I’m back from DC and can’t wait to tell all about my trip. I’ll get into the delight that is traveling by myself with only carry-on luggage later. For right now, let’s cut to the chase and tell my version of 1.20.09.  Here you have it, five hours of Inauguration Day in 25 photos.

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We were just going to join the masses on the Mall, but at the last minute, my brother’s friend scored us four tickets in the purple section, right up front, just behind the people who were seated. Hooray!

We heard the line for the Metro was insane, so we took off on foot before sunrise.  Starting place: 23rd and N. Destination: Purple Gate at 1st and Constitution. About a three-mile walk.

How excited were we to turn a corner and have the Washington Monument in view?! The streets were almost completely empty of vehicles, but there were plenty of people out walking at sunrise on a Tuesday morning.

The Girl Scout volunteers were welcoming everyone by singing and chanting.  A festive atmosphere.

Crowds were gathering on the Mall, and this is where we might have stayed… if we didn’t have our Purple tickets.

The next hour of walking was nothing but chaos. We needed to get to First and Constitution. Each person we met gave conflicting directions. Streets were blocked. Gates, security checkpoints. We went through and then came out of two different “secure” areas, only to find they were another wrong turn, another dead end. We inched closer to our destination as the minutes (and miles) ticked by.

Finally, after winding in and out, away from the Mall, we got to about 3rd and D and found the line for people with Purple tickets. It was winding the 3 1/2 blocks around the corner from the Purple Gate… and into the 2nd Street tunnel.

It just kept going. And going. We kept walking farther and farther into the tunnel, and the line kept going. Looking on the map, I believe that tunnel was about half a mile long. When we finally came out the other end and onto I-395, we walked another few hundred feet and found the end of the line.  All told, close to a mile from the gate.  It was 8:40, we had been walking for two hours, and the gates were to open at 9.

It was chaos all around. People looking for the Silver and Blue gates. People just as lost as we had been. A plow truck got stuck on the exit (entrance?) ramp, à la Austin Powers. People trying to cut in line being given the stink-eye. While there was plenty of security in the city in general, I saw maybe two cops anywhere near our area, and no one at all policing the line.  And if we thought we were far back? Within half an hour there were probably another thousand people behind us.  All with tickets for the Purple section.

Did I mention it was cold??

Still, though, people were in generally good spirits. We got back into the tunnel, where it was marginally warmer. We talked with the people next to us, our “line family,” and did what we could to “maintain the integrity of the line!” No budging!  We moved slowly forward. People started singing songs, and you had a big chunk of the line doing the Hokey Pokey, just for fun.  We stood in line for an hour, two hours, two and a half… but we were inching closer.

After almost two and a half hours, the pace of the line suddenly picked up. People were cheering as we neared the tunnel exit, and we joked that it would be springtime when we finally got outside (no such luck).  I didn’t think the increased pace was such a good thing as the masses spilled out onto D Street.

We rounded the corner of First Street, with a bit more pushing and shoving than had been going on the previous two hours. And then, people started pushing back and walking the opposite direction.  Word trickled back: it was after 11. They had closed the gates. No more people were being allowed in. There were thousands of us, lucky ticket-holders all. In the street with nary a Jumbotron to be found and no time to make our way back onto the Mall.

There was no time to hesitate. It was 11:15. If we didn’t find a TV, and fast, we’d have the hateful irony of being two blocks away and actually missing the entire thing.  Nearby hotels were closed to overnight guests, only. There was a line around the corner just to get into the Starbucks.  My sore, frozen feet and legs wanted to give out on me. Finally, around 5th and H, we found an Irish Pub that didn’t have a line out the door. We were the last few shoulders to squeeze in and see the TV as Joe Biden and Barack Obama walked out onto the stage at the Capitol.

But it was noisy, and we couldn’t hear a thing. I could barely see the TV over taller heads than mine. We were outside of the locked-down area near the Mall, and my sister-in-law had the quick thinking and good luck to hail a taxi on the otherwise nearly deserted streets.  We listened to the Invocation on the taxi radio and booked it across to our condo at 23rd and N. Rick Warren was still talking when we threw cash at the driver and bolted for the front door of the condo building… the elevator… the third floor.  My brother all but shoved me aside when I couldn’t find the power button on the unfamiliar TV.  It was 11:50.

So, we made it to DC. We walked for nearly five hours. And we saw the Inauguration. On TV.

It wasn’t for another half hour or 45 minutes that I started crying. I was excited for the day, I was moved by the moment and the speech and the quartet.  And I was exhausted. And mad that we had gotten the tickets at all. Mad that I hadn’t stayed back at the Washington Monument four hours earlier. And I wondered why I had left my kids at home, just to watch it on MSNBC in a one-bedroom condo.

More on the beginning and end of the trip later. For now, I’m still sore from all the walking and the kids aren’t taking the nice afternoon nap I hoped they would.  No rest for the weary.