Washington DC

Hiking Through the Tundra

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PSX_20180304_205342When I was at Brandeis, I was part the group that put on major concerts. By the time I got to my senior year, I was an old hand at the process of taking pieces of staging apart, wheeling equipment boxes onto the freight elevator, and helping the roadies load everything onto the truck.

My memories of my last concert in college aren’t very distinct. I don’t remember much about Third Eye Blind’s performance. I don’t remember how long it took to do set up and take down. And, I don’t remember it being an unusually cold night.

What I do remember is that during loadout, I somehow ended up stationed at the loading dock. That frigid New England air started to creep up on me. As the hours ticked away, the cold seeped deeper and deeper into my bones.

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These Calves are Made for Walking

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I have big calves.

I’m not being self-deprecating or indulging in a moment of low self-esteem. They’re big, and I’m reminded of it every time I try to tug on skinny jeans or almost bust a zipper pulling on a pair of knee-high boots.

The natural response, I guess, would be to dislike them. And I won’t lie, I’ve cast an admiring glance or two at thin-legged ladies. But, I’m proud of my calves.

My body is a gift from people whose names and faces and stories I will never know. Somehow, all the things that they were have come together into one big compilation – and that’s me.

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When We March, We March Together

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psx_20170305_170517Like most Jews my age, I don’t remember learning about the Holocaust. It’s one of those things I feel like I’ve always known: the sky is blue; the Florida Gators are the best team; and Nazi Germany rounded up my people, sent them to concentration camps, and murdered 6 million of them.

I can remember being a little kid and sitting on the swing in the playset my dad built, spinning in aimless circles, and wondering: Why? What was the point in killing so many people? And why us?

I felt like everybody else, but something about people like me must have been terrible. If not, why would something like the Holocaust happen?

It’s not something I could appreciate at that age, but I know now that I wasn’t the only kid struggling with those questions. For every group targeted for hate, there’s a child staring at the clouds wondering if they can find a way to scrub off the things that make her different.

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Capitol Drift: The National Arboretum

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The columns rise out of the hill, and if you didn’t know better, you might think they were the ruins of an ancient civilization. But this is DC, and there’s nothing old about a city established by an Act of Congress in 1790.

So what is this place and why are these columns here?

The place is the National Arboretum located in Northeast DC. And the 22 Corinthian columns standing in the field? They were once tasked with the important job of supporting the U.S. Capitol.

That’s right; these columns used to be part of the Capitol Building.

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The Joy of Seasons

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psx_20161031_215551Anyone who has spent time with me knows that I like to talk about the weather.

Hang around long enough; you’re going to get a full weather report. Most of the time it’s just an acknowledgment that it’s too hot or cold outside. Sometimes it’s the exact start time of a forecasted storm. And other times it’s more along the lines of, “there’s a freak snowstorm coming, and the world’s going to end.” (Weather also makes me overdramatic)

If you’ve listened to me complain about the temperature, you might think I hate seasonal changes. It’s a fair assumption. I’ve been very open about the fact that harsh winters were a major factor in my decision to leave Massachusetts. And I’ve been known to wax poetic about the winters of my childhood, where the thermostat only occasionally dipped below a crisp 50 degrees.

But honestly, I love seasons. I love the way they mark the passage of time. I love how cold winters give me an excuse to drink hot chocolate and hide under the covers, and I love how hot summers give me a reason to sip sangria and stay out until 10 pm on a work night.

And fall? Fall is the best season of all.

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Hidden in DC: Meridian Hill Park

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psx_20161017_200633I haven’t been around much lately. No, I haven’t been on some epic vacation in an exotic location. My journey was a little more off the beaten path. I spent the last few months taking a very intensive course in tour guiding, and I am now a licensed DC Tour Guide.

Random? You bet.

There are a lot of things that led me to tour guiding, and one of them was this blog. For the past year, I’ve been sharing my adventures and insights with all of you. Most of the time, my story is also the story of DC and of discovering the trails and hidden spaces that exist in this city. And since, deep down, I’m still the same person who spent four years pursuing degrees in American History and American Studies, I’ve found myself retelling DC’s story on the pages of this blog.

The more I’ve researched DC to write these pieces, the more I’ve looked for other ways to share the District’s fascinating history. Becoming a part-time tour guide was the logical culmination of my search.

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Nikki versus the Bike

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PSX_20160810_221906Just like riding a bike. Once you know how to do something, you’ll know how to do it forever. Easy peasy.

But you know what’s not “just like riding a bike”? Riding a bike.

When I was a kid, I was nearly inseparable from my bike. From the time I figured out how to get the wheels over the bump between our driveway and the street without falling, my bike and I were unstoppable.

I would ride down the four roads in my neighborhood, pushing myself to top speed as I circled the cul-de-sacs. Those were the best days. I would entertain myself by singing random songs as I pedaled (clearly, I was a bit of an odd kid), often meeting up with my neighborhood friends, Alex, Kelsey, Carrie, and Tensi, as I patrolled my neighborhood territory.

Then, I got older.

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18 Miles to Failure

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C&O Canal

The first mile is always the hardest.

It doesn’t matter that I walk everywhere – to the grocery store, to the metro, to restaurants – it’s always hard for me to get started. I tend to be stiff in the beginning. I feel it in my stance. I do this weird thing where I start tensing up my right foot, flexing it too much until I start getting that uncomfortable pre-Charlie horse feeling.

And then, after the first mile, I start to relax. My foot chills out, and I settle into a rhythm. I start to exist just from the waist down. Everything that I am is focused on my hips, my thighs, my knees, my calves, and my feet. It becomes harder to slow myself to a stop than it is to keep going and going and going forever.

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DC in Bloom

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IMG_20160324_223645Last year, I missed the cherry blossoms. I didn’t think it would matter to me. The cherry blossoms are an awesome phenomenon that I’d seen four years in a row – missing one year was just a part of life.

But I did care.

There was just something so sad about not taking part in DC’s official “hello” to spring. Looking at pictures while I was visiting my family in Florida didn’t do the experience justice. For about two weeks, the District transforms into this mystical place that exists under a cloud of white blossoms. Petals float gently through the air every time the wind blows. It feels magical — there’s nothing else like it.

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Recap: Rock Creek Park – Southern Trails

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The weekend of February 20, I didn’t have much time for an outing, so I did a small section of a loop outlined in the book 60 Hikes Within 60 Miles: Washington, DC. That small taste wasn’t enough. The tiny bit of the route that I saw was so enticing, I spent the next week thinking about it. What did the rest look like? Where did it lead? Would the finish match the awesome beginning?

I only had to wait seven days to find out. The weekend called for warmer temperatures and clear skies, making it perfect for a Saturday trek. Sireen drove out to DC bright and early to join me for the loop, and after a brief warm up on the side of the road, we headed to the Zoo.

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