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trip.html
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<head>
<title>Guido's trip to the USA</title>
<!-- Changed by: Guido van Rossum, 11-Aug-1995 -->
</head>
<body>
<h1>USA trip report</h1>
<p>Last modified: Monday, June 26, 1995.
<p>Rather than beginning a detailed chronological trip report and
never finishing it, I'll write separate pieces on various subjects as
I feel like writing about them. I'll update sections when necessary;
updates are noted in the table of contents below, and I mark updated
paragraphs with a * and new paragraphs with a + in front.
<h2>Table of contents</h2>
(These links point to sections of the same page.)
<ul>
<li><a href="#essential">Essential data</a> [last modified: June 26]
<li><a href="#tom">Tom's adventures</a> [last modified: April 24]
<li><a href="#sport">Sporting events</a> [last modified: June 26]
<li><a href="#car">Car shopping</a> [created: April 24]
<li><A href="#licence">Getting a driver's licence</a> [updated: May 17]
<li><a href="#car2">More car shopping</a> [created: April 24]
<li><a href="#house">House shopping</a> [created: June 26]
</ul>
<h2><a name=essential>Essential data</a></h2>
<p>I'm here for a year. I arrived Saturday the 15th of April 1995. I
will be back in Holland for a week or two starting October 15, then
I'll be here again until somewhere in May.
<p>This is my brand new home address:
<pre>
11913 Crosswind Court
Reston, Virginia 22094
USA
Phone: +1 703 709-7438 <i>starting Thursday, June 29</i>
</pre>
<blockquote><b>NOTE added in 1999:</b> This is no longer my current
address!</blockquote>
<p>And this is my work address:
<pre>
CNRI
1895 Preston White Drive
Reston, Virginia 22091
USA
Phone: +1 703 620-8990
Fax: +1 703 620-0913
</pre>
<p>* Reston, in Virginia, is a suburb of Washington, DC. I've just
moved to my own place, ten minutes driving from work. (See <A
HREF="#house">House shopping</A> for war stories.) Before I had my
own place, I stayed for over two months with my friends Roger Masse
and Joyce Gearhart (and yes they're still my friends!) in Silver
Spring, Maryland, which is about 45 minutes from Reston on a good
day.
<p>My employer, <a href="http://www.cnri.reston.va.us/">CNRI</a>
(Centre for National Research Initiatives) is a small (~30 people)
not-for-profit research lab whose long term research goals are to
improve the infrastructure of the Internet. They get their money
mostly from government grants. My project is funded by the NSF
(National Science Foundation) although our direct "customer" is the
NLM (National Library for Medicine).
<p>I am here on an invitation from NIST (National Institute for
Standards and Technology), in Gaithersburg, Maryland (still close to
DC) where I spent two months last year as a guest researcher. I am
officially a guest researcher at NIST although I work (mostly) for
CNRI -- I will be visiting NIST one day every week or so.
<h2><a name=tom HREF="images/Tom2.jpeg">Tom's adventures</a></h2>
<p>Since I was going to be here for a year, I decided long ago that I
wanted to take my cat Tom with me. He's a somewhat shy 10 year old
male, tabby (i.e. gray/black tiger pattern) with an almost completely
black back, and everybody thinks he's cute.
<p>Here's how he survived the trip and adapted to his new environment.
<h3>Tom's trip</h3>
<p>I called various authorities and it's not so difficult to bring a
cat into the US. He needs a rabies shot at least 30 days and at most
12 months before he enters the country, plus a declaration of good
health signed by a vet. I took care of all this in January.
<p>Originally I though I would have to give him a tranquillizer pill
for the trip, but when I mentioned this to the vet who gave him his
rabies shot, he didn't think it was a very good idea: first, I would
have to experiment with the dose, which differs per cat; next, it
doesn't last the whole trip; and finally, he said, although it will
appear a traumatic experience at first, actually it's not such a big
deal for a cat: they're tough, and once he's on the plane he'll get
used to it and accept it. The whole trip will be forgotten soon after
he's free again.
<p>Traveling with a cat on a plane is more work than getting the
paperwork done: you need to request permission in advance to carry the
cat in the cabin (I didn't want to leave him on the luggage deck for 8
hours). You also need to pay as for oversize baggage. My travel
agent took care of this, at least I got a phone call and a letter from
them saying it was alright if I paid F. 318 at the airport.
