My Trip to the East Coast
This past summer, one of my former college roommates got married. The wedding was in the east coast. Having never been in that part of the country, I decided to combine attending the wedding with a trip to Washington D.C., New York, and Philadelphia. The following is the record of my week-long excursion to the east coast.
This trip report is organized by date. Click on a date and the description of the events of that day to jump there directly.
17th:
I get to the hotel and start changing for the wedding (black pants, black shirt, black jacket). Richard (whom I haven't seen a long time and I'm sharing a room with) walks in. He first looks startled, mutters, "oh...", then looks confused. I'm laughing vigorously by this time, then David, who walked in behind Richard, joins in the laughter. Later, Richard explained that he first thought that he got the wrong room and had walked in on an Asian gangster or something, then got confused as to why the key to the door worked if he had the wrong room. I decide to keep my hair the way it is for a while longer, if only for moments like this. This was a better greeting for Richard than anything I could have imagined myself.
The wedding itself is notable for several things. Firstly, the bridesmaids are exceedingly beautiful. I had heard somewhere that typically, the bridesmaids, and their dresses in particular, were suppose to be plain for fear of their outshining the bride herself. But since I take no pleasure from looking at plain bridesmaids, and because there was no possibility of them outshining the bride, I am well pleased with this arrangement.
Secondly, the wedding ceremony is very religious. Even though I was somewhat aware that this was going to be the case, it still took me by surprise. Given what I know of the bride and groom's spiritual state, I was thinking that perhaps a wedding before a government official or some other such arrangement would be more appropriate. Several members of the wedding party expressed their disapproval of the religious aspects of the wedding.
I mostly come away feeling the distinction between God's special and common grace. Of all the things that are said at the ceremony, virtually nothing said of special grace applies to this couple. But I pray that God sees fit to bestow on them the common grace of a perfect marriage. In this, I can be confident that I am not praying against God's will or the facts that are known to me, especially for a couple such as them.
Along the same line of reasoning, I decide that I can go to a gay wedding if I am invited to one.
There was a line in the wedding's sermon, which spoke of "... Divine mathematics, where one plus one equals one". Of course, this is foolishness and a stumbling block to the nonchristians in the wedding party - I hear comments along the lines of "well, I and my wife are definitely two separate people". This provokes some reflections concerning oneness on my part, and I realize that there is another area of Christianity where this kind of language is used - where a mathematical impossibility is taken as truth. It comes up in discussions about the Trinity. And there, too, the number "one" is central to the enigma. I conclude that the two must be related somehow - that the oneness found in a wedded couple is tied in some way to the oneness of the Trinity. In general, it seems that the oneness of distinct entities is either a feature or the cause of love. It is an interesting line of thought - but I decide to ponder it later, and turn my attention back to the events of the wedding.
At the reception, through a rather odd combination of circumstances I catch the garter, and end up with the euphorically scandalous duty of putting it on the girl who caught the bouquet. Five years of good luck to the newly wed pair for every inch above the knee, I'm told. For their sake, I do my duty. And duties should be done gladly.
The remainder of the day is spent in a party after the reception, a party after that, and a slumber-party like event after that. In one of those parties, I toast the wedded couple and give them the blessing of the fairy tale. May the princess and the prince of the once upon a time continue to live in their happily ever after.
18th:
I wake, talk with the wedding group for a while, then head off to Philadelphia with David, talking and getting lost in the middle of Washington on the way. Among the publicly disclosable parts of our conversations is a discussion on the meaning of "allegiance", with respect to the United States, the federal government, and California. Insofar as allegiance involves the willingness to take up arms, I decide that I would (theoretically speaking) fight for Korea against all enemies except the United States, for the United States against all enemies, and for California against the federal government if the conditions in the Declaration of Independence can be clearly applied to California's cause.
This came up because as a part of becoming a citizen of the United States, I had to swear that I would give up all allegiance to all political entities except the United States (this happened on the 16th, the day before the wedding). As one can infer from the paragraph above, I had a problem with that. To become a citizen, I think that one should swear primary allegiance to the United States, without necessarily having to renounce all trace of allegiance to other entities. What particularly galled me was this: Swearing to take up arms for the United States if called to do so is another oath which is generally required for citizenship. But there are provisions in place for a pacifist to not take this oath and still become a citizen. But I, who am perfectly willing to take up arms for this nation, could not become a citizen without swearing to renounce all other allegiances. I got around this problem in my own mind by using an appropriately adjusted definition for the word "allegiance", and then taking the oath anyway. But still, I would like to see the wording of the oath changed.
