Journey to the White House

Feburary 2025

"...... A city where birds and beasts scatter at night governs this huge country. The entire trip to Washington is like a heavy snowfall. We may never know what is buried under the snow. Perhaps this quiet snowfall is just a prelude to a summer thunder. And now, on a snowy post-Christmas night, I, too, became a passenger on Biden’s train."

By Yiwei Lu

https://thelyw.com/

@luyiweitina

Editor: Jiani Wang

PLACES

December 28

The day after returning to New York from spending Christmas at my New York Grandma’s place in Pennsylvania, my friend and I had a plan: first, we’d hit the climbing gym to work out, then we’d imitate those New Yorkers who sit at long, black tables with their laptops, trying to embody the "work hard, play hard" spirit to kick off the new year. We fantasized about turning over a new leaf, as if from now on, we would truly reinvent ourselves.

After three hours of climbing and thirty-two falls, we found ourselves, still wrapped in our down jackets and clutching our umbrellas, sitting in a trendy ramen shop instead. We sought comfort in a warm bowl of tonkotsu ramen to soothe our growing sense of winter melancholy and the feeling of achieving absolutely nothing. My friend, absentmindedly rubbing a freshly unwrapped pair of bamboo chopsticks, was illuminated by a small artificial candle flickering weakly amidst the deep blue neon lights.

"Do you want to go to the White House?" she suddenly asked.

Five seconds of silence.

"What are you talking about?"

For a moment, I thought it was some sort of metaphor: when life feels particularly meaningless, you might as well turn yourself in at a government office for “recycling."

"I mean, we booked public tour tickets for January 9th — same-day round trip to D.C. to visit the White House. You know, once he takes office, it’s unlikely the doors will be open to the public anymore."

Before my brain could process what was happening, my hands had already secured a ticket for the White House tour at 12:30 PM on January 9th.

January 5

Our White House tour group received an email: due to the state funeral of Jimmy Carter scheduled for January 9th, our tour had been rescheduled to January 8th. Fortunately, thanks to my friend's foresight in booking flexible Amtrak tickets, we only dodged a $10 rescheduling fee, a gift imposed by the U.S. government.

January 8

At 6 AM, the Brooklyn sky was still a dim blue-gray. I met my friend at the L train station, holding a steaming Dunkin' coffee and a glazed donut. The remnants of a recent blizzard left the subway platforms coated in slushy white de-icer.

We boarded the Amtrak train on time, watching the brilliant sunrise reflect off the iron bridges of New Jersey. One of the stops along the way was Wilmington, Delaware. My New York Grandma mentioned that back in college, she often took this train home and occasionally saw Biden at the station, commuting to D.C. for work. I wondered if he would continue riding it after leaving office.

By 11 AM, we arrived in Washington, greeted by a vast expanse of snow-covered streets. A line from Dream of the Red Chamber came to mind: "A vast land of whiteness, truly pure and clean."

The snow had slightly delayed our train, leaving us rushing to our lunch reservation at Succotash, a restaurant led by Edward Lee, who recently appeared on Netflix’s Culinary Class Wars. With time pressing, we devoured an entire spread of Southern cuisine in under fifteen minutes. The fried chicken and waffles, drizzled with honey, were as divine as ever. Then, we immediately called a cab—thankfully, Washington’s compact layout made getting around quick and easy. (Though I would come to regret saying this seven hours later.)

The White House Tour

The entrance was through the East Gate, with no official front door. A female soldier in uniform directed us toward a white tent. Inside, we underwent THREE rounds of ID checks and THREE security screenings before finally stepping through the side entrance of the White House. At the entrance, a sign read, "White House Tours are self-guided." A life-size standing screen played a welcome video featuring First Lady Jill Biden: "You are standing right now in one of the most cherished, historic landmarks in the world."

One side of the hallway featured a digital display showcasing portraits of past U.S. presidents. The first American president I remember was Obama. As a child, I saw a newspaper at home with a picture of him standing atop the Great Wall. The second was Trump—unfortunately. My time as an international student in the U.S. began under his administration. Though, as a Fine Art student (an American favorite for cashing in on international tuition), I personally don’t have F1 application visa issues, but the pandemic-era travel ban was truly a pain in the ass. During the 2020 U.S. election, I was stuck in China. My American friends kept messaging me, "When are you coming back? If you don’t return soon, America’s going to collapse."

On the opposite side of the hallway, large glass windows overlooked the National Mall, bathed in serene golden sunlight, as if nothing had ever happened.

Beyond the hall were the reception rooms, open for visitors to admire their historical decor. Display cases housed White House china collections, and the walls featured portraits of each First Lady. A friendly security guard explained that every First Lady gets to choose the artist to paint her portrait. My friend and I quietly speculated: could an art gallery and a First Lady ever collude to hype a young artist into the market?

The Green Room, Blue Room, and Red Room—each decorated in its namesake color—felt British, reminiscent of the Victoria and Albert Museum. Due to the upcoming state funeral, security began ushering us out at 1 PM, so we hurriedly finished the rest of the tour. The last stop was a photo shot before a wooden door with an American flag. We followed the crowd and took a picture, not entirely sure why. Later, when Biden gave a speech from that very spot, we realized it was the backdrop of the official presidential address. If only we had seized the moment to make some profound statement!

We played in the snow outside the White House after the visit. The setup for the funeral was already in place. Our next destination was the Bureau of Engraving and Printing, where we’d learn how U.S. currency is made.

Upon entry, we were greeted by a display of "$1 million in $10 bills." The tour started with an introductory video before a guide led us through a sky bridge overlooking the printing floor. Below, sheets of uncut dollars rolled off the presses as workers occasionally looked up and waved at us. The air smelled like money. A neon sign read: We Make Money the Old-Fashioned Way. The printing paper is custom-made and exclusive to the U.S. government. Photography was strictly prohibited, but the gift shop was uniquely tempting—because they sold uncut sheets of real dollars. Who wouldn't want a strip of ten connected one-dollar bills?

Our final stop was the Holocaust Memorial Museum, where the exhibit Remember the Children: Daniel’s Story deeply affected me. Designed as a life-sized recreation of historical scenes, it narrated the experiences of a Jewish boy growing up in Nazi Germany. The contrast between his warm childhood home and the cold, oppressive wartime atmosphere was chilling. I fled the exhibit midway, unable to finish.

At 6:30 PM, I needed to catch my 7:15 train back to New York. Google Maps estimated a ten-minute trip to Union Station, but after fifteen minutes of waiting, no Uber drivers had responded. When I finally got into the car, the roads were jammed. In a panic, I jumped out and sprinted through the snow, slipping three times but making it just in time—only to find the train was delayed.

An elderly woman in line ahead of me sighed, "Oh dear, not again." She told me this route was frequently delayed due to engine maintenance, as Penn Station lacked the facilities to service the trains. She, like Biden, commuted between Wilmington and D.C. regularly.

At last, starving, I boarded the train home. As an F1 visa holder, I had never truly explored this country until this trip. For the first time, I found myself in Washington—the nerve center of this vast political machine. A city where birds and beasts scatter at night governs this huge country. The entire trip to Washington is like a heavy snowfall. We may never know what is buried under the snow. Perhaps this quiet snowfall is just a prelude to a summer thunder. And now, on a snowy post-Christmas night, I, too, became a passenger on Biden’s train.

The grand finale? Arriving home at 11 PM and devouring two giant bowls of stir-fried pork over rice. Delicious.