Returning and Separating: The Final Dispatch from Authorized Departure (I hope)

This land is your land, this land is my land...

First, the good news (sort of): barring a change in plans, on Thursday, October 8 I will be leaving the Washington, D.C. area, and returning to Addis Ababa አዲስ አበባ, bringing to an end 186 days of Authorized Departure. When we arrived in Arlington in early April, I had no idea we would be spending more than half a year cooped up in a small apartment, with me teleworking and my daughter studying online, but as everyone is well aware by now, this has been an extraordinary time. Following a two-week quarantine at our residence in Ethiopia, I should be back in the office for the last week of October.

Now, the bad news. On Day 178, Shu-E and Amber left to go back to Taiwan. While I've received permission to return to Addis, the situation for family members isn't so clear. Sure, the girls could've stayed in the D.C. area, but seeing as Taiwan has done what the U.S. has been spectacularly inept at doing, namely containing the COVID-19 virus, it's better for the girls to take advantage of their dual national status. Once they've completed their 14 days in isolation (in the Fengjia 逢甲 area of Taichung 台中), they'll be able to have something more closely resembling a pre-pandemic life than they would've by staying in America. They deserve that after all the time cooped up here (with me!) in Arlington. However, it looks like it'll be at least 2½ months before the three of us can be reunited in Ethiopia. I've always known there would be a possibility of work separating me from my family when I joined the Foreign Service, but that's little solace when it comes to coping with the depression that results from being far away from those you love. 

But life goes on. So last Thursday (Day 178 + 1), taking advantage of the car I'd rented to take my wife and daughter to Reagan National Airport (see photos above), I decided to get out of Arlington for a few hours and take a drive into the Virginia countryside. I ended up in Waterford, a National Historic Landmark 40 miles (64 kilometers) by car from my apartment building. I was expecting the typical old village that has been retooled for the tourist trade, with a plethora of Olde Shoppes selling antiques and other curios, but what I found instead was a quiet Main Street lined with suitably old buildings (most of which were closed), and almost devoid of people. I parked my car by the 1900 Corner Store and went for a stroll:

This brick building dates from around 1880, and has been functioning as the village's post office since 1897. Americana at its most authentic:

The Leven Smallwood House dates back to 1810, though a lot of work has been done on it since then (like the addition of a second floor after it was purchased by a Civil War veteran in 1879):

The Joseph Janney House, the construction of which started after the lot upon which it stands was purchased by a Quaker in 1781:

The Bond Street Barn was one of the few structures that had a posted explanation of its history (most of the information I've given above was gleaned from this website): 

You're never far from the Civil War in Virginia (nevermore so than in this day of Black Lives Matter and Confederate flags). Surprisingly, Waterford appeared to have supported the Union during the conflict, at least judging from this sign, though that didn't stop Federal troops from burning the Phillips farm despite the owner having provided assistance to resting soldiers. In the background is the 1891 John Wesley Methodist Church, which used to serve the local African-American community:

It didn't take me long to reach the end of Main Street and the entrance to the village (I'd arrived from the opposite direction):

No village would be complete without its mill. This one was built sometime before 1830, and was in operation up until 1939:

From the mill I took a peaceful walk along part of the Phillips Farm Interpretive Trail:

At one point I came upon this deer. I would see a couple more later at the local cemetery:

A bluebird nesting box, part of local efforts to increase the local population of that particular species:

I walked as far as these slices of rural America, before turning back to the mill:

Back on Main Street:

I ended my visit to Waterford with an uphill stroll to the local cemetery:

Unlike my recent drive through 'Murica (here and here), in Waterford Biden signs outnumbered Trump ones (at least on Main Street) by at least a 3-1 margin (namely the three signs I saw for Biden vs. the one I passed for Trump). 

On Friday morning I went for what would be my penultimate long-distance walk of this Authorized Departure. Again taking advantage of the rented wheels (the car wasn't due back until the close of business on Friday afternoon), I drove to Gravelly Point, parked the vehicle in the mostly-empty lot and set out in a southernly direction along the Mt. Vernon Trail. The first part of my walk wasn't all that pleasant, with Reagan National Airport to my left, the busy George Washington Memorial Parkway on my right, and the sun shining directly in my face. But I pressed on:

This time I was able to watch the planes land at the opposite end of the airport from Gravelly Point:

Passing by the Washington Sailing Marina:

Eventually the trail moved far enough away from the highway to allow for some peace and quiet (except for the approaching aircraft):

My plan had been to see how far I could get on the Mt. Vernon Trail, but a sign pointing in the direction of the Alexandria waterfront was too good to pass up, so I changed directions and found myself alongside the Potomac:

