2006-10-16 - 12:58 p.m.
When we got up the next morning, I took a shower in the hotel room�s uber-accessible stall. There was a fold-down seat built into the wall. The water control was within easy reach. It was almost revelatory to realize that space could be shaped so well to fit a disabled person�s needs. Nya said we should maybe live here forever, but I don�t think we can afford it. But I did get a few ideas on how to make our own tub back home easier for me to negotiate.
We took the Metro into DC and walked around the Adams-Morgan neighborhood. May I say that Washington (at least that part) has one of the most inaccessible environments of any city I�ve been in. Although unlike Boston, at least all the sidewalk corners have curb-cuts and the rail system is pretty disabled-friendly. But almost all the buildings on U Street had no space actually at street level, just stairs up to an upstairs shop/restaurant and down to a lower one.
Maybe this is just a function of older buildings (constructed before people had disabilities). But far more egregious were the few spaces that actually were at street-level. They�d generally have a step or two in front of the door. Just because, apparently. (Perhaps to ensure that none of those pesky, unhip crips come in�) Normally I can get up and mount a few steps, but I was in particularly poor physical shape for this trip. I could barely stand. Probably the stress of travel and of seeing people I hadn�t seen in a long time.
I should note that Chicago also has an older built environment (it�s the eponymous �Chicago school� city, built around railroad use). Many buildings obviously used to have a step in front of the front door. While these still exist in some areas, in most they�ve been cut down and replaced by a simple slope up to the door. Repaving your front entrance isn�t an extraordinary expense, but it is an expense that probably required a legislative mandate to get property owners to enact. So props to Chicago city government (or whoever) for effecting better accessibility.
Nya and I went up and down the street looking for a bar I could get into. We finally ran across what seemed to be the only one and had drinks by the front window. I leaned back and took a nap (I get pretty burnt out in mid-afternoon). Then we went down the street to meet people for dinner. A pretty varied group was coming and I hoped they�d get along well: Nya�s father, my RUE graduate friend and her boyfriend, and J. and her fianc� who we�d invited to try and make up for not having dinner the previous night. We were the first of our party to show up at the restaurant and found that it was down four stairs. Normally this wouldn�t be much of a problem for me, especially since it had a railing to grab onto, but as I said, I was in singularly bad shape. I figured out I could sit down on the steps and scoot down on my butt, so I managed. We still managed to attract a series of well-meaning passers-by offering to help somehow, but there really wasn�t anything they could do (short of bodily carrying me down, I guess). The restaurant, Caf� Nema, was a Somali/Middle Eastern/Italian place. No shit. The owner came over, a Somali immigrant who seemed impressed by my fortitude and determination to get into his restaurant. He told us that Somali cuisine has a lot of foreign influences, having been a center of trade and a regular target for colonial powers looking to flex. He sent over some hummus for us to try. For the rest of the night, I really only ate shared appetizers, which is kind of a shame. I wish I�d been hungry enough to try the �Somali lamb chops�. My RUE friend showed up first with her boyfriend. It was so great to see her and find out how her post-graduation life is going. She�s done work for the National Institute of Health and is currently waiting to hear back about a job for a private security consultancy. She made the connection through her boyfriend, who works for the Department of Homeland Security (I�m very impressed that he parlayed his degree from Suffolk Law School � a place which carries some local cachet in Boston, but often leads to careers in an office above a video store � into such an important gig). Nya�s father came next. When I knew him in high school, he was always more of a towering Figure than an actual person. Partially, he was so big because my world (or at least all I could imagine) was so small. (I once did a creative writing homework in which I envisioned my future death as being hit by a car at 18 while crossing a large street to visit him at his work near our school.) With the perspective of age, I can see better that he�s a real man � beautiful and real, flawed sometimes of course, but always loving and giving. He�s a lot that I strive to be. J. and her fianc� came much later and sat sort of far from me. I felt bad that I couldn�t talk to them as much as I wanted, even to thank them for staying at the airport so long to pick us up when we would have been quite lost without them (so thank you, J., if you�re reading this). We were a little tipsy by the time they got there too. They also had the hunger to order actual food, which made me a little envious. The rest of us just kept having appetizers (and a lot of drinks). After we�d been there a few hours and everyone had left but Nya�s dad, we felt just too exhausted to go to the pre-wedding drinks night. We were so tired, we felt like we wouldn�t be much fun. After a little project of getting me back up the steps, we took the Metro out to Bethesda. Nya�s dad sang songs to us most of the way and showed that DC people (unlike New Yorkers) are pretty freaked out by odd behavior from their fellow transit riders. We fell asleep pretty hard when we got to his house. � 2006 Geoff Gladstone
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