My favourite government department ever...

I like to imagine them, attired in regulation cardigans made from recycled string, supervising government employees to make sure they only take the regulation 3.5 turns when sharpening their pencils.

Although it sounds as though their work might be cut out for them if the newspapers are correct when they report that in the wake of 9/11 the Dept of Homeland Security spent money with abandon, not following official guidelines for contracts, or you know, checking that the product works, before employing it in the nation's security system.

Still no calls.

Upon realising that my jeans were in a state that one exuberant leap could render extremely embarrassing, I set off to H&M. Which is shut til noon on Sundays in downtown DC. It being 10.00 I decided to head to the National Gallery for awhile. Which is shut til 11 on Sundays. So I decided to head to the bus terminal. Which is quite a long walk when you go the wrong way. But I managed to secure a bus ticket, and the discovery that you really don't need to buy them in advance for Greyhound. Have then secured new
trousers, I was all set to view some art, and so wandered along to the Gallery of American Art, part of the Smithsonian Galleropolis that threatens to engulf all DC. It has only been open for a little while, sharing a building with the National Portrait Gallery. National Portrait Galleries don't interest me (beyond aforementioned Arkley - Cave pairings): just head after head of supposed magnificence for some reason or other. But the American Art collection is excellent. Very good early 20th C exhibition of American artists who had spent time in Paris, very cool William Berryman show, who in turn had curated a great exhibition of American folk art. Upstairs was one of the coolest installations I've ever seen in a gallery - lots of painting racks behind glass with the collection in 'storage' on display - no real space to view them in and some of them are about a foot off the ground, but at least you get some sense of what the broader collection is like. Labelling is sometimes just the accession number or brief details of artist/title, but there are computers scattered about that you can look up a whole host of other information on. There's two floors of this. Cool.

The part of the gallery described thus far is all up one end, and is all pretty much gallery standard-nineteenth century feel, so there is a total contrast with the other end of the building where the later 20th century and
contemporary art is - where our friends from abstract expressionism and pop art, amongst others, get to dwell. Lots of excited internal giggling and bouncing on my part.

I spent so long in there that I entirely missed the second floor where all the graphic art is, so here's hoping there was nothing crucial there.

After that: Mexican! Australia needs more mexican food, it has to be said. When the man offered me a small or a regular and showed me how long the burritos were, which wasn't especially long, it would have been helpful if he'd mentioned that the burritos are as fat as your arm (assuming you have a large arm). Anyway, I settled down with my log of a burrito and happily watched the passersby. And treated them to the spectacle of me attempting to eat something larger than my face.

The next day was photocopying and then the National Gallery, the latter being much more exciting than the former it has to be said. More excellent Cezannes, Van Goghs, more shocking Renoirs, and lots of Old Stuff That I'm Sure is Good For Me But I Don't Care: There are only so many Dutch still lives and portraits that you can see before you start to toss your head and huff. V. good Rembrandts though.

Then next door for the Modern bit - hurrah! Gorgeous Jackson Pollock, excellent pop! And Dubuffet! And Rothko! (installation not nearly as good for Rothko as at the Tate Modern) Great room of Calders. And Neumann's Stations. (of the Cross that is).

And then I run out of time again. More Mexican. And in another episode of Hostel Avoidance, to the fillums, I saw Stranger than Fiction: has that been released in Oz yet? Go see it. V. good. Quirky plot in the Adaptation sense, but works on brainless amusement level and the 'I can see the undergraduate film/lit theory essays about the narrative voice unfolding before me' level. But in a good way. Emma Thompson. Go, you'll like it.

The next day: photocopying. Mexican. Casino Royale (the opening scenes of which have convinced me that I have developed vertigo. I never used to be particularly bothered by heights, apart from the general concern of preserving self, now I am bothered, strange).

Day after that: Corcoran: smaller than I thought it was going to be. V. good twentieth century collection, awesome painting by someone born in 1976 that I can't remember the name of. Great Morris Louis. V. cool Lichtenstein Apples prints. V. interesting exhibition of how Joan of Arc has been imaged through history.

Left there: rain. Strange rain: looks like a light shower but you take three, maybe four steps, and you're soaked through. Basically solid water, but like floaty mist in texture. Naff-butterfly brolly maintaining a tonsure of dryness atop my skull but the rest of me is damp. I repair to a café and sulk at the rain. A block away from a turkey is being pardoned by el presidente. I head across the street to the Renwick, American craft, beautifully finished pieces, yes Dad I took photos of the woodwork.

The next day: Turkey Day! Thankfully the Smithsonian is open, all of them. I go to the Hirschorn, excellently circular gallery of modern and contemporary art. Contemporary sculpture exhibition, v. good, and then on the top floor is their collection, all our favourites are here, yay! Spend much time gazing and drooling. They are also showing 'The Way things Go' by Fischli and Weiss, the video piece of the chain reaction that I told you about, remember? Quite entertaining to compare the English and American responses to this: English: On Best Gallery Behaviour, dead silent. American: v. entertained, much more interactive, laughing, commenting on what was going on. I think the artists would be a lot happier with the latter. Anyway, I bought the dvd, because I was compelled, and now I have this question: does anyone have a multi-region dvd player?

Then, Turkey feast! Yay! Food was very good, although was fairly surprised when my salmon gravlax entrée came with guacamole and corn chips. Corn chips and salmon go together better than I ever expected. Service was bordering on Fawlty towers: when your second course turns up and you're only halfway through the first it should be fairly obvious that you don't want it yet, but still the waiter asked me. And then his friend asked me, ten minutes later, when he brought it back again, and still I was eating. I'm all for prompt service, but not if it means I need a blender and a funnel to keep up with them.