Across the river was a sinister-looking communications facility, part of the Joint Base Anacostia Bolling. The base is the headquarters of the Defense Intelligence Agency:

 

Reaching Tide Lock Park, part of a series of green spaces along the waterfront:

There are some expensive-looking properties overlooking the river, but all that money doesn't block out the noise of the planes coming and going:

The Torpedo Factory Art Center, which my family and I visited back in February 2013. It wasn't open yet as I walked by, which was a shame as nature was calling at that point. Fortunately, there were some portable toilets further down the path:

I brought a halt to my forward progress 1 hour and 41 minutes into my walk. I had planned on doing two hours one-way, but I ran out of waterfront as the path entered a construction zone:

Alexandria seemingly embraces all of its offspring:

In the distance is the Woodrow Wilson Memorial Bridge, linking Maryland and Virginia. I didn't quite get that far on Friday morning:

Military helicopters are a common sight flying over the Potomac:

If you look hard enough, you can see the Washington Monument on the far left, and the Capitol on the far right:

Back at the Washington Sailing Marina. Squint and you can see the Washington Monument through the masts:

A Metro train crosses the George Washington Memorial Parkway on its way to the airport:

A VIP was being given a police escort on their way to the airport:

That day's vital stats included 3 hours 28 minutes on foot in total, in the form of 19,150 steps according to Fitbit. It felt good to be back out on the trails again. Unfortunately, even without a pandemic to worry about, Addis Ababa isn't a pedestrian-friendly city. I hope once quarantine is finished I can ride my bike to Amber's school on the weekends and walk a few laps on the track there.

The final walk of this Authorized Departure waste of time period took place this morning (Tuesday). A bank of fog appeared to cover the Potomac as I looked out from my balcony just after 0700 hours. Of course, it had long since burned off by the time I reached the river:

As with most of my walks, I followed the Custis Trail down to the Theodore Roosevelt Island parking lot. However, instead of continuing south on the Mt. Vernon Trail, for a change of pace I headed north on the Potomac Heritage Trail:

Approaching the Francis Scott Key Memorial Bridge:

Someone (not me) has had enough of wearing masks, dammit!:

Passing under the bridge, and looking across the water to Georgetown:

The trail was surprisingly overgrown in places, though the path was marked with blue blazes. It was also dark in parts due to tree cover - my imagination conjured up images of antisocial psychopaths camping out by the riverside, and waiting to knife unsuspecting passersby, like myself. However, the only crazies I encountered were squirrels agitated by my presence:

 

A rowing club coach was using a megaphone to berate her team. Today's elite private university athletes - tomorrow's privileged Karens?:

If this were a horror movie, I would've suffered the consequences for having ignored this warning sign:

At around the 1 hour 45 minute mark, I decided I'd gone far enough - the demands involved with getting ready to move meant I needed to get home and back to work:

As it turned out, the place where I stopped was the same spot in Windy Run Park where I'd reached the conclusion there was no path down to the Potomac:

It turns out I was mistaken back in July:

It only took 50 minutes to reach my apartment building thanks to taking boring streets running through suburbia. Taking these long walks has been the only beneficial activity (for my mental and physical health) during these past 184 days (as of Tuesday). Six months of my life that I'll never get back, plus I'm now into Day 6 of being separated from my wife and daughter. 

Fuck this virus and all it has wrought...

That's all for now, folks. Unless something game changing occurs between now and Thursday morning, the next entry on this blog should be from quarantine in our residence in Addis Ababa. 

I'll end this post with a few random images taken since my last blog entry. Like this late evening scene from my balcony:

A father-daughter date to Gong Cha (gòng​ chá) 貢茶 on Wilson Boulevard:

A rainbow that was so close it almost seemed like I could walk to it, claim my pot o'gold and retire early:

Up before the sun:

This lineup of noodles at H Mart Falls Church neatly summarizes the makeup of Taiwanese society (well, almost). On the left is Taiwan Noodle, representing the benshengren 本省人, those Han Chinese whose ancestors were already living in Taiwan in 1945 when World War 2 ended with Japan giving up control of the island. Tainan 台南, of course, was the historical capital of Taiwan. In the center is Hakka Noodle - the Hakka 客家 being a Han ethnic subgroup that makes up around 15% of the population. And on the right is the Mandarin Noodle. Notice the Chinese characters - 外省, as in "外省人" (waishengren), the term used to describe people who moved to Taiwan from China after the end of the Chinese Civil War in 1949, and their descendants. Notable in its absence is the Aboriginal Noodle, not the first time Taiwan's indigenous peoples have been overlooked:

Next stop: Addis Ababa. I just wish Amber and Shu-E could be going with me...

Happy Mid-Autumn Festival!