this post brought to you by a cinnamon dolce frap (aka, part two)
When you last left me, it was inauguration eve and I had fallen asleep on Ellen's couch in Chinatown at approximately 4 am. I awoke reluctantly at 8 when her roommates trooped in from wherever they had been during the night and started making breakfast. I forgave them when they offered me pancakes. We flipped on the news while we ate, listening to reports that 200,000 people were already on the Mall, with another 100,000 expected in the next half hour. I started getting antsy to leave, so I braved knocking on Ellen's door (she had a gentleman caller over) and woke her up. She apologized, kicked the dude out (politely), and got ready while I put on extra clothes. We finally left the apartment at 9 and made our way to Pennsylvania and 13th, where we parted ways -- she had friends to meet up with and only wanted to check out the scene before going to someone's house to watch Flight of the Conchords. I of course wanted the full deal -- crowds, cold, cheering.
The streets were completely devoid of activity on the way to Penn, but the closer I got to the Mall, the more people there were, and soon I was swept up by a mass making its way to Virginia and Constitution. It took about ten minutes before we hit our first roadblock, and five minutes more before we hit the second (a trio of armed men in fatigues). Someone in front decided to take a shortcut by hopping a fence and crossing a park, so everyone else followed, which was fine until the military guys started yelling at us; then we ran.
Finally I arrived at the Mall, by the tidal basin. I stepped onto the grass, the Washington monument looming in front of me. The sky was a slate blue, seagulls were wheeling around in flocks, and the sound of a children's choir came floating over from a nearby jumbotron. I paused to take it all in, admittedly getting a little teary. I was about to witness the inauguration of a president for the first time, and I couldn't have picked anyone I'd rather it be than Barack Obama.
There wasn't much of a crowd where I was standing, so I pressed forward until I found another jumbotron I could see without too much trouble. Once it became clear I was staying put, a man in a puffy blue jacket and the family he was with struck up a conversation with me, and I spent the next hour and a half listening to the kids beg to go back to Maine and the parents patiently explaining that we were there to experience history and they would just have to deal with it. I felt bad for them; I was 25 and starting to feel a little grumpy, internally; if I had been nine who knows what I would have been like. Standing still in 20 degree weather for several hours is not really anyone's idea of fun, and I could barely text anyone to distract myself from the cold because my gloves were too thick to hit the right keys.
Finally the screen started showing various celebrities and statesmen filing into the Capitol, and the past presidents were announced. Carter got a warm reception from the crowd, as well as the Clintons (though the mother of the family next to me commented, "Man, do they look pissed at each other.") Bush, of course, was booed. Then came Biden being sworn in (the father: "Bye bye Cheney! BYE!"), and the music piece John Williams wrote to commemorate the event (which seemed like he just took Simple Gifts and added some extra notes, but what do I know?). Obama and Michelle took the stage, and instant silence fell on the Mall. I set my camera to video record mode and caught the thirty seconds of swearing-in, and the thousands of people in front, to the side, and behind me going nuts. The noise was incredible. The jumbotron showed a helicopter's view of the area, and all you could see was this huge swirling mass because so many people were waving flags.
Once the excitement died down a little, Obama started his address. It struck me once again how eloquent a speaker he is, and how his words always have the feel of power and intelligence in them. I was proud that people around the world would be listening and noticing the same as me; that we had picked well.
As soon as the speech was over and some poet came on to recite something or other, I decided it was time to leave. Unfortunately, so did everyone else. Getting off the Mall was a group effort. I could only see the people surrounding me, and a barricade of porta-potties to the right. Only the tallest in the crowd knew where we were going, and after 20 minutes of walking a step forward every couple of minutes, they started collaborating. The one nearest me started yelling for everyone to move to the left, that there was an exit, so we shuffled in a northwesterly direction, a la March of the Penguins. I would have found it hilarious if I wasn't alternately starving and freezing (my gloves were also too thick for me to get to the food in my purse, and there was no way in hell I was taking them off).
We finally reached an opening, and I made a beeline for Pennsylvania. I spent the next two hours walking across DC, looking for a metro station that wasn't completely overrun by people. Logan Circle turned out to be closed, so I trudged the final half mile to Shaw and hauled myself onto a green line train. Switching to red at Chinatown was no big deal (a lot of people must have stayed for the parade). The ten minute walk from the Bethesda metro to my apartment was excruciating, and once I arrived I flipped off all the lights and passed the eff out.
Despite feeling like I fell off the edge of a waterfall and dried out on a hot baking sheet, I would do it all again.