Photography Close To Home

DC Sunset

I love to travel. Yes, I do, and the pages of this blog can attest to that in more ways than one. But I also love to look around my neighborhood, which in my case happens to be the greater Washington, DC area. I couldn’t begin to tell you the many hours I’ve logged walking the streets of DC and the northern Virginia neighborhoods with my camera in search of visually interesting scenes. It’s kind of visual grunt work, and more often than not all I have to show at the end of the day are sore feet and a few, if any, possible keepers. But sometimes, and I say this with a bit of creative emotion if that’s even possible, you are rewarded for being in the right place at the right time. A few seconds in a long day, a man alone, and a sunset in the most unlikely of places for such a spectacle by mother nature. Nobody comes to Washington, DC to watch sunsets, but on this particular day, in a place where thousands of people live, work, and roam the busy streets of Rosslyn, a single, pensive man stood there enjoying one of the rarest, and most wonderful gifts of nature. It was nature at its best; it was glorious solitude at its best. One click. The man walked away, and a moment in time captured forever. I guess it is true, that if we care to see, we will find photographs all around us, regardless of where we’re at.

Add Savanna, Georgia To Your Bucket List

Savannah Museum

I have to admit that I have not spent a lot of time in the American states that are generally grouped together as “the south.” This has been more for reasons of circumstance than of design, mind you, but whatever the reason, I am a neophyte when it comes to the traditions and manners of this wonderful part of the country. Nevertheless, my recent forays into a few cities along the Eastern Seaboard has convinced me that I should have ventured into the area a lot sooner than I did. Case in point: Savannah, Georgia. Walking through this beautiful southern gem of a city, I couldn’t help but think that perhaps my sight had been fixed on faraway places for too long while I was missing what was right there in front of me all along. This historical city of enchanting parks, majestic trees, and incredible restaurants kind of took me surprise, to say the least. For certain, a couple of days were not enough, and like so many people there who kept telling me that they come down to visit every year, I too may become somewhat of a regular visitor myself. My list just keeps on growing. Isn’t it wonderful?

Better Uphill Than Downhill

uphill

Lately I’ve talked to a few folks that seem somewhat morose about everything that’s going on around them. You could actually see the burden on their shoulders, not to mention their cautious, hesitant steps. It is as if this hyperactive world is finally beating them down, leading to conversations long on medical tests and anxiety about a world that has seemingly gone mad. Too many travel warnings, too many terrorists, too many lying politicians, too many medications, and too little time to live a little. It’s all kind of depressing, to tell you the truth, and if you let these worries get into your head, it won’t be long before you convince yourself that life is nothing but a mad dash downhill to the end of the road. What’s so fun about that?

The antidote to all this is nothing less than focusing on always going uphill, rather than downhill. That’s right, struggle more, not less. Celebrate your ignorance, because there will be so much more to learn, but do get on with it. Look in front of you and plan your next move, be it learning something difficult or doing something challenging. Get rid of negative talk and fix your eyes on the hill ahead, no matter how high it is. Look at the stars above and not at the dirt below. Live for the joy of living, and never take that dreaded downhill road. Others have tried that route, only to discover that it leads nowhere. So cheer up, look up, and push up that hill with gusto, because it is along that road where great things always happen.

Seeing Europe From A Window

Classical view from an European train.
Classical view from an European train.

No matter how many times you ride trains in Europe, it never ceases to be a fascinating experience. Don’t know whether it is the novelty of it all, the beautiful landscape, or just the rocking motion of those mighty machines that so enthralls those of us who rarely experience such treats. No doubt it’s a combination of those and many other factors, but whatever it is, I just can’t get enough of it. Mind you, though, that I much prefer to experience European trains during the off-season, when the multitude of visitors to the continent have gone back to work, but even if that’s not possible, any day will do as far as I’m concerned. But this affection for trains is not something everyone possesses, as I recently met some Europeans who literally hated the idea of having to take a train. Go figure.

To a large extent, my love of European trains has a lot to do with seeing things for the first time. When we travel, it is like we send our senses into overdrive. From what we see to what we eat and feel, travelers seem to be in a constant state of overdrive, or enhanced sensitivity. It is as if we cannot get enough of all the things around us, which no doubt receive way more attention than what a local is willing to bestow. As locals ourselves back home, we find it kind of entertaining sometimes to listen to tales from visitors about places we have become too familiar with to notice anymore. Like them, we have been afflicted by a kind of visual numbness induced by familiarity.

