What's a proper summer in NYC without a weekend spent skipping town?
It's not proper, that's what. This past weekend, I spent about ten hours total on a BoltBus ambling along the highways of the green, green, green eastern states from NYC to our nation's capital, and then back. Beautiful drive. Beautiful time spent watching Jiro Dreams of Sushi (well, not actually, because I was starving) and Letters to Juliet (my tear ducts started coordinating with the rain beating down on the bus windows).
I got to spend the weekend with a few of my favorite faces – Nick and Dylan and old pals from my freshman dorm – and of course, my partner-in-crime, Lauren.
Our itinerary literally listed about 14 different synonyms for 'really good food,' but in between eating with reckless abandon, Lauren thought we should be patriotic and worldly and all that. Political scientist. History nerd. So, we went and said hello to a few presidents, living and not-so-living, paid our respects at some war memorials (the veterans proudly wearing sad smiles and caps proclaiming the wars they fought in, tugged and tugged at my heartstrings), browsed Eastern Market, took in a view of the Potomac River, explored Georgetown, made an appearance at the massive birthday party downstairs (and then promptly proceeded to hide upstairs and watched Tangled), and picked out our engagement rings at the gems exhibit in the Natural History Museum. The Hope Diamond? Simply aspirational.
But mostly, we ate.
Thanks, Lauren, for the insiders' tour of your stomping grounds. And especially for putting up with my incessant questioning about Bo and Sunny, the Easter Egg Roll, and motorcades.