D.C. Diary

Water Baby

       

I took Alex swimming for the first time this morning at a fantastic public pool nearby. The Wilson Aquatic Center opened in August 2009 and entry is free to D.C. residents. Being so new, the whole place was really CLEAN - no dodgy broken tiles or mouldy showers here. A friend and her baby daughter go regularly and suggested that we join them, which was just the prompt I needed to finally try and squeeze into my pre-pregnancy swimming costume and test the water. I was slightly apprehensive about the whole adventure as Alex's previous attempt at 'swimming' was not a huge success (I took him for a paddle in the sea in Mexico and he started screaming as soon as his feet touched the water). However, young Shercliff seemed much more at home in a warm baby pool and after a slightly nervous start was soon splashing and kicking around, whilst I sat waist-deep in the water, held him and chatted with two other Mums. In fact, he was so happy that at one point I looked down to see that he had his face completely submerged and was merrily drinking the water. Not ideal, but I'm pretty confident that the swimming pool water has less chlorine in it than the D.C. tap water, so was not too worried.

The most challenging part of the exercise was changing afterwards, although I had been reassured by the website that the Wilson pool boasted 'family changing cabanas'. Disappointingly, these did not feature a swim-up bar or Hulu girls, but are large cubicles designed to make things easier for parents with young children. Envisage the shower rooms in a British Airways lounge, minus the Molten Brown beauty products, but with the rather useful addition of a baby changing table. Undoubtedly, it was a bonus to be able to strap Alex down whilst I got dressed, but I was in rather a quandary about which order to do things. Should I get him or myself clothed first? Was it worth showering? How long can a 5-month old remain secured on a changing table before meltdown occurs? Luckily the answer to this last question turned out to be at least ten minutes  - and Alex amused himself by chewing his toes whilst I got the two of us dressed unscathed.

All in all, this was a very successful visit and we're already looking forward to our next swim. Alex showed definite Phelps potential. After all, if the size of one's feet are an indicator of future aquatic success, then we could have an Olympic champion on our hands...

 

Tehran Tigers Triumph & Kentuck Knob

     

 

We spent this weekend in Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania where the Tehran Tigers were competing in their final adventure race before Etienne moves to Vietnam later this year and Simon finally accepts that it is time to hang up his running shoes, kayak and compass. This was the third time that the Tehran Tigers have taken place in the Yough Extreme Adventure Race and, having secured second place on the two previous occasions, the Tigers were hungry for victory. So hungry, in fact, that they decided to deploy their secret weapon: Uncle Mark. And I'm delighted to report that their strategy worked: after 12 miles of running, 25 miles of mountain biking and 9 miles of kayaking, the Tigers were declared victors in the 3-man category. The 8-person support crew arrived in Ohiopyle just in time to see our glorious heroes each awarded a lovely shiny medal as a reward for their 10 hours of pain.

     

 

The following day, after a brief stroll around Fallingwater (the Frank Lloyd Wright masterpiece that I visited on our previous trip), Etienne and his family took to the water again - this time for some white-water rafting, accompanied by Uncle Mark. Simon and I had offered to look after Etienne & Agnes's youngest child, Luc, for the day. Luc, who is almost 3, was quite excited at the prospect of spending some time with young Alex, about whom he apparently talks continously (to the extent that his mother, Agnes, was asked by Luc's nursery teacher to explain exactly who 'Baby Alex' was).

After a leisurely lunch in Ohiopyle, Simon, the two youngsters and I set off on the drive back home, stopping on route to visit Kentuck Knob, another Frank Lloyd Wright house situated just a couple of miles outside Ohiopyle. Or at least, I spent an hour touring the house and sculture garden; Simon spent an hour looking after Alex and Luc, and learning about potty training the hard way. (I returned back at the car after my tour to be informed that Luc was now 'going commando' as a result of a little accident).

