In early December, I sat down with Harlem Globetrotter “Buckets” Blakes over some tacos and salsa—the spicy garnish as well as the flavorful tunes playing overhead at Rosslyn’s Baja Fresh. A warm soul with a wide smile, Blakes arrived all suited up and with his basketball perched nonchalantly on his hip. When the behind-the-counter Baja employee jokingly extended his hands for a pass, Buckets playfully tossed the ball his way, afterward posing for a photo with the ecstatic fan.

Buckets Blakes (#15), now in his eighth season with the Globetrotters, clearly enjoys these press junkets he’s sent on as one of the team’s more experienced players. He kept busy during this past DC/VA tour—taking to the ice rink with the Capitals (learning “just how bad he is at hockey”), gift-wrapping at Tysons Corner, surprising Horton’s Kids youth with free eyeglasses and even, to the delight of some Wizards fans, swiping tickets at the Verizon Center (“Hey, I’ve got to make some cash somehow!” he joked). Blakes returns to the area with his teammates next week as they take over the court December 29 at Fairfax, Virginia’s Patriot Center at 7 p.m. and then at downtown’s Verizon Center December 30 at 7 p.m.

The Harlem Globetrotters are as American as apple pie. Who doesn’t hear Brother Bones’s whistled version of “Sweet Georgia Brown” and envision those red, white and blue-clad, towering magicians miraculously spinning basketballs atop long fingers and catapulting balls into the net from a court’s length away? The group, formed by London-born immigrant Abraham Saperstein, evolved in the 1920s on the South Side of Chicago where the original players grew up. The team (then called the Savoy Five) turned professional in 1927, later getting a new name when promoter Saperstein wanted to give the impression that the all-black team represented that mostly black New York borough. Famed for their unique combination of athleticism, theater and comedy, the Globetrotters have fluctuated between playing competitively and for show, resulting in one of the best-known sports entertainment franchises in the world.

Blakes spinning ball on ticket scanner at Wizards game
Courtesy Washington Sports & Entertainment

These players put their passports to good use. Blakes casually lists places he’s visited from Brazil and Dubai to Japan, with stadiums often selling out, further confirmation of the Globetrotters’ worldwide appeal. The team’s now played more than 20,000 exhibition games in 118 countries, entertaining their biggest crowd (75,000) in Berlin’s Olympic Stadium in 1951 (where they received a 15-minute standing ovation when 1936 Olympian Jesse Owens was announced as a special guest). And now from December 2009 to May 2010, the schedule includes nearly 270 games in more than 215 cities in 44 states, five Canadian provinces and Puerto Rico. They will also play more than 150 games internationally in 2010. (To catch the talents here next week, call 202-397-SEAT, or visit www.ticketmaster.com.)

Born and raised in Phoenix (where he still lives), Anthony “Buckets” Blakes attended the University of Wyoming, leading his team in rebounds, assists and steals his junior year. His senior year he was one of two players in the Mountain West Conference to finish in the top 15 in scoring, assists and rebounding. He then played for the European Basketball League before receiving an exciting call from the Globetrotters. Some of his signature on-court moves? Blakes has mastered the half-court granny shot and claims he can roll the ball up his back, off his neck and into the basket (jokingly thanking his mom for the hereditary head shape that makes him capable of such a stunt).

Eight women have suited up for the Globetrotters over the years. Among other alum: NBA greats Wilt “The Stilt” Chamberlin, Connie “The Hawk” Hawkins and Nat “Sweetwater” Clifton” as well as honorary members who range from Henry Kissinger and Bob Hope to Whoopi Goldberg, Nelson Mandela and even Pope John Paul II. Blakes says the turnover rate within the team used to be high, but now “they’re selecting guys who can last.” (The team’s HQ moved to Arizona in 1996, and this is their third year under new owners.)

Curly Neal with new generation of dribblers including Flight Time
Courtesy Washington Sports & Entertainment

At the team’s training camp on Long Island, the focus is not purely physical; the players also attend workshops on “life skills” covering topics from nutrition and financial responsibility to social consciousness. The schedule during the fourteen to sixteen days of training is grueling: four hours of basketball in the morning, lunch, four hours in the afternoon, followed by dinner during which workshops take place. When on tour, the team practices two hours before each game. “You want to be perfect every night. You never know if this is someone’s first game,” Blakes says. “You see the smiling faces, and you don’t want to let them down.”

The Globetrotters have made countless TV and movie appearances. Recently you may remember them running circles around squeal-prone Jillian on The Bachelorette, appearing on Hell’s Kitchen and this season sending two lovable ambassadors, Flight Time and Big Easy, to sprint to Pit Stops around the world on The Amazing Race. (Those good-natured goofballs had my vote long before they did traditional Dutch dances in swooshy dresses and tie-on bonnets!) Blakes claims the two contestants obediently kept mum about the TV show’s winners upon their return to the States. But don’t think that their curious teammates didn’t try to coerce the Amazing Racers into revealing something they shouldn’t. “Are you sure you all didn’t win?” Blakes would tease, “That’s a really nice watch you’re wearing, Big Easy!”

Big Easy in the crowd with confetti
Courtesy Washington Sports & Entertainment

The Globetrotters have made history time and again. Battling factions in Peru allegedly halted their civil war for four days in 1954 so that the Globetrotters could perform there, resuming fighting once the team departed. And more recently the team, aware of President Obama’s affinity for the sport, wore #44 jerseys for an Inauguration Day game. The team then sent four official basketballs to the White House as a gift to the First Family. They were also the first ones to send a basketball up into space—with the crew of the Atlantis on an 11-day mission to service the Hubble Space Telescope.

When asked about his post-Globetrotter plans, Blakes, who’s also an active goodwill ambassador for the team’s C.H.E.E.R. children’s program, says, “I’ve got a lot left in me.” But he does mention he’d consider working within another part of the organization, perhaps doing Globetrotters PR. And something about this guy’s humor and charm suggests he’d shine in that role just as much as he currently wows fans on the court. Watch Blakes and his teammates work their magic next week here in the nation’s capital!

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ICE! penguins by Corinne Whiting

I’ll be the first to admit that planned communities and “town center” mini-metropolises aren’t really my thing. I find them rather soulless and frankly a little creepy, so I tend to steer clear. But on a recent snowy Saturday, I was lured over to Maryland’s National Harbor—that relatively new complex of colossal convention centers and hotels, shops, eateries and a man-made “beach,” site of the relocated Awakening sculpture that I loved to crawl atop as a kid (at its former Hains Point home).

