Columbia Heights Heritage Trail

I

People, Columbia Heights is so cool.  I had no idea.  They're so political down there, almost like Takoma Park where I live, except maybe a little less peace-signs-and-rainbows, a little more Workers-Unite!  Every street lamp is plastered with posters, the bars have signs in the windows for Democratic politicians, the businesses seem to represent every ethnicity under the sun, it feels safe, but not rich.

Except for the new stuff they're building-- that looks rich.  How long will Columbia Heights stay cool in the way that it is cool right now?  Maybe just a couple of years before it is totally overcome by gentrification.  Hopefully I am wrong about this.

So, my Metro station has been closed for maintenance for nearly two weeks, and to get to Columbia Heights I had to take a bus shuttle to Fort Totten, then grab a train for the rest of the way.  It went quite smoothly (and on the way back as well); I was surprised.  Good on Metro.  

When I arrived at the Columbia Heights station, I was hungry and had to pee, so I stopped for a "Little" fries at the Five Guys.  A "Little" fries involves a very small cup full of fries, which is placed inside a paper bag, and then approximately 4-5 additional cups worth of fries are tossed on top.  I am not sure of the logic behind this.  I could not eat all of the fries in one sitting, but tucked half of them away in a greasy paper bag in my purse.  Here is a view from the window of the Five Guys:

As soon as I started really walking, I realized I'd been to this exact spot before.  There was a ring of benches around a fountain (though, at this time of year, there was a Christmas tree at that spot); I'd waited there last spring to meet a group of strangers from Sanctuary DMV.  We were there for an "accompaniment"-- a young, undocumented man had skipped work the day before in order to take part in a pro-immigrants-rights protest, and wanted a couple of witnesses when he returned to his job, to reduce the chances that he would be fired.  As it happened, an excessive 20 or 30 people gamely showed up, his boss was completely supportive of his choice to make a political statement anyway, and the young man was embarrassed to have made such a big deal about nothing.  We didn't mind.

This is the place where I waited with my book. In May, there were children playing in the fountain area.

Columbia Heights is full of the kind of row houses I think are so pretty.

There were swanky new coffee bars across from rinky-dink Salvoradan coffee-and-bakery places.  How long will this delicate balance exist, co-exist?  

Also establishments like this.

A couple of the political posters:

"Hello Comrades! Glory!"

When I walk the Neighborhood Heritage Trails, I don't read all the historical signs, but try to get a sense of the present neighborhood.  I do read a few of the signs, though, the ones that fate places in my way.  One of these alerted me to the fact I was standing right in front of a historic African-American gay bar, one of the first and longest-operating.  I knew my teenager would appreciate this.

I did walk down one street whose houses looked extremely wealthy.  These people had already decorated extensively (yet most tastefully of course) for Christmas.

Meanwhile, old things were still being torn down to make room for new things.  I don't know why I find it so beautiful when a single wall is still standing during a demolition, with sky showing through the windows.

So, I mean, this is different how, exactly?

I walked about half the trail, down to 14th and Florida, and then scooted over a couple of blocks to the U St. station and home.
​

II

19 degrees, in the District, is what passes for Arctic chill.  Women shuffle by in their fake fur-lined hoods, looking wounded.  A spirit of camaraderie prevails, though, a sense of shared adversity: people give a few bucks to the homeless guy to get coffee and warm up, exhort one another to put on some gloves, wish strangers "Happy New Year!"  We smile a bit more under our tightly wrapped mufflers.

This was the context of my second trip to the Columbia Heights Heritage Trail.    Pretty quickly I ran into a guy who was waiting outside a neighborhood soup kitchen.  Apparently it did not open till noon, but he and his suitcase had arrived at 10 am.  He still had another hour to wait when I walked by.  Cold enough walking; much too cold to stand still.  We chatted and I gave him some money so he could wait inside a business instead of out.  In this weather, a miscalculation of timing could turn into a real disaster.  I was seriously considering stopping someplace for a cup of tea myself.

In the end, I didn't; the walk wasn't very long, and with my face turned into the sun, the cold was bearable.  I was back in the land of aggressive cultural fusion: Korean tacos, kung fu and capoeira, monuments to African-American literati. 

​This latter part of the trail took me by Meridian Hill Park, an attractive walled green space which, due to the cold and an overdeveloped tendency to follow paths exactly, I did not enter.  After reading about it afterwards, I regret the oversight.  I did see this imposing statue (from behind), which is apparently of Dante for some reason.

​At the opposite corner of the park, I ended up back on 16th St., on Embassy Row, in a spot I suddenly recognized from the Adams Morgan Trail.  I stopped to take another picture of the Scottish Rite Masonic Temple, to illustrate this returning full-circle, but at that moment my camera battery went dead.  Curious.

​By this time I was glad I knew the way back to the Columbia Heights station, and glad to get in from the cold.  I am learning my way around.