Exactly the opposite happens when we travel, specially in trains. That whole combination of speed, visual overload, and briefness, plays wonders inside our heads. Like beautiful postcards flashing at high speed before our eyes, those flashing scenes on a window demand we focus all our senses in order not just to see, but to remember. After all, the very Europe rapidly passing in front of us is precisely the Europe we spent so much money and time to experience. That is why when I ride a train in Europe, afraid that I will miss something, I cannot bring myself to look at anything but that window. Nope, I didn’t come to Europe to read a magazine on a train. I came to Europe to see, feel, and experience Europe. And that window, with its rapidly changing landscape, is precisely the Europe I’m talking about. The small villages, the rivers, the mountains, the pine trees, the tree-lined country roads, the graffiti, the blue sky and vast plains. Yes, all of it. Memories some day, but just as part of me as the world back home. A love affair that has no end.

The Start Of A Weekend Like No Other In Washington, DC

Members of the Rolling Thunders begin to make their presence felt in the city.
A sea of American flags lies between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument.
A sea of American flags lies between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument.
For at least one weekend a year, bureaucrat suits give way to a more relaxed American attire.
For at least one weekend a year, bureaucrat suits give way to a more relaxed American attire.

There is perhaps no better place to be in America during Memorial Day that in Washington, DC where a grateful nation pays tribute to so many fallen heroes in such a honorable way. The annual pilgrimage is really something to see. What are otherwise empty streets on weekends are now overwhelmed with the rumbling sounds of motorcycles and visitors making their way to the countless ceremonies taking place at memorials all over town. They come from just about every part of the country with a sense of pride and patriotism that you only wish you could bottle it and sell it to those who could use a little dosage of both. But what I like above all is that these are ordinary Americans, the ones who have built a great nation through personal sacrifice and ingenuity. Even better, their yearly arrival at the capital they own happens to coincide with the hasty exodus by professional politicians from the city, as well as local elites going into lockdown at their pricey downtown condos (God forbid that they had to mingle with “them” people). Am I digging this? Maybe a little. But it sure is nice to know that a great nation full of incredible folks stills exists beyond the walls of Minas Tirith.

Hiding In Plain Sight: The Dumbarton House

The magnificent rear garden of the Dumbarton House. [Click photos for larger versions]
The magnificent rear garden of the Dumbarton House. [Click photos for larger versions]
The serene lower terrace right off the Herb Garden at the Dumbarton House.
dumbarton3
Stairs headed up to the Herb Garden.
dumbarton4
The majestic front section of the Dumbarton House with its wraparound brick walkway.

Here is yet another one of those “hiding in plain sight” stories. Ever heard of the Dumbarton House in Georgetown, DC? Well, neither had I. That is, until the last 48 hours or so. In fact, I wasn’t even looking for it, as I was driving along Georgetown’s Q Street on my way to the eccentricities of Dupont Circle, my photography destination for the day. Considering how enchanting this Dumbarton House is, I am kind of glad that I never made it to Dupont that morning, even if my discovery soon led to disappointment when I discovered that the House itself did not open its doors until 11:00 AM for inside-the-house tours. Thus, the early bird did not catch the proverbial worm this particular morning.

Like other houses built around 1800 in the area (almost all of them private properties closed to the general public), the simple elegance of the mansion bespeaks to a world that is almost unimaginable by today’s standards. It is described as a fine example of Federal Period architecture of the type that began dotting the Washington area during the early days of the capital. And while the attached East Park and Herb Garden are beautifully serene, the gem of the outdoors has to be the section right behind the house itself, were blooming flowers perfume the morning air with the soft embrace of a morning sun. A quiet, little-known hamlet surrounded by busy streets and busy people, and a reminder of how rewarding it can be to take a detour from our charted journeys in order to see where our tired, wandering feet will take us.

Little Havana: 50 Years Late, But Still Worth It

Symbol of Cuba in Miami.
Symbol of Cuba in Miami.
Summer straw hats have been a symbol of the Caribbean nation for longer than anyone cares to remember.
Summer straw hats.
Hand-crafted Cuban cigars are one of the main reasons tourist still flock to Little Havana.
Hand-crafted Cuban cigars.
Cuban espresso is everywhere.
Cuban espresso is everywhere.
Hanging bananas brought back memories of youth growing up in the Caribbean.
Hanging bananas typical in the Caribbean.
Ground zero at Little Havana.
Ground zero at Little Havana.
Not everyone can join the local domino games, but if you are over 55 and a local resident, then you're in.
Must be over 55 to play.
The colorful, Cuban restaurants are still thriving there, with prices that will make you want to come back over and over again.
Colorful restaurants thrive in the area.