The draw this past visit? A mini-city of ice created by forty Chinese artisans flown over to sculpt 5,000 blocks that cumulatively weigh two million pounds. I was intrigued. Despite fears of rambunctious tots dominating this surreal ice world, the experience was a pleasant one. Visitors purchase timed tickets to enter Gaylord National’s ICE!, housed in a tent on the resort’s property that contains a 15,000-square-foot “cold room.” To combat the nine degree inside temps, guests borrow XXL blue parkas before entering, turning the masses into a sea of super-size Smurfs (wee ones shriek in horror as they attempt to wiggle free; adults belly laugh, delighted by the silly scene). Groups then get their photo snapped by staff as if about to board a cruise ship, before slipping beyond the warmth into the winter wonderland. The vibe’s a bit cheesy, but charming all the same.

ICE! visitors brave the temps with puffy parkas by Corinne Whiting

In October the master artisans who created ICE! arrived at National Harbor from Harbin, the capital city of China’s northernmost province Heilongjiang. (If I experience a bit of culture shock at National Harbor, imagine their impressions!) Harbin residents have hosted a world-famous “Ice and Snow Festival” for the past 25 years, the 100-acre walk-through ice park and frozen “city” attracting some 800,000 visitors each year. More than 2,000 sculptors convene to carve Harbin’s annual extravaganza using blocks from the nearby Songhua River.

Ice angel by Corinne Whiting

Ice for the DC-area exhibit, custom-ordered from a manufacturing plant in Ohio, arrived in three different formats—clear ice made using deionized, highly filtered water that’s been frozen over a three-day period, white (or “snow”) ice, frozen quickly and resulting in an opaque look, and colored ice (there are eleven different hues here) using precisely pigmented dyes.

The ice arrived in mid-October, and artists worked their magic for more than 30 days. Watch their amazing talent in action in this video. The venue’s nine-inch-thick foam walls function as a large cooler and kept the internal temperature just right for carving conditions (too cold, and the ice becomes brittle; too warm, and it won’t properly chip). Some artists sculpted the ice blocks with mind-boggling attention to details, while others focused on the lighting and electrical systems embedded in the sculptures. (More than 1,500 specially-designed light tubes were frozen within the ice.)

A kid-friendly world of ice by Corinne Whiting

The finished product is breathtaking. The walk-through attraction includes 10 “larger-than-life, three-dimensional holiday scenes,” first greeting visitors with carvings of iconic DC monuments (ideal family Christmas card material). Sites include a walkable “ice bridge,” a North Pole igloo complete with a row of playful, dancing penguins, a sleigh and carriage (climb on in!), a Nativity Scene with a 25-foot-tall ice angel and a Christmas Castle featuring four two-story-tall ice slides (I may have lost in a race to the bottom, but the momentary, nostalgic rush was refreshing all the same!). Word of advice: use restrooms at the Gaylord before heading to the ICE! tent if outdoor “facilities” don’t appeal…

ICE! slide by Karalee Sargent

ICE!, along with the Gaylord’s seasonal decor of more than two million sparkling luminaries, nightly indoor “snowfalls” and a 60-foot-tall “tree of light,” helped the resort gain its recent ranking on the Orbitz list of “Top Hotels Decked Out for the Holidays.”

ICE! stays open till January 10. Adult tickets start at $20; kids cost $13. Booking in advance is highly recommended. Visitors can also rent skates and take a spin on a next-door rink. Visit www.ChristmasonthePotomac.com for more info.

So go on and experience something totally different—get lost in a world of ice…before it all melts away!

Nativity scene by Corinne Whiting

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Characters Unite Town Hall by Corinne Whiting

Earlier today the Newseum hosted a by-invitation-only panel that brought together an eclectic array of powerhouses. On the stage was opening speaker Dulé Hill (who referred to his former role on West Wing), moderator Tom Brokaw (who led a smooth discussion and even pitched a few jokes along the way), and panelists from columnist Kathleen Parker, Chancellor Michelle Rhee and Newark Mayor Cory Booker to Representative Anh “Joseph” Cao and rocker/budding philanthropist Jon Bon Jovi, to name a few. Ah, the beauty of living in DC.

The event, billed as “Characters Unite: National Town Hall,” was inspired by the USA network’s initiative—an attempt to battle prejudice and promote tolerance—as well as Brokaw’s upcoming documentary American Character Along Highway 50. The show premieres January 18 and, based on the preview they screened today, I for one plan to tune in. (Brokaw traveled to small towns like Hillsboro, Ohio, and Grand Junction, Colorado, to interview residents about their daily challenges living in America; the result looks fascinating!)

Today’s dialogue was rooted in a recent USA poll revealing that 53% of the population believe our nation is still too divided along racial lines. The panel covered most current economic, political and cultural concerns you’d expect, from those on the national level—immigration laws, gay rights and Obama’s decision to send more troops to Afghanistan—to those more locally relevant like Rhee’s overhaul of DC’s education system. Though slightly differing views were vocalized, the overall tone was one of collaboration.

Georgetown Professor Dr. Michael Eric Dyson provided some of the most entertaining yet eloquent answers—illustrating one point by reciting verses by Jay-Z and Alfred Lord Tennyson in the same breath. And when discussing the president who “made sexy brilliance popular again,” Dyson praised the “audacious hope” Obama has brought to our country. He insisted that now that we have the hope, we must execute these visions: “Someone needs to go to the Wizard to get a heart.”

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Tea time at home by Corinne Whiting

A few years back, a loveably zany Irish friend of mine lugged tea bags with her from her Drogheda cupboards to the communal hostel kitchens of Buenos Aires, Rio, La Paz and Cusco. I’ll admit that I didn’t really get it. (“If only I had brown bread right now too,” she’d sigh dreamily, nearby mate drinkers looking on curiously as she downed cup after cup of her smuggled vice.) To say that Edel is a tea enthusiast is an understatement.

I didn’t understand her tea passion…that is, until I moved east to windswept Scotland, where a steaming cuppa is sometimes the only sure way to chase the chill from one’s bones. There I also learned to appreciate the soothing and intimate ritual of gathering with friends over a shared refreshment that requires time—time to steep, to cool, to sip, to savor, to merely pause and take it all in.

Coffee culture seems the more visible beverage addiction in most US cities (DC included), while the army of tea devotees tend to fly under the radar. But I suspect they’re out there. So where can a tea lover get a fix here? The options include spots pretentious and proper, casual and cozy, and those somewhere in between.