We also talk about the meanings of World War II and the Civil War. David is of the position that the Civil War was the war which defines the United States best, and World War II was not as significant to who we are as a nation. He claimed that this was because the Civil war was fought for our principle of liberty (specifically to bring freedom to the slaves) whereas World War II was simply a matter of survival and something we fought in because we had to. I counter that this was backwards. The purpose of the Civil War was not to free the slaves but to preserve the Union, i.e. for national survival. But we might have stayed out of World War II without significant risk to national survival if we had been willing to let Germany have Europe and Japan have Asia. Instead, we chose to fight in World War II because our principles dictated that we fight tyranny and bring liberty, even to the point of doing this for others although we are not in direct danger. In some sense, I contended, the Civil War was the war that we had to fight (to prove to ourselves that a nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal can endure, or survive) before we earned the right to win in World War II (to bring and prove to others the principles of Liberty and Equality).
We then admit that our opinions probably have more to do with which war we studied more (He's studied the Civil War more, and I'm more interested in World War II). But still, this conversation remains with me as I later travel to Washington D.C., and look at the World War II and Lincoln memorials.
We finally get to Philadelphia, and meet Maureen and Bryan. We watch some anime, and go to sleep soon afterwards.
19th:
The most enjoyable parts of the day are the little nothings spoken between friends, the things that seem insignificant in writing because their chief purpose isn't to be written - silly things like burnt breakfast and drinking tea and truth or dare and oversleeping and playing guitar, done for friends and not so that they may be written. But they served their purpose well, and they were enjoyable to me, to us.
But among the things worth writing about, the most memorable is the museum of medical oddities. Conjoined twins, giant stuffed colons, people with horns, a skeleton with spiky bone growth, a woman fat enough to become soap upon death, and a variety of other visually striking ailments were on display. Much of this becomes fodder for our game of truth or dare.
I also have some authentic Philly cheese steak. Overall, it's good as lunch, but bad as a regional attraction. One does not (or, at least, should not) go to Philadelphia to eat Philly cheese steak, but once there one should definitely have some, because it'll make a good meal at a cheap cost. I say this despite the fact that I did not get any ketchup, salt, or pepper on my cheese steak, which, according to the locals, means that I 'failed' in ordering one and therefore presumably ate an inferior cheese steak. It was still a good meal.
Other notables of the day include visiting the Independence Hall, Liberty Bell, a U.S. mint, and the staircase in the movie 'Rocky'. Most of these, we just drove by. I still don't know why the Liberty Bell is important (and besides, it's so small), the steps from 'Rocky' can be seen just fine from the movie itself, and we managed to take pictures outside the mint (by the Great Seal, making gang signs), so I don't mind that we didn't get a closer look at them. But the Independence Hall is actually important, and I somewhat regret that I wasn't able to go explore it more. I figure that I just left something to do for my next visit.
20th:
Dave and I leave Philadelphia. We go to the airport, and from there he goes on his trip to Italy, and I go to Washington D.C. The first thing I do when I get there is buy a pair of tennis shoes, since I had been walking around in dress shoes this whole time. Until that time, I had no idea that dress shoes were that uncomfortable.
The first stop is the Washington Monument, but there is construction going on around it and I can't approach it closely on foot. Also, since I failed to make reservations for it ahead of time, so I couldn't go up in the monument in any case. I settle for just looking at it from the outside, and that's fine with me since I'd been told that it's not all that great of a monument. I figure that it's mostly just tall, and my experience with the Empire State building later convinces me that things that are mostly just tall aren't particularly worth seeing.
So, after walking by the Washington Monument, I go on to the World War II memorial. I heard it being much maligned as a memorial, but I rather like it. The tone of triumph, significance of the war, appreciation for the fighting men, and respect for the fallen all blended nicely to contribute to the overall ambience of the memorial. Here, alone among the war memorials, it seems that the honored dead are actually honored more than they are mourned - and rightly so, since there is no shame in giving one's life for a worthy cause. The best part is watching some Japanese and German tourists looking around the memorial, and seemingly appreciating it. At least, I suppose they were Japanese and German, and I suppose they were appreciating it. I'm fairly certain they weren't seething inside. The quotes by the military and political leaders inscribed on the walls made me realize that there weren't any particularly great speeches made by Americans in World War II, which is a pity. There are also inscriptions of the names of the battles - this made me wish that I had someone else with me, to whom I can explain the significance of each of these battles. Ideally, this person would be a pretty foreign girl, ignorant but interested in the war.
Next stop is the Korean War memorial. The overall construction of the memorial seemed pleasant enough, but I couldn't help get the feeling that something isn't quite right. The feeling that this is a monument for a forgotten war was somehow embedded into the memorial itself. This was particularly evident in the chief inscription of the memorial: "Our nation honors her sons and daughters who answered the call to defend a country they never knew and a people they never met." The inscription honor's the soldier's selflessness, but it also asks, "If we didn't know the country and hadn't met the people, why did we go there?" and doesn't provide the answer. So the war remains forgotten, because the reason remains unclear.