Sometimes, it takes a long time to get to a place that has always been right in front of you.  In my case, four or five decades, to be exact, but even if late to the game, the trip was still worth it.  I’m talking about one of the most famous communities in America: Little Havana.  After endless trips to Florida, I finally made it to the famous Calle Ocho (8th Street) in Miami.  And while perhaps the original flavor of the place has changed somewhat since the 1960-70’s, the Cuban latin vibe that made it famous in the first place is still there, even if perhaps in smaller quantities.

Coming from the somewhat sober Washington, DC area, it was more than refreshing to walk down a street while listening to the latin rhythm of bongos and enjoying the unmistakable aromas emanating from Cuban kitchens.  And while I had been forewarned about petty crime in the area, all I experienced were great, friendly locals who didn’t mind at all you taking their pictures.  Maybe the fact that I spoke Spanish had something to do with it, but I’m not totally sure.  My impressions were more of a very proud people intent on showcasing their cultural heritage while feeding you copious amounts of food.  And if it is great food at incredible low prices you’re after, go no further than the Nuevo Siglo (New Century) grocery store/restaurant, where you can eat lunch with various sides for less than $10.  I guess the domino-playing locals at the Domino Park were right when I asked them where would they have lunch today in Little Havana if they had to.  A little bit of Cuba and the Caribbean in America.  And for this roving photographer, a welcomed reminder of an island upbringing and the Spanish melodies that still, quietly reverberate inside his mind.

 

Empty Tables

There is something about empty tables that always stir the imagination.
There is something about empty tables that always stir the imagination.
Exploring behind restaurants can sometimes result in incredible finds.
Exploring behind restaurants can sometimes result in incredible finds.
Empty tables wait around the fountain in Old Town Alexandria.
Empty tables wait around the fountain in Old Town Alexandria.

I’m fascinated by tables. No, it’s not a clinical condition or anything of the sort, but rather that whenever I see a table with some chairs, it is almost impossible for me not to photograph it. Now, mind you, that I’m not talking about just any table out there. My photographic fascination lies with those unoccupied, lonely, waiting-for-someone kind of tables. Yes, yes, a bit awkward, I’ll grant you that, but I just can’t help it. Every time I see one, I am inevitably transported to an imaginary story of a secret rendezvous, a long wait for a person who never shows up, or the melancholic story of a table that remains unoccupied, night after solitary night. Yes, I can see it now: a long wait, nervous anticipation, an uncomfortable smile, a conversation, a tear. Who knows. All I know is that I’m no writer, but if I were, perhaps it would be at one of those empty tables where I would start my next great story, or end it.

 

The Perfect Season

The most colorful time of the year is upon us. [Click photo for larger version]
The most colorful time of the year is upon us. [Click photo for larger version]
Don’t know about you, but as far as I’m concerned, there is no more perfect season than autumn. Sure, it’s wet, days are shorter, and you definitely need to bundle up a bit before going out. But that’s precisely what makes it so perfect. Nature’s colors at their best, sidewalks covered with fallen leaves, and chilly temperatures that elevate every quiet moment to the level of supreme enjoyment. The heat is gone, and so is the colorless haze that unmercifully mutes the summer colors. The sounds of life’s constant drums are reduced a decibel or two, and nature’s lights are dimmed a bit as if to force us to slow down and take in the transformation that is going on all around us. So here’s a salute to the perfect season: bring out the port wine, dust off the scarfs, put logs on the fireplace, and watch the reluctant sun barely raise over the horizon. Walk out, let the morning dew caress your face, count the colors of the leaves, and breathe the clear, chilly air of a perfect autumn day. Worry less, live more, sit on a bench, hold someone’s hand, and stare at the magnificent spectacle that lies before our very eyes. Let go, let in, and just be. Let nature remind you that every year is different, that you are different, and that in spite of the changes (or because of them), life will still be as colorful as the golden trees adorning the autumn countryside.

 

Visual Melody

An afternoon sun shines a spotlight on a majestic leaf. [Click photo for larger version]
An afternoon sun shines a spotlight on a majestic leaf. [Click photo for larger version]
Today I’m concerned with the notion of visual context. Yes, while the world goes to pieces, I’m worrying about context, and the lack of it. This doesn’t mean I don’t care about the rest of the world (because I do), but rather that after taking this photograph a few days ago, I came to the realization that everything around it, or external to it, only detracted from what I deemed to be unique on that lonely leaf. The environment in which this leaf existed seemed irrelevant at best, and obstructive at worst. I simply didn’t care about that environment because my eyes were so fixated on what I was seeing, that everything else was, at best, irrelevant.  If nature had a standing before our courts, I would’ve considered filing scene trespassing charges against it. The leaf was visual melody, the rest was simply noise.