‘Afternoon Tea, The Jefferson’
courtesy of ‘Jenn Larsen’

If you’re looking for a special treat, most high-end hotels in DC host afternoon teas. At M Street’s Park Hyatt, the Tea Cellar offers pots that range from $8 to $300 a pop (yes, you read that correctly). The cellar (attached to the hotel’s lounge and Blue Duck Tavern restaurant) stocks the biggest inventory of rare Pu-Erh in the US with vintages from 1949 to 2003. Guests choose between more than 50, single-estate teas like the “Vintage Pu-Erh Tea,” harvested from the ancient trees of Yunnan, China, and aged in caves like fine wines, and the “Reserve Tea”—extremely rare, hand-picked teas with a retail price of $150 to $850 per pound.

The cellar’s early morning or evening guests “pair” teas with items from a light fare lounge menu. But afternoon tea goers on Saturday and Sunday (from 2:30 to 4:30 p.m.), find a marble table topped with pastries like caramel chocolate tarts and pumpkin pecan cranberry scones plus savory items like watercress/crème fraîche sandwiches to accompany flights of tea (who knew there was such a thing?).

The Willard InterContinental has recently transformed its Peacock Alley into a Far East-themed oasis to launch the “Tea Chinois” program—timed in conjunction with National Geographic’s exhibit Terra Cotta Warriors: Guardians of China’s First Emperor. The narrow promenade has now become a Chinoiserie-inspired space with a decor of warm red tones, gold textiles, hanging silk lanterns, towering bamboo stalks, the light projection of Chinese “good luck” coins on the carpet and video footage of the terra cotta warriors on the ceiling. Guests enjoy calming background music played on the guzheng, a plucked string instrument in the zither family. The menu ($39 per person, $49 with a glass of Champagne) includes teas like English Breakfast Organic, Vanilla Bean, Rose Silver Needle (Bai Hao Yin Zhen) and African Amber and gourmet snacks like Chinese eggplant sandwiches and green tea meringues.

‘Scones, The Jefferson’
courtesy of ‘Jenn Larsen’

Some claim tea at the Jefferson Hotel to be their favorite in DC, thanks to its “coolly elegant atmosphere” and freshly baked scones with clotted cream. For other luxurious sessions, check out afternoon teas at Connecticut Avenue’s Mayflower, The Ritz (with downtown and Virginia locations at Tysons Corner and Pentagon City), Strathmore Mansion and the National Cathedral (where a tour’s followed by tea and scones Tuesdays and Wednesdays at 1:30 p.m.).

But if you’re not so keen to spend more money on a pot of tea and some finger sandwiches than you’d spend on a full-fledged night out on the town, Teaism offers a low-key alternative to the fine china and white tablecloth experience. (The eatery-shop’s tagline: “An alternative to the obfuscation, over-formalizaiton, and xenophobia of traditional Asian and English tea houses.”) With locations in Dupont Circle, Penn Quarter and Lafayette Square, Teaism provides moments of mid-city Zen as well as tasty dishes ranging from French toast and cilantro scrambled tofu to tea-cured salmon with naan and raita, “Asian gazpacho” and buffalo burgers on wheat focacia.

Adams Morgan’s Tryst stocks an impressive array (that arrives in individual pots!), to be enjoyed in a friendly, lounge setting. New gastropub Againn also serves tea in ornate pots imported from England. I’ll cheers to that!

To add to your random pub quiz knowledge arsenal, learn the distinction between “high tea,” “afternoon tea” and “cream tea” in WLDC author Jenn’s recent post.

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City Hall by Corinne Whiting

The mention of Philly conjures different associations for different people. Some instantly envision mounds of steaming cheesesteak (“Get the whiz or they’ll mock you!” Philadelphians warn). Others think of the Founding Fathers, the Eagles and their die-hard fans, that famously cracked bell, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia or of a fist-pumping Rocky racing up the art museum steps. (Some others I know love to bring up this ridiculous survey. I’m reluctant to make any cracks here when DC doesn’t always fare so well itself…)

For me Philly now means frequent visits with a dear friend whom I met in Scotland (go figure) and hours of aimless wandering around this fascinating city. Each time I marvel at how a place so physically close can sometimes feel so very far away. As a child I traveled once or twice to this historically-rich town (the nation’s temporary capital from 1790 to 1800) to stand on the very spots where the country’s Founding Fathers drafted the Declaration of Independence and Constitution. As school kids here we learned about Renaissance man Benjamin Franklin, famed not only for his revolutionary electricity experiment, but also for creating the country’s first insurance company and the city’s first public library and fire department. We ogled at the Liberty Bell, rung to announce the Catholic Emancipation Act of 1828 in Great Britain, hopped back on our bus, and trekked home to the nation’s newer capital.

These days I make the two-and-a-half to four-hour “dragon bus” journey (I’d recommend the speedier/pricier Amtrak option if unpredictable budget shuttles aren’t your thing) when craving an urban change of scene. When DC is feeling just a little too rigid or pristine or orderly, and New York feels too far away, I head north to the “City of Brotherly Love.” Franklin deemed Philadelphia the “new Athens,” but to me, it feels suspiciously reminiscent of Glasgow, Scotland, perhaps for its mix of historic charm—cobblestone streets and narrow row houses in European-esque Old City—splashed with modern blocks of gray concrete and urban grit. In any case, the place is full of character and refreshingly down to earth.

Peeking in at the Liberty Bell by Corinne Whiting

I’ve been to Philly quite a few times over the past few years, each time learning more about our neighbor to the north. This past trip was a bit different since my friend’s just moved from West Philly (of Fresh Prince fame) to the ritzier Rittenhouse Square neighborhood. So while our strolls to and from her apartment used to take us by farmers’ markets, bongo drums, college students and Green Line cafes (I highly recommend the French toast bagel there), we now spied downtown shoppers, tango twirlers in the park and posh tourists people-watching from the wicker chairs of a Parisian-style cafe. As my friend explains, Philly is very much a “neighborhood city,” each zone carrying a distinctive vibe.

Skateboarder by Corinne Whiting

I also mentioned to people that I hung out with this time that I’d be writing up their city in a future blog entry, and much to my delight, I was inundated with fun facts, quirky trivia like the William Penn “sports curse,” personal opinions (Pat’s versus Geno’s for the obligatory cheesesteak) and wacky Philly slang (“jawn”…who knew?).

