington here we come …

Not wishing to miss a glimpse of the gorgeous Shenandoah National Park, Julie opts to take the Skyline Drive on route to Washington. A scenic 105-mile road running the length of the National Park traversing along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains. There are 75 viewing points, but we opt for about 6. The speed limit is 35 mph, but nobody mentions this to Julie.  

From here we join the Interstate 66 which will take us to DC. Sadly, not the legendary Route 66, which runs from Chicago to California. Still, you gotta get your kicks somehow, and I take a photo regardless.

On the way, we stop and spend some time at the Arlington National Cemetery, where more than 400,000 people are buried. The vast cemetery, with row after row of identical headstones, is beautifully maintained by the United States Army and is a truly moving place. Of course, we visit the grave of John F Kennedy, marked by the Eternal Flame and witness the solemn ceremony of the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

After a long day of exemplary driving and fearless navigation through the hustle and bustle of Washington, Julie gets us to our accommodation: a pleasant house located in the attractive area of Capitol Hill. We’re woefully weary, unpleasantly sweaty, meltingly hot, and desperately in need of a drink.

The icy blast of aircon hits us as we open the door, and guess what … ?

Stairs!

A flight leading down to the bedrooms where Julie and I will sleep, and a flight leading up to the kitchen and Fay’s bedroom.

Hand luggage only. Definitely. Every. Single. Time.

We freshen up a bit, and head out. We are delighted to learn that we are a mere short walk from shops, cafes, restaurants and bars. We stock up on a few provisions and choose a bar, obviously. Given the excellent service and quality of beverages, we opt to linger a while. No surprise there. But, you understand, Julie needed some time to relax.

It’s around this point where I realise that while you boil in the heat when outdoors, the aircon inside is set to freeze you to death. Neither of which offer any degree of comfort.

The following morning Julie takes the car back to the rental company. Fay and I watch a bit of TV while we wait. A second’s worth of news followed by a host of Ads, mainly focused on your medication needs and insurance requirements so you can cheat death and still have some money. I’m left wondering how most Americans resist the temptation to shoot the TV.

Off into the City.

What to do in this blistering heat? (Don’t forget your cardy!).

There are 17 Smithsonian museums and galleries in DC, some of which Fay and Julie have already seen, but are happy to see again. I believe if we had the time, given they are such culture-vultures, they would cram in all 17. This could explain why they’re so much better at general knowledge quizzes than I. As I’m a first timer, they insist I choose which museum we visit.

OK. The Museum of American History. (Shouldn’t take too long!)

It takes a while. We split up and wander around the exhibits, absorbing or bypassing what suits us and rendezvous a few hours later when, in my case, the noisy exuberance of coach loads of American teenagers gets the better of me.

When visiting any city, anywhere, it is mandatory to experience the sights from an open top bus. Washington is no exception, and we are booked onto such a bus for our second day.

And this is when it all starts to unravel.

We learn, to our dismay, that the buses are not running as normal, and not running at all over the weekend, as most major streets will be blocked off because of Trump’s illustrious ‘Cage Fight.’ No doubt the greatest, biggest, bestest exhibition of ‘sport’ that the entire world – nay, universe, has ever experienced since the beginning of time.

Given that the event was to celebrate America’s 250^th anniversary … one can only raise a polite, yet quizzical eyebrow. Just don’t mention it to the Ancient Greeks.

So, the bus is today, or not at all.

Julie determined that the bus is bound to stop close to the Abraham Lincoln Memorial, so we should head there.

The Memorial and half the National Mall is shut.

The entire structure, modelled after a Greek temple (those Greeks again), with 36 fluted columns at the front representing the 36 states in the Union when Lincoln died, and the 19-foot, 175-ton seated marble statue of Lincoln, are completely obliterated by a series of vast screens and an array of broadcasting equipment in readiness for the transmitting of the greatest show on earth.

There will be no marvelling at the statue, or wandering inside this awe-inspiring structure, or reading the famous inscriptions of the Gettysburg Address and the Second Inaugural Address carved on its walls.

