Washington, DC., Love Found in Quiet Moments

My first visit to Washington, D.C., was marked by an overwhelming sense of wonder. The verdant trees lining the streets, the river meandering gently through the city—it was only later that I learned its name was the Potomac. I stood there, captivated, savoring the pristine air, the golden sunlight, and the tender whisper of the breeze.

Seven years later, I could hardly have imagined that this city would become my home. Upon my return, the landmarks I once admired felt strangely alien. The initial enchantment had given way to a quiet discontent, as I compared this place to Toronto, with its convenience and vibrant, lived-in energy. D.C.’s symmetrical city planning, its immaculate streets, and its stately, European-inspired architecture seemed to embody a solemnity that was difficult to embrace.

The city struck me as austere, even unyielding.

In my first two weeks, I ventured into its cultural treasures. I roamed the halls of the National Gallery of Art, stood in awe at the Air and Space Museum, unraveled mysteries at the Spy Museum, explored the curious O Street Museum, and found solace in the National Zoo. Iconic landmarks such as the Lincoln Memorial, the Capitol, and the White House, naturally, did not escape my itinerary. Gradually, these spaces of history and art became sanctuaries where I spent countless weekends.

Yet, it was along the river at The Wharf that I discovered the city’s tender heart. Here, a charming array of restaurants, quaint pubs, coffee houses, and whimsical shops lined the waterfront, each inviting exploration. As the setting sun bathed the river in a warm, golden glow, airplanes traced gentle arcs across the sky, and streetlights flickered to life one by one. That evening, seated on a bench by the water, I found myself overcome by an inexplicable emotion—and I wept.

Georgetown, on the other hand, revealed D.C.’s vibrant spirit. This bustling neighborhood, a haven for shoppers, unfolded like a storybook. Tired feet found respite in cozy cafés, where a cup of coffee could rejuvenate the soul. Levain Bakery’s exquisitely balanced chocolate chip cookies were a revelation, and the quiet charm of the cat café offered unexpected comfort. Small boutiques, brimming with trinkets and treasures, transformed casual strolls into delightful adventures.

Over time, I uncovered more of the city’s layers. I learned which restaurants in Dupont Circle offered an unfailing culinary delight, why Chinatown was best avoided after nightfall, and how maman café in Union Market had become my cherished retreat.

Though Washington, D.C., remains a city defined by its dignity and solemnity, I have come to love it nonetheless.