After that: moofies! Bobby - Emilio Estevez has made a film about the assassination of Bobby Kennedy. I think I like it, but I'm not sure if I would see it again. But Martin Sheen, Sharon Stone, Lindsay Lohan, Estevez, Demi Moore, Anthony Hopkins, Ashton Kutcher... And so on and so forth are all in it.

Oh before I go: one small detail I forgot: is it just me or do you find the concept of a big 'Welcome To the USA' banner at the airport visa check, from the Dept of Homeland Security, slightly disturbing?

and so to DC

Arrived in DC late afternoon, with a startling lack of information. Normally I tend to over-research where I am going and how to get there, but with the flurry of activity before I left the UK I didn't really get my head into gear for my arrival in the US of A. I made my way into the centre of downtown DC, where they have thoughtfully provided people to give you advice on where you are and how to get to where you are going. Unfortunately, the guy who approached me to offer assistance, on looking at the address of where I was going, offered advice which amounted to 'that's far'. Riiiiight. And proceeded in a way that had me wondering if I would need a visa to commute between DC and Canada. So I left him in the wake of my suitcases, and trundled off to find a cab. I found one, he found where I was going, all was good.

Except that the neighbourhood the Hostel is in did not match the description that I had read on the Lonely Planet webverse - which, summarised, was 'a bit of a distance from the centre of town, a bit crap, but surrounded by a really cool 'hood' - this place was 'quite a distance from the centre of town, really quite crap, and not at all in a cool hood'. Turns out that the place they were describing was the original version of this hostel, which burnt down. The thing is though, their review acknowledges the fact that it had burnt down, and writes about it as thought it has been rebuilt, which, clearly, it hasn't, it has moved. Somewhere crap. Anyway. Most of the week I had the room to myself, which is a kind of hostel-dwellers bliss. Unfortunately the previous inhabitant had obviously only stopped by to conduct her seasonal moulting in private, and, after leaving vast swathes of hair, had continued on her way. I thought that was the worst of it, and then I saw the mouse in the kitchen. Joy! [The obvious question is why I stayed, and the reason for that is, beyond my extreme reluctance to have to trundle anywhere with my suitcases more than I have to, is that I had, of course, left it to the last minute to book accom in DC, and the next price bracket up from 'previoustenantsmoultings&rodents' is upwards of 100, so, la crappeee it had to be.]

Heading downtown the next morning I found that DC on the weekend is oddly like Canberra - all the public servants flee and leave a deserted city behind them. Except this city is a lot bigger and a lot more attractive. And a lot easier to get round, as, wait for it, rather than some pseudo-scenic curved road scenario that can have you trapped in our Nation's Finest for years at a time, the Wastingtonians thoughtfully numbered all the north-south streets and lettered the east-west ones, so within a few minutes you've pretty much figured out where you are, where you need to be, and roughly how far that is. Might not have the undoubted poetic bliss of a William Slim Drive, but damn it's useful.

After pondering that delightful aspect of urban design, I headed down to the Mall to wander along to the Capitol, all the way waiting for calls from CJ, Josh, Sam and co. Surely they would realise I was in town soon.... ? Enjoyed that deeply surreal experience of seeing vistas open before me that are almost too iconic to be experienced:


Still no calls.

Discovering that it is only the early bird that gets the ticket to the tour of Capitol, I proceeded on my way, and took myself on a wander around the Library Of Congress: the library responsible for the classification system it took me most of my undergraduate degree to reliably use, and still, on a occasion, gives me reason to pause and earnestly recite the alphabet to myself, before uttering a curse and backtracking, realising that I'm three aisles from where I'm supposed to be. Anyway. Very elaborate decoration, incredibly so when you compare it to any equivalent establishment en Australie, and some excellent exhibitions, nicely encapsulating the development of America and of the library's collection.

Then I went shopping: the Eastern Market. Should you find yourself there, go in the main doors, turn right, go to the far corner, and order the crab cake sandwich. Just a tip. You won't regret it. I followed the recommendation, despite the fact that I don't particularly like crab. Now I do. Nice markets, my christmas shopping has officially commenced, for those who may have been wondering. And indeed, for those who weren't, because you know now, and there's nothing you can do to change that. C'est la vie.

Onto the metro, back to Federal Square. La Maison Blanche! Very, very peculiar to see it in the stucco. Still, they did not call. Alongside me were many many Americans, as one would expect. They take a lot more interest in their history than Australians do, and as much as American patriotism can have some unfortunate consequences for their foreign policy, in the interest they take in their history and their ability to articulate the nation's values, democracy, freedom and such, I really admire it. And quite entertaining when American Dad turns to entire family and begins lecture on the form of government that is bicameral legislature and is cut off by swooning-bored son with 'not another lecture' to the amusement of many.

Washington Monument, avec Water Fountains

Then, to the Lincoln Memorial, via the Vietnam Memorial - the best War Memorial that I've ever seen, I found the simplicity of it far more moving than the Georgian Wedding Cake style that features on so many others.

Pool and Abe Memorial

Abe

Pool and Monument

Then to the movies, where, for being good feet, I took Judas and Thomas to see 'Happy Feet' in the hope that it would inspire them.


Still they did not call. Can the cast of The West Wing really be fictional?