Italian Market by Corinne Whiting

As is often the case, the best way to experience the city’s diversity is by heading to its ethnic enclaves at mealtime. Conveniently enough, the Chinatown buses unload passengers in a bustling neighborhood where food options range from dive spots for dumplings to cozy cafes for pho. (For the ultimate splurge on posh modern Asian fare, foodies head downtown to Buddakan.) No trip of mine is ever complete without a pass through Reading Terminal Market, an enormous venue where daily vendors include Amish farmers who’ve brought in fresh goods from the countryside, bakers who sell doughy M&M cookies alongside cups of piping hot tea and Greek émigrés who slice gyro meat to fill warm pita pockets. Some find the crowded hall to be sensory overload, but if you can score a seat, it’s a great spot to absorb the Philly scene. The Italian Market is another fun neighborhood to explore. Though in recent years the area has also become home to many Latin American immigrants, the Italian influence is still evident in the lively cafes, bakeries, butcher stores and cheese shops (like Di Bruno Bros., pictured above).

BYOB by Corinne Whiting

Nightlife in Philly is highly enjoyable thanks to the city’s prevalence of BYO restaurants (DC, can we hop on this trend please?). At hip spots like Lolita, a BYOTequila downtown, patrons decide just how strong they’ll take their margaritas. Great live music spots I’ve visited so far include the three-tiered, riverside venue World Cafe Live and, for intimate acoustic shows, Tin Angel. Watering holes range from TV-filled bars for all those sports fanatics and clubs for the dancing crowd to low-key breweries like Dock Street and dimly-lit, authentic pubs like Monk’s. And to soak up that hangover the next day? Try charming and friendly Sabrina’s Cafe, where they serve up some mean French toast, Mediterranean wraps, breakfast burritos and sweet potato fries.

Murals by Corinne Whiting

If craving some culture, check out the Rodin Museum, boasting the biggest collection of the artist’s works outside of France. Philly museums host an impressive line-up of shows; I’ve been lucky enough to see the King Tut exhibit at The Franklin Institute and a Frida Kahlo show at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. (And even if an art museum isn’t your idea of an ideal afternoon, I’d highly recommend plopping yourself on the museum’s famous staircase for a good while—the hoards of Rocky-wannabes racing up the steps, hamming it up for cameras and phones, promise to entertain.) For a look at more modern, urban art, tours now take visitors around the city to check out the city’s amazing, ubiquitous murals.

So now what’s left to do? Why eat a cheesesteak, of course. Philadelphians seem a fiercely loyal bunch, be it for allegiances to neighborhoods, sports teams or sandwiches. Mention to a native that you’re on the hunt for the perfect steak (as did our friend, on a mission to hand-deliver a cheesesteak to his dad in Brooklyn), and the recommendations start rolling in. “Go to Pat’s! Geno’s is racist!” “Jim’s on 4th is definitely the best.” “How about trying a vegan version?” Wherever you end up, though, the experience is half the fun. Maybe just read a quick how-to guide before you order. DC and Philly may be nearby, remember, but even when it comes to ordering food, they can feel worlds apart.

(For a slice of Philly in DC, read Cathy’s recent post.)

Land of the cheesesteak by Corinne Whiting

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Sam Donaldson throws out the “Ceremonial First Joke”

Sometimes DC and its power players are unintentionally hilarious. This past Wednesday evening, however, at the 16th Annual Funniest Celebrity in Washington Contest, politicos, media folk and other local “celebs” took to the stage to be purposefully funny. Some jokes triumphed, filling Connecticut Avenue’s cozy, underground Improv lounge with delighted laughter. Other jokes (and/or their delivery) flat-out bombed, instead filling the room with uncomfortable silences and forcing squirming spectators to squeeze their seatmate’s arm while slinking deeper into the darkness.

But alas, not everyone’s a born comedian, and I give those brave souls credit for stepping out into the Improv spotlight in this notoriously straight-laced town. In any case, the gathering under one roof of such an odd cast of characters—from “Joe the Plumber” to Americans for Tax Reform’s Grover Norquist—provided superb if surreal people watching. Only in DC. And despite recent accusations to the contrary, event organizers claim proceeds (individual ticket sales started at $200) go to a good cause (we hope so anyway, we really do). This year’s fundraiser is said to benefit the charity StandUp For Kids, and show producer Richard Siegel, likely none-too-pleased with recent press, did remind us umpteen times that this event was “for the kids.” Our fingers are crossed.

“Joe the Plumber” Wurzelbacher by Corinne Whiting

Recurring comedic material came as no surprise; popular topics included Sarah Palin (her new memoir in particular), Obama’s Chicago Olympic bid in Copenhagen, the health care debate, Mark Sanford and his Argentinean lover, Kanye West’s recent VMA stunt and, of course, the recession. Contestants, many of whom read straight from note cards, were judged by a panel, including one dressed in a GEICO gecko costume (I told you it was a bizarre scene).

Comedian and Onion editor Baratunde Thurston proved a smooth, capable master of ceremonies (a relief), encouraging the audience to drink from the get-go (“It makes people funnier”), discussing his school days at Sidwell Friends (“I arrived with a slight case of Ebonics”) and testing limits with “barometer jokes” on slavery (when discussing the Facebook application of being “owned,” Thurston joked, “I am genetically predisposed to dislike this application”). Sam Donaldson threw out the first joke (which he admitted was a sexist jab), delivered in a well-rehearsed if theatrical manner, hands flailing, and scurried off-stage as quickly as possible. One of the early contestants, Washington (state) Congressman Rick Larsen launched into his well-timed session by predicting that most of us were asking, “Who the frick are you?”

DC Improv by Corinne Whiting

Some jokes crossed the line just enough, others felt a bit less appropriate. U.S. News and World Report’s Anna Mulrine spoke of her experience with embedded journalism in Afghanistan, attempting to mix humor with heavy topics like war and death. The audience seemed confused. A few tender moments were woven into the humor. President of the Motion Picture Association of America Dan Glickman delivered jokes about his mother, later revealing she has since passed away. When discussing his appointment by Clinton as Secretary of Agriculture, Glickman revealed his mom’s response: “Secretary! That’s not even a promotion!”

