I arrived at the Palm Beach Airport around 5 am, feeling anxious and queasy. I was nauseated and up-chucking before I even got on the plane. Then, one more motion-sickness bag for take-off and another for landing. My poor seat-mate was a trooper. After the first barf, he silently handed me his bag. Which we were both thankful for later.
I was so, so grateful that I was feeling better when I got off the plane, for I had big plans. A four hour layover in Washington D.C. was going to make me one very happy girl. I hopped on the Metro and made my way to Smithsonian Station. As soon as I got back up to ground level, all expectations had been exceeded. How can they put so much awesome all in one spot?!
I would have seen A TON more, but I had time constraints and I hit TWO speed bumps. First, the strap on my duffle bag broke requiring me to lug around all my crap by the hand straps. The second hang-up was simply my depth perception. What kind of black magic allows those monuments to get farther away the closer you get to them? “I can make it!”, I kept thinking. But my broken bag and all-day puke fest left me limited. I made it close up and personal to only a few sights, but didn’t have the energy for all of them. However, I did in fact leave there a very happy girl.
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