My ideal companion for this memorial would be the son of a veteran of this war. A thoroughly American man with no deep feelings about foreign nations, he would wonder about why his father had to be in the Korean War. If such a man and I were standing together before that inscription, I would tell him that I am the answer to his questions - that a son of that unknown country which his father defended has come to know the United States and met its people, and has come to call it his own. And as a member of the United States, he, too, honors the American veterans of the Korean War.
By this time, the sun had set and it is getting quite dark. Fortunately, my next destination is the Lincoln Memorial, which is a lot easier to find in the dark than the Korean War Memorial. Now, I have several issues with the Lincoln memorial. The memorial is very hollow in a physical sense, with so much space for just a statue. And whoever decided to print the two speeches on the wall at a neck-wrenching angle, in all capital letters, with line breaks cutting words in half, with no paragraph breaks, in material which tarnishes to match the color of the walls, and in poor lighting, should be forced to read his own work a thousand times over in punishment. But all this doesn't change the fact that the Gettysburg address and the second inaugural address are magnificent speeches, and despite the poor formatting, reading - or witnessing, rather - those words declaring their truth was the highlight of my visit to Washington D.C.
On the lower floor of the memorial is a room with more quotes by Lincoln, and one of them makes it clear that he considered the preservation of the Union more important than freeing the slaves. Now, upon learning this fact some people react with disappointment, as if they thought less of Lincoln for this. I know I certainly reacted that way when I first learned of his position in my high school U.S. history class. The reason for this reaction, I think, is because freeing the slaves seems like a cause demanded directly by our dearest value of liberty, whereas the preservation of the Union seems like a political cause, where Lincoln, as the head of a political entity, is simply trying to prevent the diminishing of his own power.
However I would contend that Lincoln actually had it right, that the preservation of the Union was in fact more important than freeing the slaves. And I would argue it without diminishing the importance we feel about the freeing of the slaves, but rather by elevating the importance we place on the preservation of the Union. For Lincoln correctly saw the United States as the nation which was conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal, and the Civil War as the great test to see whether this nation, or any nation so conceived, can endure. Now, the United States is not the perfect embodiment of freedom. It never has been, and probably never will be. But we have established throughout our history that this is the kind of country where the President can be born from a log cabin, penniless immigrants can achieve success, woman can attain suffrage, and slaves can be freed. Though we often stumble and fall as humans are wont to do, we have been on a slow and steady march towards the perfection professed in our American creeds. Because the United States is this kind of country, and because it must prove to itself and to the world that such nations can endure, its survival is paramount and it supercedes any individual group's quest for freedom. In other words, the preservation of the Union is more important than the freeing of the slaves because the United States is the kind of country where slaves can be freed.
Now there is a real danger of this idea being interpreted to justify any suppression of liberty by claiming that it is necessary for national security. But that interpretation would be missing the starting point of this whole idea, which is that the United States is a certain kind of country. As soon as it ceases to be that kind of country, its survival is no longer paramount, and the document that we should be looking to is not the Gettysburg address but the Declaration of Independence. Of course, Lincoln combined these two ideas of our nation's survival and the proper nature of its government, and stated it far more succinctly than I: "We here highly resolve... that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth".
Oh, and my ideal companion for this monument? If it wasn't obvious from the earlier day's entry, it's David.
Next up is the Vietnam Memorial. I had heard of this described as the "best" memorial, but several factors combine to thwart my appreciation of this monument. By this time it is completely dark, and a great deal of the memorial is under construction. I also didn't like that this memorial, prominently among all the war memorials, seems to be a place of mourning. In fact I had the impression that it was solely a place of mourning, that you go there only to mourn the deaths of your loved ones who regrettably died in vain for an unworthy cause. And I just couldn't appreciate that any more than I could appreciate the graveyards of strangers. But I have no right to speak like this, as someone who has pretty much nothing to do with the Vietnam War. Fortunately, other people were there in the memorial, people who had more of a right than I to speak on Vietnam. And I was able to share a bit in their appreciation, as I looked at them pointing to and touching the names on the wall. Perhaps no companions other than they could have enhanced my visit to this memorial.
With the remaining time, I try to go see the White House. I ask for directions from a police officer, and when I got there I inquired about whether it's possible to get a better look. I received terse replies both times. I suppose they can't really be blamed. I suppose if I were they, I would also react coolly to someone inquiring about the White House at around midnight in the current national mood. In the end, I got a poor look at the White House from the gate, but still came away relatively satisfied that it was very secure. The design of its surroundings, with alternating open areas (yards, lawns) and cluttered areas (trees, fences), makes approach by both stealth and brute force difficult. The open areas uncover your stealth, and the barriers stop your brute force. Or so thinks this civilian.