Congresswoman Jackie Speier sported a dark suit and sparkly jewelry as she worked the crowd with ease, surmising what it would be like if women ran Wall Street. Things would be different, she claimed, since women always know when men are lying and because “no performance bonuses would be delivered” unless the act was actually performed. Joe Wurzelbacher aka “Joe the Plumber” comfortably waltzed on-stage in an untucked flannel shirt and jeans, declaring he was sick of living a lie, that he was in fact Karl Rove’s half-brother and that he missed “his long golden locks.” Yes, I actually witnessed “Joe the Plumber” utter the words: “I need a mani and a pedi something fierce.”

Local restaurateur Chef Geoff by Corinne Whiting

In the crassest act of the evening, local restaurateur Chef Geoff (later deemed “the drunk chef” by Thurston) took to the stage in his white jacket and popped open a bottle of bubbly. His act traced his culinary career, offered advice to the drunk guy sitting at the end of the bar (“No, she’s not getting better-looking. You are just totally sh*t-faced.”) and ended by declaring the difference between a wife and a job: “After two years, your job still sucks.”

After several hours (that sometimes felt like even longer), the judges tallied their votes (the mute gecko presumably delivering a handwritten response). When all was said and done, Glickman received an Honorable Mention (perhaps his appeal to judges worked: “My mom would vote for me if she were here”), and Congressman Larsen took home third place. Runner-up went to return contestant Grover Norquist, who had entered the stage holding a glass of “neat” Bourbon and shared sweet and funny tales of married life and of being the father of two young daughters.

But THE funniest “celeb” of all? The honor went to Austan Goolsbee, Economic Adviser for the White House, whose routine gained momentum as it unfolded, borrowing from SNL’s Kevin Nealon’s Mr. Subliminal routine. Goolsbee flawlessly uttered lines under his breath like when he spoke about guest performer Senator Ben Nelson (uttering phrases like “sneak attack” and “stabbing in the back“) and ending his skit with this line: “I’m just a guy from Chicago (future Fed Chair).” As he left the stage, Goolsbee joked that after this comedic routine, he may now be joining the country’s ranks of unemployed. If it’s any consolation to him, though, Goolsbee might have just found himself a fallback career.

Master of Ceremonies Baratunde Thurston, Event Producer Richard Siegel and 2009 winner Austan Goolsbee by Corinne Whiting

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Oktoberfest server at Old Europe

My initial exposure to German culture came during the first few weeks of my junior year abroad. One evening in September ‘99, three brand-new friends and I raced off into the sunset across the unsecured French border on our trusty rent-a-bikes. (My ride was bright pink and accessorized with a Toto-sized basket out front.) Once on German soil, we boarded our first train (of many) chugging its way toward Munich. Destination: Oktoberfest. We carried with us one change of clothing, had no lodging booked, collectively spoke two words of Deutsch and had a vague plan to simply meet my friend from home “under the Glockenspiel” (ah, those haphazard, pre-cell phone days).

We were bursting with excitement and “green” naivete, but, thankfully, some lederhosen-clad travel gods smiled down upon us. We had a blast (and even found shelter thanks to some kind souls who shared their Marriott floor space). During that adventure, I learned several things about the German community: they are much friendlier than cultural stereotypes might suggest, they can belt out “Take Me Home, Country Roads” with the best of ‘em, and they know how to brew some darn good (and, yes, potent) beer. Munich knows how to throw a party.

Luckily for us Americans, our country has also embraced this holiday that practically demands indulgence (from the free-flowing bier to the hearty dishes) and general merriment to be shared among large groups of friends and family. Today more than 43 million Americans identify German as their primary ancestry, and that culture’s widely celebrated here in DC (especially at this time of year!).

Spaten bier at Old Europe by Corinne Whiting

German culture thrives year-round at Wisconsin Avenue’s Old Europe, one of DC’s longest surviving restaurants (opened in 1948). Loyal patrons from ex-pats to embassy folk flock to this dark and intimate space where servers wear drindl dresses, beer steins and model ships decorate the walls, and a pianist plays polkas and requests Thursday through Sunday evenings. Other highlights: a special Oktoberfest menu accompanied by authentic goods one would find on the Munich fairgrounds like gingerbread hearts and the official, imported Spaten Oktoberfest Bier.

For other Oktoberfest menus, head to Capitol Hill’s Cafe Berlin for dishes like “Sauerbraten” (on the patio, if warm enough) and, also on the Hill, Art and Soul, where a three-course prix-fix “Beer Dinner” runs throughout the month of October and features beer-steamed mussels and a cider-braised pork shank with black-eyed pea stew, spicy collard greens, apples and fennel. Clarendon’s Restaurant 3 taps the kegs of German beers and grills traditional sausages from October 9 to 12, while Rustico in Alexandria hosts a block party October 10 that celebrates with live music, a “bubble lounge” for the over-21 crowd, handmade pretzels and 26 seasonal beers on draft.

Café Mozart by Corinne Whiting

There are several spots where the German community finds a slice of home. Tucked away on H Street NW, Café Mozart consists of a deli up front, restaurant in the back (the schnitzel variety is impressive) and a small market that stocks imported goods from cheeses to marzipan sweets. For a cultural fix, Chinatown’s Goethe-Institut offers films, lectures and exhibitions any time of year. October 10 they host a “classical Oktoberfest with a literary twist” with a lecture and film on German writer-philosopher Gotthold Ephraim Lessing and lunch served in between. October 29 a joint event with the International Club of DC means live jazz plus more German food and drinks.

But if you were really just hoping to raise your stein (or Mass) this season, never fear. Never one to miss the chance to capitalize on a holiday (any holiday) with a bar crawl, Lindy Promotions presents the 18th annual “Bartoberfest” September 26 that weaves its way through Chinatown bars like The Greene Turtle (the starting spot from 1 to 6 p.m.), Bar Louie, Rocket Bar and Clyde’s. If braving drunken hordes seems to be your thing (much like the real Oktoberfest scene, come to think of it), join this drinking expedition that also features free beer coozies for the first 300 attendees, drink specials and a bratwurst eating-contest. Tickets cost $13 (or $10 with a donation of school supplies benefiting Horton’s kids).

Oktoberfest at Fort Meade (September 23 to 27) is free and features a carnival, culinary demos, travel bureau and, of course, the obligatory oompah band. Blob’s Park Bavarian Beer Garden hosts family-friendly festivities Saturdays and Sundays through October 24. The $10 admission fee includes 7 p.m. performances put on by “America’s first Oktoberfest! Band.” The new mini-metropolis of National Harbor gets in on the action with “Das Best Oktoberfest” (if they do say so themselves…) on September 26 from noon to 8 p.m. Tickets cost $30 at the door. Feeling competitive? Strut your stuff there in the “Beer Belly Contest” or “Miss Oktoberfest Competition.”