   

Kentuck Knob was designed in 1953 for I.N. and Bernadine Hagan, purveyors of 'Pittsburgh's favourite ice cream', when Frank Lloyd Wright was already 86 years old. At an age when most people would think about slowing down a little, FLW was so busy working on commissions (including the Guggenheim Museum in New York, the Beth Shalom Synagogue in Elkins Park and a dozen residential homes) that he agreed to design the house for the Hagans, but only visited the site once, when construction was already well under way. Which makes his design all the more impressive, given how seamlessly the house is moulded into its surroundings - the building is nestled into a hill and, like Fallingwater, is a wonderful example of Wright's 'organic architecture'. As is the case with the Pope-Leighey House in Alexandria, Virginia that I have blogged about previously, Kentuck Knob was designed as a Usonian home. The design, based on a series of hexagonal modules, was originally much smaller than the finished home, but Mrs. Hagan somehow managed to persuade Lloyd Wright that she needed a space bigger than a broom cupboard in which to entertain guests, and he agreed to enlarge it. The one-storey house forms a crescent shape, with two wings sweeping out from the hexagonal kitchen, the 'architectural core' of the home. 

Kentuck Knob is now owned by Lord Palumbo, property developer and art connisseur, who acquired it from the Hagans for $600,000 in 1986. As a result, the grounds now boast a very impressive sculpture garden which includes works by Andy Goldsworthy (Floodstones Cairn (1991-2003) and Room (1992)), Anthony Caro and Claes Oldenburg (Apple Core, 1990). Best of all was Ray Smith's Red Army, with Harry Bertoia's Sonambient sound sculptures a close second. Palumbo has also installed a number of red telephone boxes and a post box imported from the UK in the gardens - this corner of a foreign field is certainly trying quite hard to be England. 

            

The Tehran Tigercubs bonded in the car on the way home by stroking each other's hands and communicating in a series of high-pitched squeals, which seemed to entertain them both enough to while away the miles. I'm happy to report that Luc was returned without incident to his parents, once Simon had given the boys a blow-by-blow account of the Tigers' victory. Happy days.

 

Uncle on Duty

So finally, a month after my last entry, I have a whole two hours to myself to finally post all the half-written blog entries which have been snoozing in my 'Drafts' folder for several weeks. We have had a fantastic few weeks with lots of visitors and beautiful sunshine - but as a result I have been too busy out enjoying myself to blog. But this afternoon Simon is at work, our friends Thierry and Christine are sightseeing in Georgetown and Alex has been taken out for the afternoon by his Uncle Mark.

Uncle Mark is 6'2", in the army and extremely fit. (On a previous visit to the USA, he cycled across the continent). So far this week he has been on two 15-mile 'jogs' and cycled 50 miles - just for fun. As a result, his calorific intake is fairly high; a visit from Mark is akin to hosting 'The Tiger Who Came to Tea' - the quantities of food consumed are exactly the same, but this particular Tiger also cooks, cleans, shops and babysits. Pretty ideal, although the brave infantryman, who has served tours of duty in both Iraq and Afghanistan, admitted that he was 'rather nervous' at the prospect of looking after his young nephew for the afternoon and looked positively terrified when I explained what to do if he needed to change a nappy. Uncle Mark was planning to 'trot' to an outdoor sports shop, stopping en route for a few push-ups, so we'll see what Alex makes of that. I think 4 months is a bit young for circuit training myself, but no doubt Alex will be fine. And I'm sure that driving a buggy will be perfectly manageable for someone who can maneuver a tank. 

Anyway, must get on with these retrospective postings. I have some great New Orleans photos to put up. Although I have just realised that the second UK election debate is now showing live on the BBC website...

Ashmaggeddon

Like many people here in DC, we have been experiencing the effects of the Eyjafjallajokoll eruption this week. Simon was unable to travel to the UK for a wedding last weekend, we have friends marooned in Madrid and others left high and dry in London. But there has been one unexpected upside to the volcano-induced airline inactivity: Simon's brother Mark, who had been learning to paraglide in Arizona, is stuck in the US and so has come to stay with us for a few days until he can get a flight home to Germany.

The British Embassy here in Washington have been doing their bit to try and help with some of the travel chaos. Extra staff have been sent out to try and tranquilise the tourists in Miami and Simon has gone off to do a stint at Dulles airport this evening. Goodness knows what he is expected to do - but in that yellow jacket I guarantee he will be asked where the nearest restrooms are by at least a dozen people. 