Afterwards I am finally heading back to my hostel, tired, hot, hungry, and thirsty. I find a McDonald's still open at this late hour with free refills of Gatorade, and it instantly becomes my favorite restaurant in D.C. When I arrive at my hostel, I find that the fools in my room went to sleep without turning on the air conditioning, and I don't turn it on because it makes a sudden, loud noise while it operates. I try to fall asleep anyway despite the unmitigated D.C. heat, fail, then go read for a while by the A.C. in the lounge. I then go down to the T.V. room (which has sofas and the all-important A.C., and it's dark) and catch what sleep I can until the maintenance guy kicks me out in the morning.
21st:
I had been told that the Holocaust Museum is not to be missed while in D.C., and it is my first major stop on this day. True to what I had heard, it is a worthy museum, and I manage to spend nearly five hours inside. The museum details the plight of the Jews and other oppressed groups from before the beginning of the war to about when Israel is formed. As I move further along in the museum and in the historic timeline, the Nazi atrocities get worse and worse, continuously for the five hours I'm inside. I expect my feelings to subside after a while, for me to become numb to the horrors or emotionally exhausted. But the feelings went on unceasingly, unattenuated. With clenched teeth, tense neck, uneasy gut, and strained mind, I went on feeling, for the full five hours, those inarticulate feelings that I cannot name.
At the end of the course you exit into an austere, solemn room, the hall of remembrance. Inscribed on the walls of this room are the following verses: (I may be quoting from a different translation, so the wording may not be exact. But I am certain I have the correct verses.)
"What have you done? Listen! Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground." -Gen. 4:10
"Watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them." -Det. 4:9
"This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live." -Det. 30:19
There was also an inscription lobby of the museum, which read:
"You are my witnesses..." -Isa. 43:10
Unfortunately, while these verses say seemingly appropriate things by themselves, I feel that pretty much all of them are taken out of context and therefore not quite appropriate for the holocaust museum. The two verses in Deuteronomy were written when Israel was about to enter the Promised Land, which was a time of new beginning, and the fulfillment of a long-awaited promise. The two verses talk more about the importance of obeying God's laws in the new land than learning from a past mistake. The verse in Isaiah speaks about Israel bearing witness to God's eternal being and his saving power - hardly things that are manifest in the holocaust itself. The Genesis verse, while probably more appropriate, is a bit awkward in its phrasing and point of view.
The verses which come to my mind while I'm in the Hall of Remembrance are Lamentations 3:19-21. "I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind..." Written during one of the most painful periods in Israel's history, it is a verse of anguished mourning, yet it remembers that that the tragedy at hand is not the end of the story. The passage continues as follows: "...and therefore I have hope:" If these verses are to be inscribed in the Hall of Remembrance, this last part should probably only be hinted at and not explicitly mentioned, since the atmosphere of the Hall is such that even mentioning the word "hope" seems disrespectful. But the scriptures go on to say what the Hall of Remembrance dares not, and continues to one of the best-known verses of God's enduring faithfulness: "... Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." In the Hall of Remembrance, if we can appropriately lament the Holocaust victims while at the same time remembering, even if it's only at the fading edge of our conscious minds, that God's faithfulness gives us hope, then it seems to me that the purpose of the Hall will have been well served.
For all these reasons I wish that Lamentations 3:19-21 is on the walls of the Hall of Remembrance. Wanting to express my desire, and feeling it appropriate that I should do something to commemorate the Holocaust victims, I wrote the verse on a piece of paper and left it in the Hall.
The next stop was the National Archives, where the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights are kept, along with other important documents of our history. The Declaration of Independence is unfortunately in a shameful state of being practically illegible, due to damage from when it was out on display in direct sunlight during the early days of our nation. The Constitution and the Bill of Rights are in much better condition. I was disappointed that the souvenir shop was out of posters of the documents - that would have been one of the few souvenirs that I would not have regretted buying.
Next, I go to the Pentagon. Now, the Pentagon is not a tourist stop, no more than the White House is. Security personnel with assault rifles can be seen frequently around the area, and create a distinctly not-traveler-friendly atmosphere. However it's one of the places which was hit during the 9/11 attacks, so I felt that I should stop by.
