As we headed south by train from the City of Brotherly Love, Philadelphia, the birthplace of America’s democracy where the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were crafted and debated by the nation’s Founding Fathers, to America’s capital, Washington, D.C., another Pinoy style food-filled must-stop family reunion to visit an ailing grandma of my partner awaited us in a brief stopover in Annapolis, Maryland.

After a tearful, joyful renewal of kinship, buttressed by a full stomach making it difficult to resist catnaps, we resumed our journey and finally reached our Easter weekend home by nightfall at the Canopy Hilton at The Wharf in DC, an impressive new mixed-use development along the Potomac River. The windy evening was chilly and the waterfront pulsated like a fiesta with an eclectic mix of frenetic, mish-mash of crowded cafés, blaring music, and the alluring aroma of steaks, tapas and oysters, which titillated our senses.

At Del Mar, a Spanish restaurant known for its tapas, seafood and wine, we settled in quite warmly and found comfort in shared plates, small talk, and nostalgic toasts to love and life amid the laughter of other diners. We took it all in, a nightcap of sorts of the undeniable vibrancy we found ourselves in. Proof that even in uncertain times, America certainly knows how to celebrate.

Rain greeted us, however, early Easter Sunday, but it did little to dampen our spirits. We made our way to the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, the largest Catholic cathedral in the United States, for Easter mass. Inside, the vast domes and mosaics glowed softly in the dim light, offering a moment of stillness and contemplation amid the world’s turmoil.

After Mass, we boarded a Hop‑On Hop‑Off bus and traced the city’s iconic landmarks. The Washington Monument pierced the gray sky; the Lincoln Memorial stood solemn and stoic. The White House, visible only from a distant vantage point, seemed more like a fortress of the most powerful man on earth than his residence — its remoteness a stark reminder of heightened security in an era marked by a tumultuous world.

The famed cherry blossoms were unfortunately nowhere to be found to our dismay, either blown away by early winds or delayed by climate change. Their absence left a small ache, a reminder that nature follows no itinerary.

Among all the landmarks, the most searing was the Holocaust Memorial Museum. Its exhibits — letters, shoes, photographs, fragments of lives — stood as testimony to humanity’s darkest instincts opposite Jesus Christ’s ultimate sacrifice for man, ironically, the very reason for Christendom’s Easter celebration on this day. Walking somberly through its halls was a sobering counterpoint to the festive crowds outside, a harsh reminder that vigilance against hatred is a duty that brooks no boundaries.

We ended Easter Sunday with oysters and beer at Hank’s Bar, a simple meal that felt grounding after a day heavy with history and reflection.

The next morning, we boarded the Acela bullet train bound for Boston. The ride was smooth, the scenery a blur of early spring landscapes. In Lawrence, Massachusetts, we visited my shoe designer son-in-law’s workplace, a New Balance factory outlet — one of only five factories the brand maintains in the United States. In an era of global outsourcing in search of the lowest cost, it was surprising to see that an American company was still crafting shoes on its home soil. Apparently, Trump’s call to “Make America Great Again” is heeded after all.

From Boston, we drove to Hollis, New Hampshire, where my daughter welcomed us into her tree-strewn home. Two nights of family warmth, full-day shopping excursions to outlets, and quiet suburban calm offered a gentle pause in our month‑long odyssey.

Our penultimate stop was Saugerties, of the storied 1960s age of Woodstock in Upstate New York, where my son’s weekend home became our base for exploring the rugged beauty of the Hudson Valley. We drove through the Catskills and into the mountainous trails of Minnewaska, where cliffs, lakes, and forests unfolded in serene majesty.

The air was crisp, the vistas sweeping, the silence profound. After weeks of airports, cities, and crowds, the mountains were a reminder of God’s simple but breathtaking gifts to man.

As we journeyed our way back to our final stop, New York City, for our return flight to Manila, I couldn’t help reflecting on the mystifying irony of traveling through America at a time when the world feels increasingly broken. Conflicts continue to rage, alliances are shifting, and headlines are growing heavier by the day.

Yet our month‑long journey of family reunions, shared meals, scenic detours, and the quiet comfort of traveling with a loved one was joyful and beautiful in ways that overcome any trace of the unnerving uncertainties of the growing conflicts in the world.

In uncertain times, one should keep moving forward with life: to gather with loved ones, to witness beauty where it blooms, and to hold true to the small, cherished moments that remind us of our humanity.

Until next week… OBF!

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