An unplanned layover turned into a walk through history, good food, and quiet reflection—thanks to a little push from my Aunt, Tatie.
This wasn’t a grand plan or a bucket-list dream. It was about points. JetBlue rolled out a promotion: rack up airports now, fly free next year. Rashid was all in, and I was game too—because who wouldn’t want a free flight to Europe next year?
So there I was, staring down a long layover in DC, ready to just sit in the airport all day, until Tatie stepped in.
“Glenda, you are not staying at the airport. We are going on an adventure.” And that’s how Georgetown landed on the map. She planned it for me, of course—because that’s what she does.
When I told Rashid, he smiled and tossed in his own suggestion: “Go see the famous Exorcist Stairs.” Tatie latched onto it instantly, declared it our first stop, and built the whole day around it. So the map unfolded:
- The Exorcist Stairs
- Martin’s Tavern
- The Potomac River
The Exorcist Stairs
History: Tucked away at 36th Street and Prospect in Georgetown, the steep stone steps gained worldwide fame from the 1973 film The Exorcist. It’s here that Father Karras tumbled to his death, forever linking these ordinary, narrow stairs with cinematic dread. For locals, they’re just a grueling climb; for movie buffs, they’re hallowed ground.
My Story: Standing at the bottom, I tilted my head back and muttered, “That’s steep.” Tatie, ever the instigator, asked, “Are you climbing it?” I shot back, “Hell yea! Or else Pazuzu will think I’m a welp!”
So up I went. Halfway through, the wheezing set in. By the time I reached the top, I was quietly dying inside. And of course, just then, a whole tour group appeared at the edge of the stairs, peering down like vultures over fresh prey. There was no way I was going to let them see me collapse. So I straightened, walked a few more feet away, pulled out my phone, and pretended to text—like I hadn’t just fought for my life climbing those cursed steps.
And as if that weren’t enough, I went right back down. Each step jarred my knees, but I couldn’t resist the full circle. If I was going to face those famous stairs, I was going to do both ways—up and down, no shortcuts.
Martin’s Tavern
History: Since 1933, Martin’s Tavern has been a cornerstone of Georgetown dining. Its dark wood booths have hosted presidents, senators, journalists, and locals alike. Most famously, John F. Kennedy proposed to Jackie here, in Booth #3, now known as the “Proposal Booth.” Another table bears the legacy of JFK drafting parts of his inaugural speech. It’s a place where history feels close enough to touch.
My Story: If the Exorcist Stairs nearly took my lungs, Martin’s Tavern nearly took my nerve. Tatie had built it up for me the night before: “It’s where John F. Kennedy proposed to Jackie. Every booth has a story—politicians, journalists, scandal, history written over plates of roast beef and whiskey.” She made it sound like stepping into a living archive, a place where every dark wood panel carried whispers.
The problem? Martin’s is always packed. Getting a reservation there on short notice is like trying to catch smoke. But then I remembered—I had Resy. I logged in, crossed my fingers, and saw that golden badge: Global Dining Access. It didn’t promise which booth, but it promised me a booth. And after the climb I’d just done, that felt like victory enough.
So I booked it. Table for one, lunch at Martin’s Tavern. Just me, tucked into a booth that had probably held ghosts of presidents and power brokers. I didn’t need Camelot’s corner or the Kennedy Proposal seat. Just being inside the story was enough.
The lunch was simple but rich, the kind of meal that lets you savor the room itself. I was sitting with Art Buchwald and I felt I was ready to roast a politician that day! The server must have seen me soaking it all in—she slipped me a brochure, shared a little history, even pointed out the small details most people miss. Then the manager himself let me peek into the Kennedy Proposal booth and the table where JFK drafted his inaugural speech. That glimpse alone felt like a gift.
I thanked them, gathered myself, and left as if I belonged there all along—head high, steps measured, slipping back out into the daylight.
The Potomac River
History: The Potomac has always been the lifeblood of Washington, DC. Flowing from West Virginia through Maryland and Virginia, it has carried commerce, history, and leisure along its banks for centuries. In Georgetown, the waterfront is where the city exhales—lined with paths, benches, and views that soften the sharp edges of politics and stone.
My Story: From Martin’s, it was a straight walk down. Georgetown narrowed and gave way to the water, where the Potomac stretched out like a mirror. After the steep climb and the crowded tavern, the river felt like exhale—broad, calm, unhurried. I walked along its edge, letting the air clear me out. The history behind me, the water before me.
Back to the Airport
Eventually, I called an Uber and headed back to the airport. Tatie and I did what we always end up doing when the formal adventure is done: people-watching. Travelers with their bags, stories in motion, little dramas unfolding at the gates.
It struck me in passing—that afternoon was one of the most memorable times with my Aunt. Not because of stairs, or taverns, or rivers, but because of the bond that showed itself clearer than I realized. Stronger than the city, stronger than the day.
All Around The World 