Old Europe’s Ode to Oktoberfest! by Corinne Whiting

On October 3 from noon to 7 p.m., at the Shirlington outpost of the Capitol City Brewing Company, visitors enjoy four-ounce beer samples from 30-plus breweries as well as food from local vendors. There’s no cost to enter, and $25 tickets grant access to beer tastings. Tempting tidbits: the venue boasts “authentic German food and an Oktoberfest band,” and its website even displays an up-to-the second party countdown.

Still haven’t found an Oktoberfest that strikes your fancy? Try the one in Reston Town Center October 9 through 11, or trek to Maryland’s Kentlands Village Green October 25 to 27. Several towns delight in their German history, like Loudon County Virginia’s Lovettsville which was settled by German immigrants following the 1722 Treaty of St. Albans and this year hosts a fair September 25 to 27. Highlights of Germantown’s October 3 celebration: a biergarten and celeb emcee, Local Channel 7’s newscaster Julie Parker. Prost!

Oktoberfest in Berlin by Amanda Coolidge

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Bagpipers at the Virginia Scottish Games and Festival by Corinne Whiting

Considering the headlines that dominate news pages these days, who could blame us for craving a bit of escapism? Luckily, an avalanche of September festivals offers ample excuses to wear kooky costumes or to (attempt to) speak in charming accents, to relive the past or to leap into the future. Sometimes we just need a few blocked-off streets or patches of green to catapult us out of familiar surroundings and demand we get lost in the sights, sounds and tastes of another time and place.

Some festivals draw repeat attendees who share such a passion for re-enacting and re-creating it seems more a way of life than a weekend hobby. (Some of these participants seem, sadly, to have been born into the wrong century.) Other fests prove more laid-back—a mix of cultural authenticity and comical distortion. But common denominators? The beer’s usually a-flowin’, the people watching superb.

The season kicks off September 5 and 6 with the Virginia Scottish Games and Festival in The Plains, Virginia. I first attended this lively event a few years back (having just returned from 16 months in Scotland), with expectations, in hindsight, a bit too lofty. (Yes, silly me, I thought I would actually meet some Scots and hear some of those dreamy, melodic accents.) Instead I did find some authentic culture (cuisine like tasty yet feared haggis and steaming meat pies) sprinkled with a bit of stereotype (or perhaps slightly-fudged cultural truths, like the presence of England’s Newcastle beer) and a few unexpected oddities (a parade in which kilted Americans showcased their plaid-clad “Dogs of Scotland”). But the atmosphere carried charm all the same. I watched proud Virginians sport their family tartan, sheepherders demonstrate their craft, Highland dancers do their joyous jigs and bagpipers echo the captivating drone of their instruments up into a piercing blue sky and out into the rolling Virginia hills. It’s Scottish culture with a twist, but a highly enjoyable day in the countryside all the same.

At the Scottish Fest: meats pies & haggis! by Corinne Whiting

On weekends through October 25, the Maryland Renaissance Festival in Crownsville, Maryland, boasts some pretty impressive numbers: the second largest Renaissance fest in the country, the “large theme show” draws to its 25-acre “English Tudor village” 280,000 guests per season. The fair features more than one hundred thirty crafts shops, forty-two food vendors, eighty-five acres of parking and 600 seasonal employees including performers who joust, sing, dance, tight rope prance, recite Shakespeare and do just about anything else you can imagine. Thanks to on-site costume rentals, you too can be transformed into “The Lady of the Realm,” “The Monk” or a “Jr. Miss Wench.”

Arts fests reign supreme throughout September, giving visitors quick fixes of delicious, mind-expanding culture. September 12 brings jazz to Rosslyn and Silver Spring , transporting listeners back to an era when the genre ruled U Street’s buzzing, so-called “Black Broadway.” That same day the Arts on Foots Festival takes over Penn Quarter and the Alexandria Festival of the Arts turns Old Town’s King Street into an open-air gallery during that entire weekend. The list goes on with neighborhood celebrations in Adams Morgan (September 13, highlights include dancing from Bolivian folk to Cuban salsa plus live music) and H Street (September 19).

Adams Morgan Day Festival by Corinne Whiting

Other fantastic arts-based escapes? Try the DC Shorts Film Festival September 10-17 which screens one- to 27-minute documentaries, comedies, dramas, experimental and animated films by filmmakers hailing from 15 countries as well as from within city limits. President and Michelle Obama serve as honorary chairs of the 2009 National Book Festival September 26 which lures bookworms to the Mall with talks and signings by authors like Judy Blume, James Patterson, Paula Deen and Nicholas Sparks.

Then there are gatherings where sheer indulgence rules the day. Take the Maryland Seafood Festival September 11-13 in Annapolis’s Sandy Point State Park with a “Crab Soup Cook-Off” September 12 and Centreville’s Virginia Wine Festival September 19-20, where 60-plus local wineries offer samples, food, seminars and live music by performers like Lisa Simone. Believe it or not, this is merely a partial event roundup. So head on out there, and immerse yourself in someone else’s world for a day or two. Tis the season!

Maryland Crabs by Corinne Whiting

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Meridian Hill Drum Circle by Corinne Whiting

I admittedly love DC, first and foremost, because it feels partly mine. I picnicked in its triangular parks as a wee one (our downtown visits allowing my dad an excuse for an office reprieve); I’ve played tourist around its sites on countless field trips with classmates and relatives; I’ve frolicked along its brick sidewalks as a college student for the first time unleashed, unsupervised, in a big urban world. So, yes, it is familiar and yes, some of my favorite people of all time still call this place home. DC is indelibly etched into the story of what makes me me.

But sweep all that personal history to the side, and I can see this magnificent city as if through the eyes of a visitor (in fact, my job insists that I do). I recognize its allure for tourists and locals alike, and I’m grateful to have roots in a city that keeps me coming back for more.

Perhaps, more than anything, I love that a city stroll can take me on a global walkabout. A challenging game of name-that-flag along Embassy Row sends me past an exquisite tiled mosque, distinctive ambassadorial residences and multilingual, wide-eyed diplomats exploring their new ‘hood. In Mount Pleasant, with Mana playing on my iPod, I pass chatting men on overturned crates as impromptu vendors sell tamales nearby, and the sights, sounds and smells temporarily transport me to Latin America. Within a fifteen-minute bubble of my home, I can eat amazing Ethiopian food cooked by Ethiopian chefs, Thai cooked by the Thai, Peruvian cooked by Peruvians. Authenticity rules our culinary scene. And I love that, at certain dinner parties, I might meet new friends who’ve come from or lived in countries like Bulgaria and Brazil, Martinique and Morocco.