<p>Of course, practice and theory differed. Tom didn't like it to be
locked up in a small box, and started howling, but that was to be
expected. At the check-in counter, nobody would believe that I had
requested and gotten permission to carry Tom on board until some
higher manager arrived. I paid my F. 318 and proceeded to the gate.
<p>Once on the plane, there was another problem: the box didn't fit
under a chair. Apparently this was a rule that the travel agent never
told me. Again, a high manager arrived and said that this was highly
unusual, but since there was enough space (in fact the plane was half
empty) I could leave him on the floor. He then proceeded to threaten
me that if I let Tom out of his box (which I had already made clear
wasn't my plan at all) he had ways of having the FAA wait for me at
the landing site.
<p>After this initial hassle, things went relatively well. The flight
personnel were friendly and asked how Tom was doing, and gave me some
water that I managed to force down his throat so he wouldn't
completely dry out. (Food was completely out of the question, the
poor animal was upset enough.) He moaned a lot, especially during
take-off and landing (when he seemed to double his volume and
everybody around me looked at us), but after cruising for a while he
was quiet as long as I didn't talk to him (then he would start crying
again for a while).
<p>I had put a towel in his box to make him comfortable, and of course
he wetted it somewhat, but other than that he didn't make a big mess.
In total, the vet was probably right.
<h3>Tom in America</h3>
<p>Looking back, I think Tom's adapted to his new environment much
faster and better than I had expected. After three days he was
already roaming around in the garden without fear, and after a week he
seemed pretty much at ease. My hosts (Roger and Joyce) have three
cats of their own, so we feared frightful confrontations, but these
have been mostly friendly.
<p>The first day we gave him his own place to feel comfortable: my
bedroom, where we put some food, water and a litter box for him. He
used all three within half an hour, but spent most time hiding under
the bed. If I came by and talked to him he would come out and let
himself be stroked, but generally he maintained a safe and hidden
position.
<p>Later that day he met one of the other cats. Maintaining a safe
distance, he hissed and roared frightfully, but since the other cat
(being more used to new animals in the house) didn't react
agressively, no fight broke out, and Tom eventually turned away.
<p>Sunday morning I got up really early and decided to wander around
the house somewhat. Tom followed me and when we reached the cat door
in the basement he needed only a little encouragement (read: a little
push) to use it. Careful but interested, he started to walk around in
the garden. I carried him back in, worried that he might get lost or
pick a fight with a strange cat (not one of Roger and Joyce's). The
rest of the day he sort of stayed in my room upstairs, but came out
occasionally to investigate other rooms of the house. Whenever he met
one of the other cats he started hissing and growling again, but none
of them wanted to fight (although two of them are males).
<p>During the next days we had to leave him alone for longer times.
Tuesday morning he went outside by his own choice and probably had a
good time -- when we came home he was back inside (in my room, his
hiding place). In the evening he ventured out again and wouldn't be
caught; only after I had gone to bed he came back in to use the litter
box and eat something.
<p>The following week, the pattern continued: although at times he
came back to my bedroom, he was around the house a lot, responded less
agressively to the other cats, and even engaged in regular petting
sessions with Joyce (Roger still scares him, though). At night he
sleeps in my room, on or besides the bed. The litter box remains
largely unused -- he must have discovered the comfort of the backyard
(especially the large forest-like park behind it)...
<h2><a name=sport>* Sporting events</a></h2>
My temporary hosts Roger and Joyce are absolute health and fitness
freaks. Roger has the physique of Arnold Schwarzenegger and his
nickname at work is "healthboy". Joyce isn't that muscular but looks
very healthy and fit, and both engage in at least one sporting
activity per day.
<h3>Swimming</h3>
<p>Standard practice on weekdays is to get up at or before 6 to go for
a swim in the Municipal pool. Before entering the water they do 20
minutes of sit-ups. They then swim for almost an hour (with some
short breaks). I generally join them (not for the sit-ups though!)
and manage to swim as long as they do. Although I'm more than a bit
slower, I still swim at least 64 25-meter laps each time, or at least
a mile!
