Rudolph in February

A man in the Metro this morning was singing “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.” Yes, it is February.
     
As I sat perusing a book of travel essays and the girl beside me worked diligently in her French textbook, this man entered the train car, calmly but dejectedly stepped toward the nearest handrail, gripped it with both hands, closed his eyes, and rested his head, down turned, against the pole.  Under his large knitted hat, his face was worn and his beard was scraggily; the backpack strapped on behind him was equally worn and moderately full, disregarded as his coat hung at his sides and he stood quietly at the end of the train. After a mass exodus at one stop left few people and many empty seats on the car, he slowly opened his eyes, glanced around, and took the seat behind me. When I began to hear him speaking, I left the book, temporarily ignored, open on my lap and instead looked intently towards the window, trying to make out just what he was saying. It wasn’t until we neared my stop that I heard “All of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names…”
       
From what I could tell, no one in the car reacted to this murmured rendition of a Christmas carol on a cold February morning. Honestly, I had the urge to sing along but limited myself to looking back and offering a sad sort of smile before getting off at my stop. I was returning to my high-rise apartment in Ballston after spending the morning at a Starbucks downtown, where my class met for coffee and discussion of our latest readings on ancient Chinese and Roman politics. And here this man sat behind me, a deep, tired baritone quietly singing a childhood classic.
       
My experiences in DC thus far have been fantastic. I love that I met with my professor and fellow students to discuss politics in a coffee shop on a Saturday morning; I love that I will be at the Journal office on Monday (though it’s a holiday) to work on an article before heading to the Ghanaian embassy with a few visa-related questions. I love that my roommate and I watched the opening ceremony to the Olympics in the “clubroom” of our apartment building, where we found ourselves in conversation with some random guy who joined in about halfway through the program. I love experiencing this city and the many things it has to offer (not the least of which being an Indian restaurant we’re headed to this evening). The most important aspects of any experience, though – at least the way I see it – are the everyday observations.
       
The classroom and internship opportunities, the museums and deep-rooted history at your fingertips, enjoying the various nightlife options in the DC area – all of these things are great, and they form a large part of the TWC experience…. but there’s more to the city than that. There’s more to every city than that. People from all walks of life can be found here, in this moderately sized city on the Eastern seaboard, the political capital of one of the leading countries of the world. Tourists come from all over the nation and world to see the memorials and museums, have their picture taken with a backdrop of the Washington Monument, and glimpse the White House from Lafayette Square. How many people come to see the man singing “Rudolph” in the relatively warm refuge of the Metro?
       
An English and Political Science major currently interning with a newspaper and taking a course on foreign policy, I hope to one day see much of the world, writing about international affairs and politics as I experience them firsthand. In moments like the one I experienced this morning, however, I can’t help but find it a bit silly. We sit high-mindedly discussing Sun Tzu over smoothies and croissants, linking timeless and universal matters of international relations back to the many issues the upcoming generation will have to face, then quietly ride the Metro back to our respective apartments, in the meantime passing by the very people who embody those problems facing today’s society.
       
While I certainly see the use in studying ancient history and international politics as they stood centuries ago, it feels somewhat absurd when faced with reality: a tired, middle-aged man singing “Rudolph” in February, looking as though the heavy world around him has battered and beat him into this faux state of uncaring tranquility, one quiet voice amidst a silent train car while we sped under the countless memorials and museums that hold the apparent wealth of this country, “leader of the free world.”

*Disclaimer: No, my apologies, this is not your typical blog. There are no pictures, and the one central anecdote isn’t all that funny. My instructions, however, were to write about my experience here in DC. If you ask me, this – unfunny as it may be – is a central part of that. In the classic movie “Dirty Dancing,” the character of Neil Kellerman, the owner’s son, makes one moderately intelligent statement in the entirety of the movie: “Sometimes in this world we see things we don’t want to see.” When given an opportunity to spend some real time in places like DC (or in Ghana, where I will be spending most of the summer), one of my main goals is to get a feel for the area as it truly is, not just the touristy spots. While the courses and internships offered through TWC are incredibly helpful and make for a great life experience, keeping your eyes open at all times is equally important, if not more so. There’s more to traveling than taking pictures and sharing misadventures in the form of entertaining anecdotes. …I do, of course, plan to share more of those next time; this is just a food-for-thought sort of moment between regular postings.