 

A Summer Stop By The Windy City

 

One of the best things to do in the city is to take a walk down the Chicago River riverwalk downtown. [Click photos for larger versions]
One of the best things to do in the city is to take a walk down the Chicago River riverwalk downtown. [Click photos for larger versions]
The Theater District downtown allows for walking access to numerous Broadway productions.
The Theater District downtown allows for walking access to numerous Broadway productions.
Taking a break from their street performance, a couple remains in character even when relaxing.
Taking a break from their street performance, a couple remains in character even when relaxing.
The centerpiece structure at Dylan's Candy Bar will make sure you don't leave the store empty-handed.
The centerpiece structure at Dylan’s Candy Bar will make sure you don’t leave the store empty-handed.
Friends party down the Chicago River while fueling the trip with a couple bottles of champagne.
Friends party down the Chicago River while fueling the trip with a couple bottles of champagne.
While the Chicago River appears to be a big party venue, there are plenty of quiet spots still available along the riverwalk.
While the Chicago River appears to be a big party venue, there are plenty of quiet spots still available along the riverwalk.
While the city has plenty of formal dining establishments, informal hangouts remain the best places for enjoying the vibrant nightlife.
While the city has plenty of formal dining establishments, informal hangouts remain the best places for enjoying the vibrant nightlife.
The incredible cheese counter at the Eataly store is only one of the many wonders to be discovered at this Italian import.
The incredible cheese counter at the Eataly store is only one of the many wonders to be discovered at this Italian import.

The city of Chicago never ceases to surprise you. It seems that every time I visit (which, granted, is not too often), the place has significantly changed in one way or another. Unfortunately, these days, when we hear about Chicago in the news, the headlines have more to do with the escalating crime rate than with all the wonderful things that are happening in the city. That’s a pity, because without a doubt, this city has one of the most vibrant urban environments I’ve seen anywhere. Like in New York City, people are about at all hours of the day and night. Incredible restaurants dot just about every block downtown, and if you take the time to walk down the beautiful riverwalk promenade, you’ll be able to do some wine tasting while watching the never-ending boat procession sailing down the Chicago River. The negative headlines are the farthest thing from anyone’s mind in the beautiful downtown area, as the city simply takes your mind away from those concerns.

There’s also a lot more to the city than the famous Michigan Avenue Magnificent Mile, even if that mile alone is worth a special trip to Chicago. After all, right smack in the middle of that mile you’ll find the out-of-this-world Dylan’s Candy Bar store, which is sure to induce a Pavlovian response from even the strongest mortal. But venture a few blocks west of this famous mile, and you’ll come face-to-face with such places as the incredible Italian import that is the Eataly food emporium. You could spend an entire week inside the place indulging in a joyous adventure of pure, unadulterated gluttony.

But with only a day-and-a-half to spare during this trip, I chose to spent most of my available photography time in a couple of areas: walking under the overhead Metro lines that shoot down N. Wabash Street and visiting the adjacent Theater District in the N. State Street area. These areas south of the Chicago River are perfect for street photography, and while not as busy as the famous mile north of the river, they provide ample elbow room for photographers to do their thing. Venture a few blocks east and you’ll bump right into the plush Grant Park, which also affords a whole slew of photographic opportunities. It is neighborhoods like these that make Chicago such a well-kept photographic secret. In fact, I’ll go as far as to say that if urban photography is your thing, then during the summer months Chicago has to be up there on your list of great cities to visit for great urban photography. The beautiful architecture alone merits its ranking on that list. Come winter, though, the Windy City will live up to its Arctic reputation, and perhaps you’ll be better off taking your precious self to a place where no one has ever suffered from frostbite. Fair-weather photography advice? Maybe, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

A Photographer Travels To A County Fair

There is something rustic about a county fair that reminds us of simpler times. [Click photos for larger versions]
There is something rustic about a county fair that reminds us of simpler times. [Click photos for larger versions]
Young people do most of the day-to-day work at many Virginia farms, and definitely at county fairs.
Young people do most of the day-to-day work at many Virginia farms, and definitely at county fairs.
A young man gives his cow a bath before parading it before the judges.
A young man gives his cow a bath before parading it before the judges.
Raising these beautiful animals to be part of our food supply is not something everyone can emotionally handle.
Raising these beautiful animals to be part of our food supply is not something everyone can emotionally handle.
Visiting a county fair has to be one the best known ways of reverting back to an earlier stage in your life.
Visiting a county fair has to be one the best known ways of reverting back to an earlier stage in your life.
You thought you didn't want one until you saw them, but first you must prove your skills at throwing something.
You thought you didn’t want one until you saw them, but first you must prove your skills at throwing something.

