On Monday, January 19, 2009, in the quiet car of an Amtrak train from Penn Station to Union Station, I claimed a seat beside three women traveling together. They offered me homemade cake and a stick of gum while they chatted and sipped mini-bottles of white wine from the café car.
Through the train’s windows, we watched the American cityscapes and countrysides fly by.
I knew I had to go. Especially when I found out that I would finish finals the Saturday before he was to be sworn in. But despite my long-standing resolution to be there in person to hear this extraordinary orator, the new leader of our country, I failed to make any set travel arrangements—and it was just days before the inauguration would take place.
I figured that between bus, train, and plane, I would be able to find some way of getting to the nation’s capital. But on Sunday, a huge snow storm hit my hometown of New York, blanketing the city in a layer of white.
Luckily, when I checked, they had added some last minute trains between New York and Washington. And with all that snow, I figured the train would be the safest bet. I’d arrive by Monday evening.
When I stepped off of my train, Union Station was swarming with people, completely transformed from the last and only time I had ever been in Washington, D.C., four years ago. It was 9:40 PM, and the place was a hub of activity: women in floor-length coats, college-age kids milling around, and swarms of police guarding gates.
I had made it. I had packed up my room at Harvard two days before, spent less than 24 hours at home, and now had made my dream of being in Washington D.C. to see this inauguration come true.