The Foreign Office is clearly taking its lead from one of their Junior Ministers, who made an appearance on Radio 4's PM programme this afternoon. Chris Bryant was interviewed in Santander, Spain where he was helping stranded holiday-makers on to the buses which were waiting to transport them back to the UK. The wonderful little exchange went like this:

Incredulous BBC reporter: 'Bit of a good news story, Minister...'

Chris Bryant: 'Well, you know, people want to get home...[embarrassed laugh]...so, um...'.

Incredulous BBC reporter: 'You are literally helping, you are literally carrying their cases on to the bus'. 

Chris Bryant: 'Uh, well..some of them have been waiting for days, and to be honest, I think every few seconds that helps to get them home [sound of suitcase sliding into bus] is worth doing...'.

That's the most positive election coverage I've heard for a government Minister in weeks. And it all sounded quite genuine too.

Stars on Ice

The recent Winter Olympics was a big event in the Shercliff household. Having discovered that the NBC online coverage did not permit us to watch any of the events live, we finally made the momentous decision to upgrade our analogue TV and bought a digital converter box - a mere 8 months after the rest of the US had made the transition. I freely admit to being a fair-weather sports watcher; I am the type of TV viewer that gets completely engrossed in sports which I had previously not even heard of (ski cross, anyone?). I became particularly obsessed with the ice skating during the Olympics. This is the discipline that has it all: strength, skill, athleticism and grace. Add outlandish costumes, stirring music, theatrical make-up, gallons of glitter spray and the possibility that the skaters could take a tumble and crash out of the competition at any moment and you have the ultimate Olympic viewing experience. And the Vancouver Games had all the story lines of a soap opera: the Chinese newly-weds who had come out of retirement to train for Olympic gold; the battle between quad-tastic Pluchenko & lyrical Lysacek; the breathtaking long programme of Canada's favourite couple Virtue & Moir (I still can't understand why they are not an item); and the bravery of Joannie Rochette, who took the bronze medal in the women's event despite losing her mother two days before the competition began. 

So imagine my delight when I heard that a selection of the top Olympic figure skaters were coming to Washington. Luckily, I had a couple of friends who were similarly excited about the prospect of seeing the skaters in the flesh (well, one was similarly excited and the other humoured me) and so we tagged along with a few thousand teenage girls to watch 'Smucker's Stars on Ice'. The line-up this evening included Evan Lysacek, Sasha Cohen, Meryl Davis & Charlie White, Tanith Belbin & Ben Agosto, Todd Eldredge, Michael Weiss and Jeremy Abbott. It was every bit as cheesy as we'd anticipated - with several routines being performed to schmaltzy love songs and the rest to roller-disco pop. There was one excruciating moment when Ben Agosto produced a guitar and started twanging (cringe-inducing video here) on the ice. It became immediately apparent why this man is a skater and not a rock star. 

The undoubted highlight of the evening was Olympic Champion Evan Lysacek - the real reason we had all bought tickets (and endured the Agosto guitar torture). From the moment Lysacek took to the ice, it was apparent that he was in a completely different class to his peers. He was absolutely mesmerising - his limbs seemed twice the length of everyone else's and I literally couldn't take my eyes off him. He performed an electrifying Michael Jackson tribute, of which a dodgy amateur video (not taken by me, I hasten to add) is available online here. The only slight disappointment was that Lysacek only skated one routine. But then I got home and read this, and felt quite lucky to have seen him at all. This is a man who certainly makes the most of every hour in the day. I know how he feels trying to pack it all in - Evan with his US skating tour, interviews, reality TV performances and dance practice; me with the feeding, nappy-changing, washing and cooking. And now I have just wasted an hour catching up on Evan's most recent performance on 'Dancing With the Stars', a programme I have hitherto avoided at all costs in both the UK and the USA as I knew I would become addicted. And I have. I'm definitely voting next week. This sort of ridiculous reality programme is the very reason that we were so happy to do without TV for so long. I may have just found the very thing to fill the Olympic viewing void...but will have to take a leaf out of Lysacek's rule book: lights out by 2.30am.

