Washington

Washington itself, is a Disneyland, very Baudriallard, giant signifiers, plaques gone wild. There are many people jogging, which recalls scenes from Burn After Reading. After such knowledge, what forgiveness?

There is also a kite festival, bright skies and freezing cold.

I have soup at the Smithsonian Castle, and sit at a table with a middle aged American couple. They ask me what I do, and when I tell them what I teach, they say 'Ah, our son is learning Arabic, a special kind of Arabic, what was it? Sunni, yes I think it was sunni'. I smile. 'Has your son been in the Middle East?' I ask. 'Yes' they say. I know what is coming and still ask 'Where has he been?' 'Iraq' they say. I am relentless. 'What was he doing there?' 'He was in the army'. I could go on asking questions. I could even make a scene. I don't.

As part of my Grand Tour of American universities I make my way to Georgetown and for some reason when I get of the bus I feel I am in Stratford. Maybe because of all the Shakespeare related establishments that are in Washington. I enter a Body Shop and not far off is a Karen Millen. I am, of course, in my element. I slowly make my way towards campus and stop at the Bryn Mawr bookshop. It is run by two very old ladies one of whom has a discernible British accent. The other one is at the counter, transacting, ever so slowly, business. She adds sums on a piece of paper with a pencil and then looks at a table to calculate the tax. Then she can't calculate the change. The gentleman says it is quite alright, she doesn't have to give it to him. She insists, and the other lady arrives, looking hawkishly at the proceedings. The lady at the counter manages to give the exact change and now it is my turn.

She writes the prices of the books down. A Selection on Verses from the Koran. She looks at the price, looks at the cover and says 'I quite like the older version' she says. I wonder if she means the Bible. Then she looks at Priestley's An English Journey. 'Oh yes' she says 'We have some very good books here'. She does the sums and now's the time to swipe my card. She tries a couple of times and fails. The other lady, a character you feel must be played by Emma Thompson comes and says to me 'It should be alright. She can do it'. Then turns sternly to the hapless woman at the counter. 'You can do it Margaret. Take your time Margaret'. Margaret takes her time. It does not work. I pay cash.

I then continue towards the campus and have a quick walk around the grounds. As I am about to leave a notice a group of young men all dressed in black a-la-Reservoir-Dogs, and stranger than that, there is a woman who is walking ahead of them, turned towards them and so walking backwards, taking their photographs. Other people turn to look at them and they cast flirtatious looks back. Some kind of ad? As I exit the gate I hear their talk, and my radar catches the word 'Islam', and then I here the rest quite clearly. 'Hey, I think we should have a picture taken with the hijabi girl!' I want to stop, turn back and say to them a-la-Robert-de-Niro 'You talkin to me?'. Who knows what that could lead to? I feel strangely flattered. I am impressed that they know the word 'hijabi'. A bit more discerning than Sunni Arabic, I think. I have never been called that before. I feel validated. Maybe now's the time to make a scene.

But there's a bus I must catch and so I soldier on.