Here's something you might be interested in.
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed
Big Screen — Movie commentary
Blurt — Music's inside track
Booze News — San Diego spirits
Classical Music — Immortal beauty
Classifieds — Free and easy
Cover Stories — Front-page features
Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes
Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts
Feast! — Food & drink reviews
Feature Stories — Local news & stories
Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore
From the Archives — Spotlight on the past
Golden Dreams — Talk of the town
The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it
Letters — Our inbox
Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites
Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans
Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists
Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news
News Ticker — News & politics
Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated
Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna
Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated
Poetry — The old and the new
Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers
Reading — The hunt for intellectuals
Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails
San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds
SD on the QT — Almost factual news
Sheep and Goats — Places of worship
Special Issues — The best of
Street Style — San Diego streets have style
Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves
Theater — On stage in San Diego this week
Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative
Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work
Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego
Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads
Your Week — Daily event picks
Eastern Market, Washington, D.C.
It felt like an Ottoman bazaar: Tables and tents formed a maze of narrow walkways, and everywhere I looked, I saw jewelry and CD's and hand-spun garments. Middle-aged woman sat in lawn chairs, wearing floppy hats to keep out the blinding sun. Vintage furniture stood alongside rolls of Persian rugs. A musician noodled on his saxophone for spare change.
"How often does this happen?" I asked my brother as we ambled past farm-fresh produce.
"Every Sunday," Joe said. "It's kind of a big deal."
A big deal, indeed. Our parents grew up in the Maryland suburbs, and they remember when D.C. was gutted by riots and fire. For a long time, Capitol Hill – where my brother now lives – was a dangerous place to even drive through, much less stroll. To see portraits of jazz musicians alongside potted vases, displayed in the open air by smiling artists, shows how far this part of the city has come.
I've visited D.C. every year since birth to see uncles and grandparents. I've always known the District as a hotbed of crime and racial tension, decimated rowhouses and forced gentrification. But that day in the Market, D.C. seemed brighter than it had ever been. Not far from these stalls, crack was being dealt and police raids were being plotted. But if one neighborhood could rejuvenate, maybe others could, too. For the first time in 30 years of visits, I felt something like hope.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Eastern Market, Washington, D.C.
Eastern Market, Washington, D.C.
It felt like an Ottoman bazaar: Tables and tents formed a maze of narrow walkways, and everywhere I looked, I saw jewelry and CD's and hand-spun garments. Middle-aged woman sat in lawn chairs, wearing floppy hats to keep out the blinding sun. Vintage furniture stood alongside rolls of Persian rugs. A musician noodled on his saxophone for spare change.
"How often does this happen?" I asked my brother as we ambled past farm-fresh produce.
"Every Sunday," Joe said. "It's kind of a big deal."
A big deal, indeed. Our parents grew up in the Maryland suburbs, and they remember when D.C. was gutted by riots and fire. For a long time, Capitol Hill – where my brother now lives – was a dangerous place to even drive through, much less stroll. To see portraits of jazz musicians alongside potted vases, displayed in the open air by smiling artists, shows how far this part of the city has come.
I've visited D.C. every year since birth to see uncles and grandparents. I've always known the District as a hotbed of crime and racial tension, decimated rowhouses and forced gentrification. But that day in the Market, D.C. seemed brighter than it had ever been. Not far from these stalls, crack was being dealt and police raids were being plotted. But if one neighborhood could rejuvenate, maybe others could, too. For the first time in 30 years of visits, I felt something like hope.
CommentsjohnGTUSA
This comment was removed by the site staff for violation of the usage agreement.
May 3, 2021