Upon exiting the metro at the Pentagon station, I decide to walk around the building, look for the 9/11 memorial, then go home, as there isn't much else to be done here. On my way around the Pentagon, I see some signs which say "no pedestrians beyond this point". I wonder if the signs perhaps meant, "no unauthorized persons beyond this point" as well. Deciding that this is the Pentagon after all, I choose not to disobey the signs, and so I pass by them. Note that I pass by them, not through them. But my caution is to no avail, as I am somehow guided by a group of poorly placed traffic-directing orange cones, go through a parking lot, and end up not quite sure of where I'm suppose to be.
I realize something is amiss when I actually end up close enough to the Pentagon building itself that I can simply walk up to it and touch it. I should have passed through some kind of checkpoint before being allowed this close to the building. Deciding for the second time that this is the Pentagon after all, I turn around and face the direction going radially away from the building, and start walking. On my way, I pass by a trailer-like structure which I think was being used by construction workers. There I have the following conversation.
Worker #1: Are you looking for the Gym? It's over that way.
Me: No. I'm a tourist, and I was wondering if there's a 9/11 memorial for the Pentagon around here. I'd heard it was to be built.
Worker #1: No. They haven't built it yet.
Me: Oh. I see. All this construction... is it still construction from the 9/11 attacks?
Worker #1: Yeah. They're done with fixing up the outside face of the building itself, but there's still other things to be done.
Me: Alright. Well, thanks for telling me about the memorial. You saved me the time looking for it.
(Worker #1 goes into the trailer. I start walking away. A few moments later, worker #2 walks out of the trailer and calls to me.)
Worker #2: Hey! Do you have a badge? How did you get here?
Me: A badge?
Worker #2: One of these. If you don't have a badge and they catch you here, you're going to jail.
Me: Uh...
Worker #2: There's no "Uh..." about it. If you get caught here without a badge, you're going to jail.
Me: Well, I just walked over that way. There wasn't anything that stopped me.
Worker #2: Okay. What you need to do is just follow that road (here he points to a road in the opposite direction to the Pentagon Metro station), and leave this area. That'll take you back to D.C.
Me: Okay. Where is the nearest Metro station in that direction?
Worker #2: Just follow that road, and you'll find it.
Me: Okay.
Needless to say, I am not impressed by the security at the Pentagon. But I take some solace in that I have a good story to tell about it. I ended up heading towards Arlington Cemetery, and take the Metro back to my hostel from there. It was a long walk, at the end of a day filled with walking. When I get back to Washington D.C., I'm exhausted, so I get food, eat, and go to sleep relatively early.
22nd:
There is a trolley ride which takes you to the popular sites around Washington D.C., which costs a fair amount of money to get on because it's a gimmick for tourists. I had resisted taking this trolley in the previous days, but this is now my last day here and I find myself with a number of places that I still had not visited. With my legs aching from the previous days, with so many places still left to see, and no easy way to get around to specifically those places, I give in and buy a ride on the trolley.
One of the trolley stops is the National Cathedral. I had not planned on visiting this cathedral when I was first thinking about going to Washington, but it is billed as the highlight of the trolley tour and I had been told by other tourists that it is spectacular. So I get off at this stop and look around. The building itself is indeed magnificent.
But despite the beauty of the architecture, the principle of separation between church and state asserts itself strongly in my mind, and I actually spend most of the time in the Cathedral being somewhat offended. This is quite amazing, because previously I had mostly thought of the separation of church and state as a tool abused by atheists to erase Christianity from our nation's activities. In their agenda, the principle of separation between church and state is essentially a list of ways to prevent people from worshipping God. It is seen as a restriction on the freedom of the people, and not as a restriction on the freedom of government (whereas the first amendment clearly reads, "congress shall make no law...). Thus you may not pray publicly in schools, nor display the Ten Commandments in courtrooms, nor say "under God" in the Pledge of allegiance, etc. And as the influence of the federal government grows larger, so does the number of ways and places where God must be excluded. I sometimes imagine that they eventually want to see an America where they may walk down the street without being "oppressed" by any signs of Christianity, because the reach of the "state" has permeated through every aspect of society and driven out all traces of the "church".
Coming from this background, I viewed the separation between church and state as a fundamentally decent concept that had been heavily tainted by anti-religious forces. But here, at the National Cathedral of all places, I've finally come to a genuine appreciation of the principle of the separation between church and state. Did I then come to realize how my right to practice my religion may infringe on another person's right to not practice any religion, or the validity of the other side's argument in all the social issues mentioned above? Well, sure, there was some of that. But they were mostly irrelevant. For much more importantly, I realized that the improper mingling of church and state was an affront to God.
The reasons for this are not quite clear to me while I'm still in the Cathedral. But thinking about it later, there seems to be two main reasons that I believe that church and state should be separate. Now the government should not establish a false religion - that much is obvious - but my two reasons are especially applicable if the government tries to establish the one true religion.
