Road Trip to Ruin - Part Deux!

Read part one

During last year's trip, Juan’s gout got the better of him.  He and Val were sidelined at the hotel most of the weekend while Trish and I enjoyed the DC sites Judy Garland-style aboard the Old Town Trolley.  Even with yesterday’s Flintstone-sized steak and protein-heavy meals, Juan managed to stay gout-free, so we decided to christen Sunday, “Trolley Day.”

We were still groggy and tired from last night’s fire alarm and evacuation, but we managed to make it to the trolley stop by a respectable 9:30 AM.  Though early - at least for a vacation Sunday - it was already hot as balls.  Just watching the joggers run past us caused instant sweat circles to form under my arms. 

As we waited, Juan noticed a petit Indian girl furiously texting at a nearby corner.  He made an offhand remark comparing her to Divya, the character on Royal Pains.  Of course, as she walked toward us we realized it was indeed Reshma Shetty, the actress who plays Divya.  I think she might be our first DC celebrity sighting.  She’s not exactly Obama, but I’ll take it.

For the most part, Trish and I had a great experience on the trolley last year.  But there was one guide who felt it was appropriate and entertaining to air his dysfunctional family’s secrets to us between his descriptions of DC’s famous sites - super awkward.  We prayed he had since been committed to a mental institution or was at least now delegated to an office were he no longer is required to interact with the general public.  I’m not sure if either option actually came to pass, but happily, we didn’t come across him all day.

After rolling by the National Cathedral, Embassy Row, Georgetown and Foggy Bottom, we jumped off the trolley downtown to check out the Hope Diamond at the Smithsonian’s National History Museum.  Maybe it’s a girl thing, but what’s the big deal?  I mean, it’s bigger than your average diamond - about the size of a quarter (I was hoping for something closer to baseball-sized) - in a seriously hideous setting.  There were far more impressive pieces in the rest of the museum’s gem collection.  Oh well, it was still worth the trip to view the whole collection.  There was also a really interesting exhibit about race in America and an insect exhibit that Juan and I were totally into; the gals, not so much. 

We were, however, all in agreement over the delicious and totally cheesy red, white and blue cupcakes in the museum cafeteria.  In fact, for a museum cafeteria, the food was pretty darn good.  It was no gourmet Italian five-course meal like yesterday, but hell, I don’t think my liver could handle another day of non-stop food and drink anyway.  

The museum entrance was jam packed with sweaty tourists waiting to get frisked and metal-detected by the time we headed out.  I guess the rest of DC had finally recovered from its Saturday night revelry and accompanying collective hangover.  To avoid the likely crush at the other Smithsonian museums, we opted instead for a relaxed trolley ride around the "orange loop," which would take us on a leisurely tour of the downtown sites.  Unfortunately, the ride was neither relaxed nor leisurely.  Like the museum, the trolley was soon filled to capacity with hot, sweaty bodies jockeying for window seats on the non-air-conditioned trolley car.  Adding to the misery of sticky seats and overheated bodies pressed tight, we were soon sitting in traffic, baking in the sun with nary a wisp of breeze.  We did, however, have front row seats to a gnarly bike accident that seemed to be the cause of all the traffic.  Lucky us!

Oh, I also forgot to mention the annoying southern wenches who made life hell for us and our poor driver/tour guide.  To avoid having us sit and bake in traffic, our guide made a huge detour that took us well off the regular route, but at least kept us moving.

Wench 1: (gesturing to a random gray building with a trace of condescending attitude and southern drawl) What building is that?
Guide:  (politely) I'm not sure.  This isn't my regular route and I wouldn't want to give you false information.
Wench 2: (full of attitude, reciting from a sign in front of another random building) That's the Department of Blahdity Blah's Building.
Guide:  Yes, I see.  Thank you.

We continue.  Yes, there is a long stretch of silence.  But the traffic is crazy and the driver is obviously concentrating on not getting us all killed.

Wench 1: (loudly and obnoxiously to the whole trolley car, annoyed that the driver isn't entertaining her) The building over there is the National Blah Blah Building.  We ate lunch there yesterday and if anyone wants a reasonably-priced meal, you should check it out.

Guide: (still polite) Thank you for that.  I apologize, but as soon as I negotiate this traffic and get us back on the route, I'll commence with the regular tour.  Thanks for your patience.

We finally get back on track and the tour guide starts his regular spiel.

Wench 1: (interrupting our guide - her overly friendly southern twang amplifying her condescension - she throws out a historical tidbit that she is sure he won't know in order to prove that she is indeed a total bitch)  Isn't it true that this area was mainly used as grazing land for livestock?
Guide: (calmly and without missing a beat):  You are correct.  In fact...
He then goes on to give a detailed account of the agricultural history of the particular area the wench was referring to. 

That shut the bitch up. 

Lest you label me a judgmental, north-biased asshole, bear in mind that throughout the entire trip these wenches continually hemmed and hawed, sighed loudly and dramatically fanned themselves to make sure we were all well aware of their discomfort and dissatisfaction.  If you can't stand the heat, ladies, get the hell out of the trolley.

Anyway, we finally disembarked after leaving a nice tip for the driver for putting up with the wenches and jumped on another trolley back to the hotel.  It had been a long day and the unbearable heat coupled with the even more unbearable southern wenches drained us of any motivation to continue sight-seeing.  The sky threatened thunderstorms, so we chose to lounge and nap in our hotel rooms for the rest of the afternoon.

Is there anything better than turning up the AC, stripping down to your underwear and just vegging out wrapped up in a big 'ole soft comforter?  Methinks not.  Anyway, when we finally rose from napping, it was already well past dinner time.  Juan and Val's room was empty so we assumed they had already headed out for a romantic dinner somewhere.  Trish and I, however, opted for a luxurious room service feast and trashy TV.  Why bother getting dressed when the food can come to you, right? 

Turns out Juan and Val just ran downstairs for dinner in the hotel restaurant.  When they got back, we decided to stay in the rest of the night and rent an in-room movie, Skyline.  I gag a little just typing the title remembering how wretched the movie was.  Poor Donald Faison.  Either his agent sucks or he has some crazy-expensive drug habit he needs to keep funding.  

As has become our tradition, we ended our DC trip with the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet in the hotel lobby, the resulting heartburn a lingering memento of our travels.  With July 4 falling annoyingly on a Monday, I decided it best to jump on the Acela train and head straight back to NYC rather than sitting in traffic with the sibs back to NJ and then fighting the fireworks traffic on the bus back into the city. 

I was safe and sound and back in Queens by 5:30 PM.   I'm already planning our gastronomical itinerary for next year's trip, though it will be difficult to top this year's carnivore's delight.  Maybe Brazilian Charruscarria...

Below are from our post-breakfast buffet photo session on the grounds of the fabulous Omni.

Trish posing seductively

The fountain

Where are the chips?   Too late, I'm bored.