Some things never change, and that’s OK with me. Don’t get me wrong, I pretty much love every convenience this modern world has to offer, specially if it makes everyday life a little easier to bear. But even when modernity rules the day in the cities, I can’t help but find it refreshing to know that some things out there in the “real world” don’t ever change much. In America we may not have the incredible ancient ruins you will find all over Europe, but one thing we have over all those Europeans is a good, old-fashioned county fair. Not sure whether it is just nostalgia or something a bit deeper than that, but for this humble photographer, a country-flavored county fair just does the trick every time. Cattle, chickens, pigs, sheep, you name it and I want to see it all. Thick, fluffy corndogs, cotton candy, and pulled-pork sandwiches? Can I get an Aaamen?

However, no matter how much some of us love these county fairs, the sad reality is that for most city folks, their existence doesn’t even register on their life radars. I mentioned the ongoing Loudon County Fair to some folks recently and their reaction was tantamount to me offering them to join me for Typhus injections. They’ve all been to them, but that was back then, way back then. After all, are they not primarily for children? Well, yes and no, even if for most grownups it does bring out the inner child in them. And who would like to ride on an old, clunky ferris wheel when you can go ride air conditioned gondolas on a mega-structure like the London Eye? Well, call me sentimental, but yours truly does.

Above all, I really like the people I meet at a county fair. Hard-working, approachable folks who are an incredible source of information about anything having to do with raising farm animals and bringing them to market. And they put their children to work, big time. No cell phones or video games for these kids when work needs to be done, and there’s never a shortage of work at a farm. After several hours of conversation, education, and stuffing my face with things my doctor would cringe at, I found the whole thing to be quite a welcomed break from the city-sleeker habitat I call home these days. Better? Not necessarily, but it really felt good to get some “mud on my boots” for a change.

 

A Slow Journey To Nowhere

Old Tractor
Some of the most picturesque farmland in the country can be found along Virginia’s Route 50. [Click photos for larger versions]
Horse farms and polo grounds dot the Virginia countryside along Route 50.
Horse farms and polo grounds dot the Virginia countryside along Route 50.
Red Barn
Beautiful, old barns have been restored all along the picturesque town of Middleburg.
Bird House
An old birdhouse adds to the charm of one of the rustic yards in the town of Middleburg.
Bails of Hay
Bails of hay dot the fields along Route 50.
Covered Driveway
Long, covered driveways are extremely popular with the folks who live along Route 50.

I think our parents were up to something when they hauled the entire family into their vintage cars for the purpose of doing a little road tripping. And as rare as it sounds today, the habit of going out for a family ride in those old cars was one of the things some of us remember fondly from our youth. No agenda, no plans, and no particular destination in mind. Cruising around to check out what was happening in town had its own rewards. It was pure automobile zen. Right turns, left turns, slow down here and speed up over there, an unchoreographed dance where everyone’s performance became the stuff of family legends.

This sort of nostalgia is what led me recently to get in my car and hit the road, so to speak. All I knew was that I would drive down Virginia’s Route 50 for as long as I felt like it and that at some point I would perform a Forrest Gump-like turnaround and come back home. So along I went, music playing on the radio, windows down, and no destination. With my camera sitting next to me, I did tell myself that I would stop at whatever site caught my attention, even if it took all day to complete my journey. I knew this would be a problem because Route 50 is one of the most scenic country roads you’ll encounter anywhere in the US. But here was a unique opportunity to try out some of that “slow travel” concept that the Europeans have mastered so well over the years. Would it really be possible to do away with all notions of time while driving into the sunset of our minds? Well, the short answer seems to be no, but if it’s impossible to do away with that old torturer time, it is definitely possible to ignore it for a while.