The first is that if I participate in a government-established religion, there is a degree to which I do so because I am compelled and not by my own free will. It would be as if I were worshipping God as a part of my duty as an American. But I know that, were this the nature of my worship, though we bring him our entire nation as a nuclear burnt offering it would not delight God; for I cannot imagine God being pleased with our worship when it is coerced out of us by our loyalty to a government. I worship God straight out of my soul. That is the fundamental and primary choice I make, as a creature, as a human, as a Christian. And I will not allow any intermediary to make any part of that choice for me.
If it is important that our worship comes solely from ourselves, it is also important that our worship goes solely to God. There is a real danger of taking a secular or national cause, and attaching "for God" to it as the motive. We thus commit idolatry by giving to another the devotion rightly due to God. If the cause is wicked, we not only commit idolatry, but we have done evil in God's name. This, then, is the second reason for the separation of church and state. It safeguards us against waging wars or participating in elections with the illusion that it's in God's name, when in reality it's merely a war of national interest or voting for a party that simply looks out more for us and less for someone else.
We thus do well to render onto God what is God's, and onto Caesar what is Caesar's. Starting from this line of thought, there are many more ideas that branch out. For one, the idea of separation from Christianity can be generalized to many other entities beyond government, such as family, science, biological impulses, etc. Another thing which needs to be addressed is the harmonization of this idea of separation with the idea of "whatever you do, do it for the glory of God". But all this is too much to speak on right now, since the National Cathedral, which I hope you still remember, was only a one hour stop in my final day at Washington D.C.
My next stop is the Air and Space Museum. I only have fifteen minutes or so in this museum, so I basically run around and look at all the highlights - the Apollo 11 command module, the Wright brother's airplanes, the X-1, etc. Fool that I am, I also run around looking for the Apollo 11 lunar module, since that's probably the most iconic piece of hardware in our mission to the Moon. But then I realize that it's still on the moon - Duh.
I leave Washington D.C. and take a train to Philadelphia, where I meet up with Maureen and Bryan for dinner. Among the publicly disclosable conversations I had with Maureen, there was a discussion on maturity. It seems that some people view maturity primarily as a function of behavior. That is, how you act decides whether you are mature or not. Playing with your food, wearing goofy clothes, or making a childish joke would make you immature in this paradigm. But I do not see this as a true measure of maturity.
I view maturity primarily as a function of character. That is, maturity is a character label which summarizes what other character the person has. Thus a person who is characterized by selflessness, wisdom, humility, and fortitude (i.e., virtues typically associated with age and experience) is said to be mature. And the mature person can be as idiotic or silly as the situation demands, if these particular behaviors stem from the character virtues mentioned above.
After an all-too-short time in Philadelphia, I continue on to New York. I get a little confused on the Subway: The Metro was exactly like the Bart; but the New York Subway had me flummoxed for a while. After I figure it out, I go on to try and find my Hostel, and I manage to get slightly lost. After dragging around my luggage in a ridiculously hot New York night for maybe an hour, I get to my hostel. It was closed. On the door there was a number to call in order to check in after closing hours. I call and get an answering machine. I leave a message, and wait. I am worried at this point, since I have no way of verifying that my message was received, my only option is to wait, and a failure to contact the hostel's management may mean a night on the streets. So I wait, during what may be the hottest midnight I'd ever spent.
A man eventually came by to open the door for me - but strangely enough, he was not the hostel manager. I have no idea who he is, and how or why he opened the door. Maybe he worked there or something. At any rate, he doesn't say much and I don't ask much, as I'm simply glad to be able to wait indoors. Here, at least, I can sweat while sitting down. Eventually, the hostel's manager shows up and gives me directions to where the hostel is actually located, as my current location is just the front office. My subway ride to my destination is hotter still than the night outside - my clothes are soaked in sweat. I'd have died from the thirst and the heat, if not for the humidity that almost drowned me.
When I finally get to the hostel, the people I'm staying with are trying to get the air conditioner to work. Something about the circuit breaker being overloaded - I don't really know the details; all I know is that I don't have AC. I let them continue to work on the AC while I go to take a shower. In the bathroom, with cold water flowing out of the showerhead and the cool touch of the bathtub on my skin, I seriously contemplate spending the night right there, in the bathtub, with the cold water turned on. Fortunately, the AC is fixed by the time I'm done with the shower, and now that I finally get to the point where I can at last rest, I realize that this hostel actually has pretty good accommodations. I sleep soundly.
23rd:
I wake up to another day in which I am destined to be soaking wet, this time due to rain rather than sweat. The deluge this morning would have impressed Noah; I was wet to my underwear by the time I finished the short walk to the subway station from my lodging. Intending to stay away from the rain, and following the advice of my tourist guide book, I head over to Grand Central Station as my first destination.