(N.B. Photo of Evan's bum courtesy of my friend Sarah. Just as well I had a photographer on hand as most of my snaps look like this:

 )
 

Easter in The Big Easy

     

Laissez les bons temps rouler. So goes the motto of New Orleans, a city feted as the birthplace of jazz, famed for its Mardi Gras festivities, the historic French quarter, Creole and Cajun cuisine, beignets, pralines, voodoo, crawfish - and home to the current Superbowl champions. We thought that The Big Easy sounded like a suitable destination for an Easter getaway and arrived at Louis Armstrong airport on Good Friday afternoon. We located our lovely B&B which was situated midway between the French Quarter and the New Orleans Museum of Art, strolled into town, admired the architecture, dodged the legions of tourist-filled horse-drawn carriages, found a delightful little restaurant which opened early and feasted on Creole shrimp and Crawfish Etouffe. (We now understand why restaurants open at 5pm - this had always been a mystery for us before having Alex).

On Saturday morning we took a guided walking tour of the French Quarter. In addition to providing a crash-course in the history of Louisiana, our over-sized guide was keen to tell us all the best places in town to sample the local delicacies. He helpfully explained the difference between Creole and Cajun cuisine - something to do with the 'roux' base, I believe. Our only previous exposure to Louisianan cuisine was attending a Backyard Crawfish Boil last year in D.C. - which had led us to expect great things from New Orleans. The Creole and Cajan food that we sampled was indeed absolutely delicious, but the Po-boys and Muffuletta were definitely over-rated, being basically big sandwiches dripping with olive oil.

The legacy of Hurricane Katrina still lingers in New Orleans and many events in the city seem to be dated as pre- and post-Katrina. Our (white) guide told us he had lost his house, his job and his marriage as a result of the hurricane and knew many, many people who had fled the city and not yet returned. The visible destruction was not at all evident in the tourist centre of the city as the French Quarter escaped the worst of the flooding, but this belies the enormity of the impact: Katrina was the US's costliest hurricane, the broken levees constitute the worst engineering disaster in history of the US, over 80% of the city was under water at the height of the disaster. The statistics are shocking: 1 million evacuees,  20,000 seeking refuge in the Superbowl, 1464 deaths. Five years on, the city is recovering, although there are still areas of the city, notably the Lower Ninth Ward, where damaged buildings remain uninhabitable and occupancy of entire neighbourhoods is painfully low.

Despite its difficult recent past, New Orleans certainly lives up to its reputation as a party town. Sadly, I say this not from personal experience - young Alex preferred to spend his evenings snoozing in his travel crib rather than jiving in jazz clubs - but because the only other people we spotted out and about before noon on Saturday or Sunday either had young children, were pensioners or alcoholics. The streets had a certain morning-after-the-night-before fragrance, a delicate aroma comprising eau de vomi, disinfectant and urine that I haven't smelt since I last entered a College bar. 

   

We made it into the city by 11am on Easter Day, just in time for me to snag my standing-room-only spot for the Easter Day service in the St. Louis Cathedral, the oldest cathedral in America, having been founded in 1720. I can at least report that the mass was well-attended. From the odd glimpse I could catch whilst stood on tiptoes at the very back of the cathedral, the basilica looked beautiful and the Easter bonnets were suitably striking - people really did go to town on their festive outfits. Other highlights of the weekend included a tour of the stunning mansions in the Garden District and browsing the permanent collection of the New Orleans Museum of Art, where we admired the Turner that had been lent by the Indianapolis Museum of Art as a result of a bet on the outcome of the Superbowl final and coveted the festive Fabergé Easter Eggs. 

And then, the highlight of the trip: the French Quarter Easter Day parade - a mini Mardi Gras, without the drunken students. As far as we could understand, the idea was to encourage the revellers on the passing floats to throw as many free gifts our way as possible, before standing directly in front of anyone trying to take photos. Having Alex with us was an absolute winner - he ended up festooned in strings of coloured beads, clutching two teddy bears, an oriental fan and a box of chocolate bunnies. The poor little chap had no idea what was happening, but provided much entertainment for his parents. The costumes on the floats were pretty impressive - and the Easter hats almost as flamboyant as those I'd seen at the Easter service earlier. What fun. Laissez les bons temps rouler indeed.