<p>Using some advice from Roger and encouragement from both, I'm also
learning to swim front crawl, which I never managed at swimming
lessons when I was a kid. It's still a lot more exhaustive than
breast stroke, and I don't manage more than two laps of front crawl at
a time (usually I then do 5-10 laps of breast stroke to relax), but
I'm definitely improving -- it's all a matter of practice and
breathing technique...
<p>The pool is very modern, and not very crowded. There are 16 lanes
and normally no more than two people per lane (I've been told it's
busier at other times). We have our daily shower after swimming -- I
use a lot of shampoo to get rid of the chlorine taste!
<p>+ Predictably, my swimming schedule didn't last -- in the last two
weeks that I stayed with Roger & Joyce I went to the pool only
twice, and now that I've moved to Reston I'm completely on my own.
For a natural night owl like me, it's unlikely that I'll get up at 6
to go to the pool -- Reston has many good outdoor pools though, and I
should be able to swim at other times of the day or in the weekend...
<h3>In-line roller skating</h3>
Another favorite sport, more for the weekend, is in-line roller
skating. Roger and Joyce had taken me roller skating once before when
I was here last year, and the first Sunday of my current stay we went
again, to the same park (Seneca Creek State Park). This time my
friend Ken Manheimer also joined us. The roads in the park are very
smooth and quiet, so it is easy to skate. I am borrowing Roger's old
skates -- they are my size and although the buckles don't always stay
put, I am managing to stay upright on them. I'm also equipped with a
bicycle helmet, kneecaps (sometimes) and some kind of protective
thingies for my hands, but I haven't fallen a single time yet.
<p>In Holland, this would probably feel a lot like ice skating, but
since the park has hills, it is actually more like a combination of
ice skating against the wind (uphill) and downhill skiing (the
downhill parts). I quickly got the hang of it, and now feel quite
confident riding down a steep hill at an enormous speed!
<h3>Contact Improv</h3>
<p>Perhaps more an art than a sport, Contact Improv looks like a
combination of freestyle modern dance and yoga, but more
"touchy-feely". Sunday afternoon, after the roller skating, Ken took
me to a Contact Improv jam in downtown Washington. This was on a
small field at the "Mall", the big green area around which the
Congress, the White House and many monuments and museums are grouped,
and a big spot for tourists.
<p>We were joined by about a dozen people from Ken's regular Contact
Improv group, as well as a few Contact Improv people from elsewhere
(they are a bit like one big worldwide family). The weather was
marvelous, and at times I felt more like just lying in the grass, in
the sun, rather than joining the group activity (which is mostly
groups of two or three people keeping close and continuously varying
body contact for a short while before they regroup).
<p>+ I should write more about Contact Improv -- the weekly class and
jam at an old dance gym at American University in DC has become a
regular part of my Sunday afternoons, and I've also gone to a more
formal "class" once.
<h2><a name=car>Car shopping</a></h2>
<p>One of the necessities in life in the USA is a car. Last year, as
a visitor for two months, I rented one, but the cost of renting even a
small cranky car for a year would be prohibitively expensive, so I've
accepted my fate -- I'll have to buy one. Moreover, I'll have to buy
a new one -- with my total lack of mechanical insight, if I tried to
buy a used care I'm sure I'd waste my money on a lemon and would have
to spend a fortune on having it fixed each month...
<p>This Saturday, Roger took me car shopping. The plan was not to buy
anything, but to get more insight in what size, brand, model and
options I was interested in, as well as to figure out what would be
the best way to finance the thing. Fortunately, I did my homework:
the April issue of Consumer Report had a special on cars (this is the
great car buying season), with good advice, tips on how to haggle
(basically, you're a fool to pay the "sticker price"), and reviews of
more cars than I cared about. We managed to narrow the choice down to
a manageable number of mid-range mid-price cars: I don't like to feel
like sailing a boat, but given the length of the average commute in
this area (something like a half hour one way) I don't want a tiny car
either.
<p>Somehow the salesmen (they come in all colors but I've seen no
women do this job) can either tell by a mark on your forehead how many
dealers you've already visited, or they become less tenacious as the
day passes, or we became more experienced, but in any case, we spent
over two hours at the first dealer, more than one hour at the second,
and even less at the third one.
<p>The local Ford dealer was the lucky one to receive us first. We'd
heard good stories from Ken about the Contour (a new model). We were
welcomed into the store by Lou, an over-friendly if somewhat sweaty
young man in white shirt and tie (we, on the other hand, wore shorts
and T-shirts).