Cherry Blossom Season by Corinne Whiting

I am grateful for the balance of four seasons. I’ve watched in wonder as Japanese blossoms explode on the banks around the Jefferson and Independence Day fireworks erupt above iconic white monuments. Fall foliage creates a seemingly color-enhanced canvas and, when lucky, snow clouds submerge our city into a tranquility only possible when the world’s enveloped in white.

I love that during my quotidian routine, I see things that people traverse five time zones (or many more) to witness. Every morning, my pedestrian commute allows for sight lines down 16th to one of the world’s most recognizable marble “pencils” as well as into the backyard of the First Family. (I like to envision them scurrying around in decaffeinated mode, trying to get out the door just like any young family at that hour.) I cannot help but get a rush when a swooshing presidential motorcade brings the traffic to a halt, even when it causes me to be few minutes late.

DC is vibrant and alive, as a city should be, and never lacking in cultural events ranging from Iranian film festivals and Panamanian dance parties to Turkish street fests. If you’re open-minded and want to learn or experience something new, you will. Free culture is our speciality; take the world-class museums, National Zoo, Eastern Market, annual Smithsonian Folklife Festival, tours of government buildings and summer jazz shows in the Sculpture Garden, to name only a few.

Mall with monks by Corinne Whiting

As the nation’s capital, big names regularly grace us with their presence-from politicians, performers and athletes to Queen Elizabeth and the Pope. (Nowadays, we even increasingly make the Hollywood and MTV rosters.) I’ve been fortunate enough to see Andy Roddick rock (and not) at the annual Legg Mason tennis tourney, Annie Leibovitz speak at the Corcoran, Spike Lee at the Silverdocs film fest and the Dalai Lama on a monk-speckled Capitol lawn. People come here to showcase their talents, to reveal their passions, to fight their causes. One cannot help but feel that they have their finger on the pulse of history, whether already made or still in the making.

U Street on Election Night by Corinne Whiting

I will never forget election night when I witnessed a most beautiful, celebratory eruption on U Street. Or the morning I peered out on the Inauguration route from my dad’s office window as history (in the form of a radiant young couple, hands intertwined) walked the Washington asphalt below. The entire world looked on, but those of us in DC were here in its midst.

Yet despite all the constant goings-on, there are so many spaces in which to find stillness. If you pause long enough to shove the swirling city noises into the background, there are countless opportunities to stare up into the infinite blueness, beyond the cement and concrete. In summer, you can find city Zen while floating on a raft in a rooftop pool oasis, posed in savasana among a sea of yoga mats in Meridian Hill Park or laying under the stars at Wolf Trap’s awesome wooded amphitheatre. Any time of year, you can peer down from a lion-guarded bridge and watch Rock Creek meander along its course or stop in Khalil Gibran’s Mass Ave poetry park which projects its melodic, etched words into the woods or for joggers who stop for a soulful stretch.

Rock Creek Park by Corinne Whiting

I’m not saying this city’s perfect. Believe me, there are days I am beyond frustrated by faults like homelessness rates, senseless crime, summer swampiness and the tendency to let “What do you do?” dominate a first chat. Yet, for me, the good far outweighs the bad, and for those of us lucky enough to stand under the sleek white monuments or on the vast green Mall, we feel DC’s pull.

On a January day when the buzz of Inauguration hung palpably in the brisk air, I walked down to the White House as I sometimes do on my lunch break. I stood dwarfed by the recently-constructed grandstand, soaking in the dizzying scene of jumbo-headed Bush caricatures, silent protesters, overwhelmed tourists and copious bunting marked by red, white and blue. A woman stood near me, captivated by the energy, looking equally dazed. For a moment we locked eyes. “This is a wonderful city, isn’t it?” she asked, in a British lilt. “Yes,” I smiled. It certainly is.

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On a recent return trip to Dublin, Ireland, I happily killed some time strolling through the city oasis of St. Stephen’s Green. On my way out of the lush park, I meandered past a statue so familiar it brought me to a screeching halt. There stood a petticoat waistcoat-clad Robert Emmett (1778-1803)–bold jaw, foot forward, ready for battle. Now where I had seen this Irish patriot before?

But, of course. Where else but in DC, where memorials and monuments are so ubiquitous that many get passed without so much as a second glance. I too had been guilty of repeatedly strolling by this mystery man who reigns over a cozy triangular park near Massachusetts Avenue and 24th Street NW, having never stopped to learn his story. I vowed to visit him next time I found myself on embassy-lined Mass Ave.

Nestled beneath the branches of a Yoshino cherry tree, the DC Emmet stands on a granite pedestal just a few blocks from the Irish Embassy. This “boy martyr of Erin” appears mid-speech, one hand open in rhetorical gesture, the other somewhat clenched to display his “revolutionary spirit.” Emett’s father instilled in his sons a passion for Irish independence at a time when men and women-Catholic and Protestant-fought for freedom from Britain. Trinity College expelled the young Robert for his involvement in the 1798 rebellion and, in 1802, Emmet traveled to France as a member of the United Irishmen’s Party. Here he unsuccessfully appealed for French aid from Napoleon and Talleyrand. The following summer Emmet led an uprising outside of Dublin that British troops swiftly crushed. Emmet was executed (either hung or beheaded, accounts vary) on September 20, 1803 at the ripe age of 25.

Emmet statue in Dublin by Corinne Whiting

Many remember Emmet as an excellent orator and for his famous “speech from the dock” at his trial, with some of those words now inscribed on the statue’s pedestal. Emmet declared, “I wished to procure for my country the guarantee which Washington procured for America…I have parted from everything that was dear to me in this life for my country’s cause…When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then let my epitaph be written.”

In 1916 American citizens of Irish ancestry commissioned Jerome Connor, an emigre from County Kerry, to create a sculpture to commemorate Irish independence. Reportedly using Irish actor Brandon Tynan as a model and Emmet’s death mask and trial sketches for the face, Connor cast the 7-foot-tall sculpture at the Washington Navy Yard. The creation was so well-received that San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park scored a copy in 1919 and Ireland’s St. Stephen’s Green got a replica as a gift from U.S. Congress in 1922. A fourth statue now stands tall in the Palo Alto County Court House square (next to its own “Blarney Stone”) in Emmetsburg, Iowa, a town full of Irish pride and named for, you guessed it, Robert Emmet.