Grand Central Station turned out to be thoroughly unsatisfactory. I personally liked the ambience of Union Station in D.C. better, and all the food that I was interested in was too pricy for my shoestring budget. The tuna wrap that I eventually settled for was mediocre in taste, too dry in texture, and tiny in portion. Nevertheless, Grand Central Station probably symbolizes the significance of New York in a rather unique way: That a single subway stop in a specific city can achieve worldwide recognition the way Grand Central can... that is one of New York's many small magics. As I would come to realize more fully later, even the simple, seemingly insignificant things about New York have a way of becoming magnified by being exposed to the world. Things like the look of the platforms on the subways, the tile pattern covering the subway walls, the shape of the information center at Grand Central Station... all of these things are seen so many times in all kinds of different media, that to know the small details of New York is to come to a more complete understanding of all the stories that are told against this backdrop.
A short distance away from Grand Central Station is the Times Square, which was my next destination. Before seeing it in person, I had expected something completely different - I guess something like a giant flat field where a few people stroll about in relative seclusion. I was surprised to find a crowded, cluttered group of roads and intersections surrounded by tall buildings and electric billboards. I take in the spectacle while waiting in line to get discount tickets to a Broadway show. It's still raining intermittently, and the girl behind me pokes me with the tip of her umbrella spokes several times - but she also shields me from the rain.
I have several hours before the show, so I decide to use the time to visit the site of the World Trade Center. While I'm in the subway, I run into an attractive English girl who's here for some social work. She's also going to look at the WTC site, so we stick together for a while. The WTC site doesn't really have a huge memorial or anything - it struck me mostly as just a construction site. I feel that at least for the moment, a construction site is a better memorial than a physical monument. After viewing the construction site for a while from within the subway station, the girl and I decide to walk outside to look around it, where there are some panels documenting the events of Sept. 11th and the cross-shaped beam fragment is on display. Unfortunately, it is raining heavily - the water falling from the sky forms sheets in mid-air and obscures your vision, and the downward momentum of the rain is enough to make your body feel heavier. In midst of this torrent, my foreign companion abandons the quest, while I continue on, since I am already completely wet. I walk around the WTC site in tribute to the tragedy here, appropriately alone in the rain.
Also, I apologize to all the people whose books I borrowed, which were in my backpack at the time. The rain was heavy enough to soak through my backpack, and your books were damaged by the water. I'm sorry.
After the World Trade Center, I go back to my room, change, shower, and go to the Broadway show, "Phantom of the Opera". I've listened to its CD many times over, and read over the script before, so it's a show that I'm familiar with. But I had never actually seen a musical before - this would be my first one. And after having seen it, I now know why I have to be rich in this life: $50 for a discount ticket, $100 for a full priced ticket, probably about $150 for good seats - it all adds up to a reason to be wealthy. I was surprised that a musical that I thought I was familiar with would have such an impact on me. The melodies of "Phantom" stay in my mind as I go through my night-routines and go to sleep.
24th:
The weather is nice today for a change, which is perfect for what I have planned - some time biking in Central Park, and visits to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.
Central Park is the perfect place to bike. Mostly flat terrain with just enough hills to be interesting, no stop lights, no traffic jams, beautiful wooded surroundings, rock outcroppings on grass fields that invite you to rest - it all made the several hours spent here one of the most enjoyable among my time in New York. If I lived in this city, I probably won't visit the tourist sites with any regularity. But biking in Central Park, along with seeing a musical, is something I would periodically do simply for enjoyment's sake.
Next I take a ferry to the Statue of Liberty. Now, I rarely quote others - I usually feel I can express things better in my own words - but the poem by Emma Lazarus, "The New Colossus", struck me in such a way that I feel reproducing it here would succinctly capture my thoughts.
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame,
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
This poem, combined with the full name of the statue - "Liberty Enlightening the World" - makes a claim that's bold to the point of perhaps being conceited. It claims that we, the people of the United States, uniquely have the liberty that enlightens the world. Those who seek this liberty can find it here, within the "golden door" of the "air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame". Are we justified in saying this?
I believe that we are. When I first came to the United States, I didn't appreciate liberty. I thought it strange that this country should be so focused on this one virtue. Why not focus on, say, perseverance or honesty instead? I imagine that this is a common reaction to the American notion of freedom among foreigners. But now, standing at the base of the Statue of Liberty, I understand the value of freedom. It is professed to be worth dying for in our American creeds, and indeed it is. I marvel at this transformation in my attitude towards liberty - and I realize that it happened because I became an American.