<p>We requested a test drive. No problem, the lot was full of new
Contours. What options did we want? Well, me being from Europe (it's
hard to deny...), I wanted to try out a manual transmission, and this
being a hot area in the summer Roger suggested that I wanted air
conditioning. The latter was no problem (although in theory an
option, it's installed on nearly all cars sold around here) but to
find one without an automatic transmission we had to search around the
lot for a while. Finally he found one. There was one problem: there
were cars parked all around it, so he had to move at least one other
car to get it out.
<p>It wasn't Lou's lucky day. He had to manoeuver a brand new
metallic green car through a narrow opening between two other cars,
and the end of it all was that one white car's bumper had a few green
scratches, and the green car had two dents and a number of scratches.
After this he had to drive our Contour through the same opening, which
he did with rather more care.
<p>Once we were safely parked outside the lot, Lou started praising
the car. In fact, we had a hard time stopping him praising the car.
Roger may actually have caught some of what he said, but for me the
lingo about "dual cams" and other technical advances was well above my
head.
<p>Finally, I could begin the test drive. After a few turns the car
proved to be quite comfortable, although Lou kept us busy with his
endless stream of praise for the car.
<p>Next, we asked if we could also test an automatic. Sure! This
time Lou took considerably more care to move the cars that surrounded
the desired model, and soon enough, the test drive could begin. It
felt AWFUL! I have driven many automatic cars (it's hardly impossible
to find a rental with manual transmission) but I've never had the
opportunity to compare a manual transmission to an automatic
transmission on the same car. Now I know why in Europe, automatic
transmissions are still considered to be for sissies (my American
friends got a big laugh when I mentioned the image of the average
driver of an automatic in Europe as an elderly lady).
<p>The test drives together took us less than an hour, but Lou wasn't
ready to let go of us just yet. Perhaps our attempts to pose as
serious buyers were too successful, perhaps he just was in a fighting
mood, anyway he tried every trick in the book (and in particular
everything I had read in an articule in Consumer Report on car
salesmen) to keep us in his office and to tempt us to agree to a buy
there and then. Several times he walked up to his sales manager to
ask if he could lower his price (tactic: leave them alone for a long
time). He mentioned that he would be able to make a really good price
if we were ready to buy today (tactic: try to hurry them into buying
instead of checking the competition). He dazzled us with numbers
about monthly payment terms, 24-, 36- and 48-month leases, and
interest figures. He wrote down our names, addresses, phone numbers
and other personal data. Yet he could not produce a glossy folder
("they were all taken out on a road show and the stock pile is on an
attic in supplies that I can't reach now") nor a business card.
<p>Eventually the sales manager joined us and tried the same tactics,
only with more authority in his voice. After more than an hour of
negotiating the price had gone down only $500 or so from the sticker
price -- while I knew that Ken had bought his Contour, with at least
$1000 worth of extra options, for only a little more!
<p>Finally we got the message through that we were interested but not
today. We were shown out of the showroom, with promises of a glossy
folder in the mail by Monday, and good luck on our search for the
perfect automibile.
<p>The next dealer, where we investigated the Geo Prizm (which I liked
almost as much during the test drive as the Contour), tried the same
tactics, but this salesman was a lot less experienced, and never got
us to the bargaining phase. He did walk up to the finance department
a few times and cam back with wildly incongruent and ubelievably high
numbers for the monthly payments, so we left him alone in his
confusion and moved to dealer number three.
<p>At Honda, things are done differently. We got to spin two models
(a larger and a smaller one, because I wanted to feel the difference)
without being accompanied by the salesman, who appeared to be busy
closing another deal. I didn't particular like either car, and our
guy was happy to see us leave, it appeared. Perhaps it was because of
the three marks on our foreheads?
<p>Anyway, it was 4.30 PM by now, and we hadn't had lunch yet, so we
decided to get some. Roj took me to a place where, he said, Joyce
would never come. Indeed, the place specialized in sandwiches and
hamburgers of the kind that has made America the land of cholesterol
-- but the service was friendly while unobtrusive, the decor was
homey, and the cheeseburger and fries were excellent.
