Things have been rather hectic on the travel front lately. First, a couple of weeks ago, I had a trip to Washington, DC, for the National Book Festival. This was a great thrill, as it is by invitation only and includes breakfast at the White House. I hasten to add that it is a non-political festival to promote reading and literacy, so we’ll keep the politics out of it!
The first evening there was a gala banquet for the 70 or so attending writers at the Thomas Jefferson Building, the Library of Congress. My taxi got stuck in rush-hour traffic on my way, and just before we arrived the heavens opened. For some reason I couldn’t fathom at the time, all the streets in the area were blocked off by police, so I had to run about two blocks to the entrance through the torrential rain, wearing my brand new tux for the first time. No raincoat. No umbrella. I was soaked through when I got there, which made standing around sipping white wine (the only kind available) at the reception a bit uncomfortable. Also, I didn’t know anyone there. I searched for Alexander McCall Smith, the only other writer on the list I do know, but I couldn’t find him. And I prefer red wine. Still, it’s a magnificent building–all marble columns and colourful frescos–and there were plenty of cops and secret service people to watch, so I didn’t get bored.
We were soon ushered into the Coolidge Theatre, and in no time at all I saw the reason for the heavy security. The President and the First Lady walked across the stage and sat down a few rows in front of me. The cameras flashed and suddenly the hall seemed full of men with wiggly wires growing out of their ears. As the evening went on, with performances from four of the festival writers, I started to dry out. By dinner time I wasn’t feeling too wet. And there was red wine. I didn’t know anyone at the table, but it was a cosy enough group and in no time we were all chatting away. The food was excellent, and I would like to give special thanks to the young lady who kept my glass brimming! Getting back to the hotel was another nightmare of rain and scarce taxis, but volunteers from the festival kept us dry with umbrellas while we waited at the street corner, and I ended up sharing a ride with three delightful ladies.
Breakfast at the White House was early and I wasn’t particularly hungry. I can’t even remember what I ate. Still, it was interesting to wander around the east wing and look at the portraits and exhibits of historical presidential china and crystal ware on view in glass cases. And I finally found Alexander McCall Smith. Security didn’t seem quite so invasive here, except for the sniper on the roof. After a group photograph, I found myself standing next to Laura Bush, so I smiled and she stuck out her hand and said hello.
The talks and signings took place on the Mall just below the Capitol building, and the whole event had the atmosphere of a fair. Everyone seemed to be having a good time despite the heat and humidity and the occasional shower. I wasn’t on until late afternoon, so I spent much of my time before that in the authors’ pavilion near the massive air-conditioner. The event was short and sweet, and I got to chat with lots of people at the signing. I even met some fans from Yorkshire who just happened to be on holiday and saw my name. Hard to believe, but we even had a mutual friend!
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Peter Robinson 