I have realized that I no longer have such a good overview and control over the neighborhood. It fizzes and bubbles beneath the surface. Within the multi-million dollar homes’ many walls, there are low-key protests and advocacy campaigns. Some complain about trendy sidewalk restaurants. These spread during the pandemic and took up parking spaces. Others think it is too wrong that plastic concrete pigs are used to widen pavements rather than more beautiful, cast decoration. And then there are those who think it is becoming too close to tourists who eat and chew bagels in the streets. It is pulse and commitment, if nothing else. There are organized tours where people get to see and hear Georgetown’s history. Photo: Anders Tvegård / news Not everything goes smoothly A recurring story among the stories from Georgetown is the one about why there is no metro stop in the district. It is at least a 20-minute walk from the nearest station. It is said that the residents said no in the 1960s because the subway brought with it undesirable elements. The affluent district of the American capital risked becoming too accessible. A little more research reveals a bigger picture. The planners never imagined that the carriages would transport people to and from fashionable shops, cat cafes, charming restaurants and nightlife. The purpose was for workers to be transported between homes and offices. At the time, Georgetown didn’t score high on either part, so it was shelved. Lament of the rich As I turned down the camera and tripod after a report in Kveldsnytt about the unpredictable election campaign, an elderly lady came up to me and wanted to talk about the rats. Cecil Place is one of the most photographed quarters in DC Photo: Anders Tvegård / news She had noticed that I was wearing a tie and suit jacket in 36 degrees heat. She also saw that the style was not followed up with long trousers and polished shoes. – Estate agent? she tried carefully. – It is no longer enough to just post poison. The rat problem had to be included in the video prospectus, she said in frustration before I could say what my job was. Mary, I think her name was, was collecting signatures. The quarter had to complain to some kind of district committee. It is not only tourists who come to this postcard-famous area. It is also high season for four-legged pests. To make matters worse, the rats manage to bite holes in the waste bags of the many restaurants. And Mary was upset, because the rats had started sniffing around and crawling into historic Georgetown, where we live. Now she was to survey and, like other Americans, she does not whisper when she speaks. Herring Hill, it is called locally, where we stood. There is not a bone left of a herring now, but over 160 years ago, the river, which divides Georgetown from Washington, was full of fish. This was probably the Civil War’s best-protected city, wedged between the northern and southern states. Here was a short way to the tobacco growers’ slave quarters, or service quarters as they are called. But blacks also owned and managed business in these quarters. Before the discriminatory housing policies of the 1930s and 40s, gentrification, and its transformation from a working-class neighborhood to a “city within a city,” at least 30 percent of Georgetown’s residents were black. – Just push the lid down. It can’t be that difficult, can it? It is not very often that others interfere in conversations. We turned towards the voice, which came from the hedge. The caretaker looked like something out of Ghostbusters, with a rucksack on his back and a long vacuum cleaner-like thing in his hand. He was clearly distressed by the helplessness in the neighborhood. Today his task was to blow away leaves from beds and cobblestones. And obviously commenting on overheard conversations. – You feed them. Rats only come where there is food, he said a little grumpily, before the device was turned back on. Mary, who lived right next door to the butter-colored house of celebrity chef Julia Child, America’s answer to Ingrid Espelid Hovig, gaped at the suggestion. Julia Child held classes for neighborhood women. Men who were to taste the food did so under two conditions: don’t complain and eat everything on the plate. Photo: Anders Tvegård / news It was not the residents, but the new kebab shop, or the Indian restaurant, that attracted the rats. She knew that, because she had roamed the streets here for over 50 years. I haven’t been bothered, so it’s probably a very local problem. Twice a week the bin is emptied, and like most people, I put out the bin the night before, with scent bags. That America. The stench should not take over in the heat. Although Mary, I still think her name was, didn’t get a signature, she cleared up a couple of other things for me. For example, I got an answer to why so many people stop outside my terraced house and why the neighbors are like ferrets five blocks away. A victim of one’s own success First the last. A pink house has become a nuisance, but also a hit on social media. A pink street corner in Georgetown, where bagels are sold, is upsetting the neighbors because it has become too popular. Photo: Anders Tvegård / news They sell doughnut-shaped bread. The line of people who want to buy a bagel snakes around the street corner. Where there used to be a flower shop, there are now thick layers of salmon, turkey, pastrami with generous portions of mayonnaise, avocado and/or melted cheese. Definitely salad too. The food is eaten and spilled on the stairs in the nice neighborhood. Even President Joe Biden has stopped by. His chief of staff was previously a partner and investor in the delicatessen. The neighbors use the rat argument to get the doors closed. The pointed snouts have not yet been discovered, but better sooner than later and so on. A district court will rule on the neighbor’s complaint this autumn. Legally speaking, a case is being run on Georgetown’s zoning map, whether there can be a silk industry among the housing units. Insta-friendly Georgetown Georgetown is a hot spot for sharing status messages and photos. It is a well-documented neighborhood on social media. There are organized walks. The mobiles are raised high. President Joe Biden often comes to the Catholic Church in Georgetown. Photo: AP I recently realized that I live right next to the property where former first lady Jackie Kennedy stayed after the assassination of JFK. She moved from the residence with six bedrooms, today valued at around NOK 90 million, to New York. Apparently it became troublesome with all the tourists. My place is like a razor-thin line compared to the neighboring houses. But also directly across the street, the pattern is broken up in a nice barcode. The house there is seen as a rare art form. That is why groups, several times a week, stand outside and take pictures. Everyone has their backs to me. Washington, DC is in the top ten list of cities with the most new, small apartments in the USA, I read recently. The average is 67 square meters in new housing units. The House of Revenge The house next door was set up to annoy, it is said. It’s called spite house. A house of annoyance, according to the dictionary. Such houses are intended to deliberately obstruct a view or block access, ensure that there is no light breeze, or natural light, through an alley to a garden or a window. It is more strategically and legally easier than putting up a fence, supposedly. Since someone lives in the house, the tourists stand on my side of the street filling camera rolls. It is not a demanding task because the narrow building is just over three meters high, and with its three floors, it is sandwiched between two larger properties. A spite house in Georgetown. This is a narrow house allegedly built to annoy someone. The gray house in the picture is just over three meters wide. Photo: Anders Tvegård / news Now the origin is somewhat unclear. It has an insurance symbol cast on the wall. Either so that the fire brigade would know it was worth putting out, if something were to happen, or because it was genuinely loving. Some believe it was a jealous wife who bought up the few square meters before she moved out, and closed the property again. Others tell of a widow who wanted to build an annex for visitors. I have been looking out at the slim house every day from my home office. Not really thinking that it is an architectural tear in the eye, as the tourist guide, or Mary with the rats, tells. Now the news here is often so overwhelming that there is no time left to wonder about the well-being of unknown neighbours. But it might be time to head across the street to say hello. Maybe I should pack a bagel in the basket, a little out of defiance and a little out of curiosity, to see how they react to the neighborhood’s big talk? Published 03.08.2024, at 12.07
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