Route 50 may just be the perfect place for this. And while I’ve written about this area before, the sheer beauty of this American landmark makes it the place you keep coming back to, over and over again. Hard to think of a better place in the area for a road trip, although admittedly, Route 211 past the town of Warrenton comes close. BBQ’s and horse farms are big in the area, as well as quaint, little towns where you can find everything from Amish patio furniture to Alpaca socks. But it’s the landscape that will make you forget all notions of time for a while. The green meadows just seem to go on forever until they reach the distant Blue Ridge Mountains, while happy horses graze on grass so green that it looks as if it has been painted recently. It is easy to loose yourself in this scenery and the delicate touch of a morning breeze. Who knows, perhaps it is possible to make time stand still after all, even if for that brief moment when nothing else mattered but what was in front our my eyes.

 

Taking The Time To See

Looking At Sculpture
“The value of experience is not in seeing much, but in seeing wisely.” William Osler

Do you take the time to see? I mean, to really see. You alone can answer this question, but I have to guess that most of us in these time-starved days simply don’t have the opportunity, or willingness, to slow down enough to “smell the roses,” so to speak. After all, time, with all its virtues and detriments, plays games on us all. There’s simply too little of it available for creativity and inspiration after factoring in all the “must do’s” in life. Work, family, personal grooming, chores, wait time, you name it and we’ve all been there. In fact, and as much as it pains me to say it, I’ll go as far as to say that such demands on our time are simply unavoidable. They are an integral part of the weave of life, at once detracting from and enriching our short journeys on planet earth. But if these time demands are inevitable, how is it possible to find time for creativity and inspiration in this journey. Was Seneca (4 BC – 65 AD) correct when he said in that it is not that we have so little of it, but rather than we waste so much of it?

Perhaps the answer lies not in the effort to create more free time than what we have (although this is always a good thing), but rather on increasing the “quality” of the time we have. And yes, I’m talking about he old “turn lemons into lemonade” argument (which admittedly Seneca described much better), but with a twist. This twist has to do with the difficult process of accepting that in this finite world, there are simply a lot of things we must choose to do without. Want to concentrate on truly discovering every intricacy of a work of art? Then you will have to consciously accept that you will not be able to get to other parts of the museum. Need a healthy amount of solitude to create your masterpiece? Then you will have to dispense with the company of others for long periods of time. Want to really get to know Croatia and the Croatian people, but only have two weeks of vacation? Then you must accept that Italy, Slovenia, and Switzerland are journeys for another day.

This sort of acceptance is primarily a mental one. And while there are spacial constraints there too, they only seem to play a minor role when compared with our willingness to “accept less in our pursuit of more.” Looked at it this way, the road to personal fulfillment could very well be paved by our individual abilities to do without. It is the feeling that comes from waiting for the sun to go past the horizon during an incredible sunset. Stillness and divestiture of worldly concerns and impositions, while short-lived, are the building blocks of indescribable joy. Call it “being in the moment,” or whatever, but they are moments when nothing else matters but what is in front of our eyes, immediately present in our reality. Fireworks on a moonless night. Forever in a minute. But what a minute it is.

 

If It’s Sunday, It Must Be The Market

Cutting Fruit
Local markets present a great opportunity to taste products before buying them. [Click photos for larger versions]
Chives
When was the last time you had a chance to talk to the actual producer at a supermarket?
Pancakes
It may not be fancy, but these loaded pancakes will guarantee that you won’t leave hungry.
Bread Shopping
The great variety of artisanal bread at the Dupont Circle market are reason alone to be there every Sunday.

Every year after the 4th of July celebrations in Washington, DC, a sort of lethargy descends on the locals. Not that this is a character trait, mind you, but rather that after all the fireworks and concerts (not to mention the terrorist threats) people are kind of spent. This year, not even the weather was adding any cheers to the weekend, as storms forced the evacuation of the National Mall hours before the concert and fireworks were about to start. Talk about damper.

But if there’s something you can always count on during summer weekends, it is the myriad of seasonal farmer markets that come-hell-or-high-water, will be there to sell their products. The region is blessed when it comes to farmers and produce. Vendors from Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Virginia descend on DC every weekend bringing such variety of products that they often leave these city slickers dumfounded. And then there’s the Chesapeake Bay, with a seafood bounty that could even impress the folks from the Deadliest Catch in Alaska.

But when it comes to rarity, there’s one product that always challenges the best of them: artisanal bread. Who would’ve known that we have so many great artisanal bakeries (and even patisseries) in the tristate region. When I lived in the suburbs I could’ve sworn they had been rendered illegal. Bread came from the supermarket, mass produced and with enough preservatives to guarantee that future archeologists could still eat it 1,000 years from now. Luckily, there’s still hope, an local farmer markets are giving these emerging bakeries some well-deserved exposure. My waistline awaits their renaissance.