DC’s metro was said to have reached its fifth highest ridership in history on Saturday, March 29th with 558,000 tourists and Washingtonians. I am proud to say I was one of the 558,000 disgruntled commuters simply trying to get home after a humbling afternoon playing tourist at the cherry blossoms.
It was all born of the naive notion that we could take a venture downtown to see the cherry blossoms on a prime cherry-blossom-viewing weekend, without getting trapped with hordes of tourists. So, full of energy and hope, we arrived on the National Mall around 12:45 pm with the Kite and Cherry Blossom festivals in full swing.
Starting in 1967, the then-called Smithsonian Kite Festival attracts thousands of DC residents, DMV intruders, and tourists each year. This year was no different and we arrived to see hundreds of kites littering the sky around the Washington Monument. After taking a (slow) lap around the Monument lawns, we decided to abandon the face-painting line to relax under a tree away from the threat of kite strings.
Despite the warmth of the day, the beauty of the cherry blossoms, and the entertainment of old people running around trying to get their kites off the ground, we soon left the safety of the picnic blanket to see the tidal basin. This was where we went wrong.
The crowds were unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, and I’ve spent plenty of time fighting for my life in the off-campus lunch line. Nonetheless, we made our way to the edge of the basin for the necessary, gorgeous, blossom selfies. (We even fought our pride and did what every good gen-x tourist would: we asked someone to take our picture!).
Alas, everything good must come to an end. And that it did, for as soon as we began making our way home things went downhill. The number of furries we saw on the walk to the metro was unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed before, and that was before we got into the station where a woman had a literal live rabbit in a stroller. It was here we should’ve abandoned, but trapped in the station we metroed to Foggy Bottom and proceeded to sit in bus traffic for the next 45 minutes.
In hindsight, we should’ve traveled home almost any other way – walking honestly might’ve been faster – but after a grueling hour and 45 minutes I arrived home hot, exhausted, and ready to never again leave my house.
In my recounting of the events I’ve had to decide whether the nice time I had downtown was ruined with the horrors of my journey home. Whilst I’d say it’s pretty close, I don’t hesitate to recommend you visit the blossoms next year – they were absolutely beautiful. Just, maybe, go home a different way?