Embassy Row by Corinne Whiting

The original Emmet statue was presented to The Smithsonian American Art Museum in 1917 “as a gift to the American people.” At the dedication, attended by President Woodrow Wilson, Senator James D. Phelan of California commented, “We should see that the heroes of the world…should find a place within the Nation’s capital.” Initially placed on view in the rotunda of the Smithsonian’s U.S. National Museum (now the National Museum of National History), the statue was transferred to the National Park Service and moved to its present site on April 22, 1966, also the 50th anniversary of independence of the Irish Republic. For countless St. Paddy’s Days, while most DC revelers headed out to paint the town green, members of the Ancient Order of Hibernians, a fraternal Irish-Catholic organization, led a procession to the park to lay a wreath and shamrock at the feet of Robert Emmet.

So next time you come across “just another statue” in this memorial-crazed capital, remember that, in someone’s eyes anyway, you’re in the presence of a hero.

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When you’re a traveler who’s inclined to ration funds and vacation leave for passport-dependent voyages, it’s easy to forget there are adventures to be found closer to home. So a couple Fridays back, a few friends and I bid farewell to our D.C. offices a wee bit early and joined the masses traveling south down I-95. (Fortunately we’d come prepared for gridlock, chock full of patience and playlists.) Our mini-vacation destination? Richmond, incidentally the state capital located at the fall line of the James River in Virginia’s Piedmont region. But of interest to us that evening? A show by those lovable North Carolinian folk rockers, The Avett Brothers.

We whizzed into town excited to begin our less than-24-hour southern tour. Best not to dwell on details of actual travel times (roughly double our estimate) and revamped dinner plans (we’d dreamed of buttery Southern goodness at Comfort, yet made do with hurried turkey clubs in an ambiance-less Marriott dining room). But no matter, the slow-as-molasses waiter was friendly, and the Turning Leaf he poured sufficiently chilled. We instantly settled into the refreshing change of scene–so few suits, so many beards!–and headed two blocks down Broad Street to The National.

The historic National theater, reminiscent of Falls Church’s State Theatre, opened with much fanfare in 1923 as the newest addition to the then-thriving Richmond theater scene. Inside this Italian Renaissance Revival space, described by one reviewer as “handsome, stately, adorned but not ornate…,” acts ranged from vaudeville performers and artists like Orson Welles to silent movies, which were accompanied by musicians in the orchestra pit below (the state’s largest). The theater sat up to 1,114 spectators, including those in four second-level boxes that remain intact today. The adored venue was saved from a wrecking ball in 1989 by the Historic Richmond Foundation. These days the ground floor, which gradually slopes for easy stage viewing over neighbors’ heads, is reserved for standing space, and concert goers with balcony tickets sit above. Seven full bars serve thirsty patrons, while tattooed bouncers stand guard around the perimeter.

Avett Brothers by Corinne Whiting

Showtime arrived, and the folksy, four-man ensemble delivered a rocking show. The sweet sounds of banjo, bass, guitar, cello and soulful human harmony echoed into the spacious, energized hall. The appreciative crowd subtlety grooved throughout the set, often adding their own voices to refrains, while soaking in the rustic, emotive tunes that have been defined as “indie roots,” “folk punk” and “grungegrass,” to name a few. Any way you label it, I found The Avett Brothers to be enjoyably in sync with the evening’s vibe.

After the Avetts left the stage, we flagged down a taxi (a surprisingly challenging feat) and, with a sense of duty to maximize our few waking Richmond hours, headed to the district known as The Fan. Popular for its many family-owned restaurants and bars, this charming, tree-lined area got its nickname from a mid-2oth century Richmond Times-Dispatch editorial because of the spoke-like formation of its roads. The zone includes one of the longest existing stretches of Victorian architecture in the U.S.

Avalon by Corinne Whiting

After the sun sets, less-residential sections of The Fan bustle with young professionals, while elsewhere university preps brush shoulders with the shaggier, artsy set. We opted to sample the nightlife along W Main Street, in search of the perfect fit. Perhaps our ages were surfacing, but we found the music a bit too raucous at venue number one, Sticky Rice. This spot, a divey yet trendy sushi eatery-bar, has a slightly posher northern outpost that’s found popularity on DC’s H Street NE. We then settled into homey Helen’s, where inexpensive drinks and a lounge-like decor (wall sconces, chandeliers, cozy booths) made for chats as intimate as if chilling around the table of one’s (hip) grandmother’s kitchen. But the night was slipping away; time to move on.

Our third and final destination proved our favorite. At Avalon, a motorcycle out front marked the spot, cigarette smoke hung heavy in the dimly-lit room, and the drinks poured strong (could these oh-so-reasonable prices be real?). Crossing paths with familiar faces seemed inevitable in this neighborhood retreat…much to our surprise, even for out-of-towners like ourselves. As the bar shuttered its windows, we bid our unexpected run-ins and new-found bar mates adieu and, at long last, found a cab to deliver us home.

The next morning we set off on a brunch hunt, scouring the streets around our hotel for signs of life. As we rolled down a sleepy avenue where derelict buildings neighbored the occasional shop, quirky art gallery, quaint cafe or inviting diner (sadly, with “CLOSED” signs hanging in each window), we learned that in parts of Richmond, life still pauses on weekends. As refreshing as we found this dose of small-town Zen, our tummies were beginning to rumble. One fortuitous turn later landed us at Crossroads, a funky neighborhood coffee shop with neon bicycles and local artwork-adorned walls. We reveled in our sunny patio seat, an employee’s dog weaving between our legs, and tucked into overstuffed breakfast burritos, perfectly-crisped hash browns and revitalizing iced coffees. Should we ever move to Richmond, we declared, Crossroads would become our haunt.

Crossroads by Corinne Whiting

Had there been more time, we would have hit up some typical Richmond must-sees—perhaps the State Capitol, the Edgar Allan Poe Museum or the site where Patrick Henry proclaimed “Give me liberty, or give me death!” But for now, it was time to make a move. We vowed we’d return, and for more than just one sleep. So we hopped back in the car and fired up the trusty iTrip, bound for the big city up north. But no worries, after just 18 hours away, we were already speaking a bit slower and breathing a bit easier. The Avetts and their banjos serenaded us home.

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