Liberty is the American virtue. We value it over other virtues, and we spread our understanding of it as the nation appointed by Liberty herself. Other countries, I imagine, have their own virtues, which they endeavor to uphold and spread. It is right and fitting that the nations of the world should have differing virtues. In the grand scheme of things - that is, in the Divine mind - I imagine that this is for the same reason that God gave different functions to various parts of the church: So that, when every tribe, people, tongue and nation is gathered in Heaven, we may together achieve the perfection that any single nation on this earth is too small for.
I hear some Korean while I look around the Statue of Liberty. Korean tourists, I presume. Their conversation centers on how to get the best photograph of the statue - and I wonder: Do they know? Do they understand? Do they treasure liberty as we treasure our lives? Or is the statue just another landmark in New York? As Americans, we have a unique role in the world as the nation of liberty, the liberty that enlightens the world. And in light of all that I've said above, we need not worry that we are being conceited in this view. We will spread liberty and enlighten the world, while we also learn of the virtues that others may teach us.
The ferry's next stop is Ellis Island. The immigration museum here is fun and informative, but the best part is not the museum itself - it is getting to tell people that I had just become a citizen. I also overhear some people talking about their connection to this place, saying things like 'When dad was here...' or 'I don't know how he...' It all added up to make the visit to Ellis Island a more personal experience than any other museum I had visited. This is the one part of my trip where I wish my family was with me.
After I return to Manhattan, I walk through Wall Street. There isn't much to see in a Saturday evening, but the buildings are pleasant enough to look at. I then walk across Brooklyn Bridge, and back across Manhattan Bridge. The sunset-lit skyline of New York is magnificent. I had always held in high esteem the sunset view from the Berkeley hills: there you see a delectable combination of the sea, mountains, San Francisco, and the Golden Gate Bridge. I had not expected this Berkeley view to be matched, but the sunset over Manhattan seen from the bridges is equally pleasing.
I figured I should see a skyscraper while in New York, so my next destination is the Empire State Building. Mostly, it's just tall. The view is mediocre. The wait is long, and the fees are expensive. The fact that I'm very tired by this point doesn't help. This experience causes me to lose all respect for the movies "Sleepless in Seattle" and "An affair to Remember" (which I haven't even seen yet). Whoever thought of meeting on the top of the Empire State Building is an idiot of the first magnitude. However I am more tired than disappointed, so I'm glad to be done for the day as I go back to my hostel to sleep.
25th:
I wake, check out of my hostel, and then head over to the Rockefeller center. I hang around there while I wait for the mass to start at St. Patrick's Cathedral. I don't know what I'm supposed to do at the Rockefeller center, or why it's supposed to be important. So I mostly spend the time resting my weary feet in various shops in the area. I don't have to wait too long before the mass starts, though.
The mass at St. Patrick's is perhaps the second Roman Catholic service I've attended, and probably the first one in America. The proceedings were confusing - there's a book which the congregation were suppose to read out of in response to the presider, which I couldn't quite figure out. The sermon, which was on prayer, was somewhat disappointing. And I was not allowed to take communion, which was reserved for Catholics only. Overall, I still don't "get" the Catholic mass.
Around the perimeter of the church there are prayer stations to various saints. Now, I'm more accepting of these kinds of things than an average protestant - for example, I tend to think there isn't much wrong with praying to the saints as long as the prayer isn't offered as worship. But even though I hold to this rather liberal point of view, there is one prayer station which seemed to me a clear violation of the second commandment. Ironically, it isn't a prayer station to a saint.
This prayer station was to "the holy face of Jesus". And in it was a portrait of Christ, surrounded by candles. Try as I might to find some legitimate way to pray here, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was directed to pray to a specific physical object, namely that picture of Jesus' face. So here is a physical image representing God which I'm asked to pray to as if to God - this seemed to me the exact kind of thing which the second commandment forbids.
Overall, my experience in St. Patrick's Cathedral had many disturbing and confusing elements. However it was worth it for the new experiences, and I hope to be able to attend more Catholic masses in the future and deepen my understanding of the one common faith that we share.
Next I visit the U.N. headquarters. Unfortunately, my visit there reinforces all the negative stereotypes about the U.N. The whole complex is nearly empty, and the few visitors there all seem to be foreigners. The line of flagpoles, which I most wanted to see, is without the flags. The guided tours cost money. And the complex as a whole seems dull and insipid. It probably doesn't help that I'm here on a Sunday. However I am glad to see the "swords into plowshares" inscription along with the sculpture depicting it.
The remainder of the day is uneventful - I eat, go to the airport, and finally go back home to Berkeley, California. The trip was enjoyable, but after such a long time away, it's good to be back home.
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