Nope, won’t be doing any of that. All because of Trump!

Julie’s fury is boundless.

‘This is bloody disgusting!’ she rails. Other tourists join in, equally outraged, and thus begins the “Bloody Trump and his bloody stupid Cage Fight!” diatribe, which will last the weekend.

We do catch sight of the Washington Monument and Reflecting Pool, but the wonder of the moment has already left us.

On top of which, we haven’t seen a bus, or bus stop yet.

Given that the whole area looks nothing like it should, as it is littered with streets of steel containers, presumably to house equipment and staff for the unforgettable weekend to come, we’re not quite sure where to head.

It’s 99 degrees and we’re melting.

As usual, Fay and I need the loo. We ask directions and are told it’s beyond the mishmash of haphazardly plonked containers. Julie sets off in the opposite direction to find a bench on which to wait, and we agree to meet up.

By the time we have navigated the container jungle and found the loos, Fay is close to passing out from the heat and I’m wondering why I brought my cardy.

Fay feels so ill she declares there’s no way she can walk back through that lot, so we agree to get an Uber and arrange to rendezvous with Julie.

Maybe the intense heat and gathering thunderclouds had put our driver in a bad mood but he sped through the streets in what Fay suspected was the wrong way and far too far from where Julie was supposedly ‘round the corner’. Despite Fay repeating our requested destination he carried on, then abruptly dumped us saying, ‘It’s just up there.’

It isn’t.

The lightning splits the sky, the thunder roars and the deluge drenches us helpless humans. We’re forced to find shelter. Julie takes refuge in a loo until the storm calms,å and she collects us in an Uber, driven by an altogether superior driver, who takes us to the supermarket close to our accommodation where we stock up with a little bit of food and a barrel load of booze.

What a disaster of a day! All because of Trump!

The next day we attempt to do Washington on foot. Every street leading to a major sight is blocked off. It’s possible to walk down some, and the National Guard are extremely helpful, but often we’re obliged to trudge round the whole block to reach a spot fifty yards away.

We peer at the White House through fencing and make the most of all the sights we ‘happen upon’ until the heat and the feet force us to stop at a welcoming all American bar. Heaven.

 During our stay at Capitol Hill, we have the chance to meet with Bill and Verlyn’s son and daughter David and Torey and their families for dinner at a lovely restaurant close to our accommodation and then breakfast with Torey and family at a vibrant spot they recommend, which serves the most delicious Mimosas.

It’s at this point Julie declares that nothing will tempt her to go into Washington again this weekend, although Fay has a yearning to visit the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum and is happy to go alone.

The mimosas have done their thing, and Fay visits the Museum whilst Julie and I while away the day in our favourite bar.

The next day we’re homeward bound.

A short hop from Dulles Airport to JFK, then a potentially gruelling five-hour wait for the flight to Manchester. Thanks to Alastair’s Amex Platinum card, the three of us get into a perfectly respectable lounge for free, where the food is adequate and the bartender is fantastic. Cheers Alastair!!!

Those five hours fly by!

Once on the plane and fed, we’re provided with blankets. This is when you’re supposed to go to sleep. I can never sleep on a plane, so I stick the blanket over my head and try not to hear the rumblings of others snoring. It’s a smooth and pleasant flight. We land on time, retrieve our elephants and locate our taxi driver who will transport us home.

What a three and a half weeks it has been!

The fabulous, fun and fancy crossing on the Queen Mary 2; a hectic and jaw-droppingly expensive three nights in New York City; a tranquil pause in Philadelphia; a welcoming and restorative sojourn with friends in picturesque Pennsylvania; a moment of reflection at the striking Harpers Ferry; a journey through Virginnia’s staggering Shenandoah, with a wine-soaked stay in Strasburg and a chunk of history in Charlottesville. And finally, despite Trump, a wonderful wander around Washington.

I don’t know about you three: Alastair, Fay and Julie …

But I need a holiday!