<p>Later that day, we test drove two Toyota's, again a larger and a
smaller model. The salesboy took us on a tour of the lot in search
for the car we wanted -- which was nearly impossible to find because
Toyota doesn't seem to believe in manual transmissions. Their lot is
f***ing HUGE -- and it was getting chilly while we were still dressed
the same as earlier. Luckily he found an unattended vehicle that we
could use to drive back to the office so he could pick up the keys,
and to drive us back to the car we wanted...
<p>[to be continued, but first...]
<h2><a name=licence>Getting a driver's licence</a></h2>
<p>I realized that, in order to be able to <i>drive</i> a car that I
would buy, I needed it to be insured first -- and to get car
insurance, I would need to have a local driver's licence.
<p>I called the Maryland Motor Vehicle Administration (MVA). They
have a computerized system now that lets you press the buttons on your
phone to hear prerecorded messages on all kinds of subjects.
Unfortunately you have to listen until the end of each message before
you can make a menu selection, and if you make a mistake you are
generally thrown back in the main menu, so it took me half an hour to
find out what I had to do. Then again, CNRI has phones with speakers
so at least my left ear didn't get burnt, and I could do some work in
the mean time.
<p>On a nice sunny Monday, I drove to the MVA office. A line of
people started around the corner of the building, reminding me of the
rides in Disneyland -- so I was glad I brought a book with me.
Fortunately, within two minutes I found out that I was in the wrong
line -- this was for licence plates ("tags"), and I needed to enter
the line for driver's licences, which started inside the building. I
filled out my form, read my book for half an hour, and finally it was
my turn. Passport, Dutch driver's licence, everything was okay. Now
what did I have to do next? "Go to the law office down the hall for a
law and eye test, they'll tell you what to do next."
<p>The MVA's "law office" was a small room equipped with a bunch of
computers. The eye test took about four seconds (stick my head in a
kind of Viewmaster machine and read the text at the bottom line). For
the law test I had to sit in front of a computer that was programmed
to ask twenty multiple choice questions, such as "which of these three
pictures is the hand gesture for making a left turn?" and "when you
see flashing red or orange lights, what should you do?" I missed only
two out of twenty, but got several others right only by sheer
guesswork.
<p>So what was next? It turned out that I really had to take a driving
test (the first officer had circled this on my form and had also
written "D.T." on it in large letters). But first I had to sit in on
a "3 Hour Alcohol and Drugs Education Program", required by the State
of Maryland. The MVA doesn't organize this -- I got a bad photocopy
of a list of driving schools and drugs rehab centers that apparently
were licenced by the state to give these classes.
<h3>Alcohol and drugs education</h3>
<p>The next day at CNRI I phoned around to some of the listed
addresses. Prices varied between $20 and $35, but times were
remarkably similar: once a week, usually on Saturday. I chose the
cheapest class, which also happened to be nearby where I lived. Class
would be this Saturday at 1 PM.
<p>The same night there was a message on Roger & Joyce's voicemail
(that's like an answering machine but it's done by the phone company's
computers) that the class had been moved to 9 AM. Oh well.
<p>That Saturday, I drove to the given address. Although the building
was easily found, it didn't carry a large friendly neon sign with the
name of the driving school that I had selected ("Easyway Driving
School" -- it gave me a sense of comfort). On the ground level there
were a bank office and something like a hair salon, but nothing that
resembled a driving school. There was an open door which led up to
stairs. A sign listed a variety of small businesses, but no driving
school. I began to panic -- especially since it was 5 past 9 by now.
<p>I decided to go upstairs anyway and see what was there. It didn't
look good. Most offices looked like they were in the early stages of
remodelling -- i.e. the furniture had been removed and there were
people ripping ceilings out and removing trash. Just when I was about
to give up, I noticed a closed door with a red sign nailed on it.
"Easyway Driving School" it said. So I knocked... And was let in.
<p>The classroom was a nearly bare room (only a desk, a video, a
whiteboard and some foldable chairs), but it was clear that it was
being used for lessons in traffic theory, from the pile of "situation
boards" lying in a corner. I bet there was a box of toy cars
somewhere as well, but was quickly sucked into the practicalities of
class, such as signing my name and address and paying my $20.
<p>There were only 4 "students" -- the other three were women. Two of
them were accompanied by their husband or boyfriend (the third woman's
husband was waiting outside. There was loud banging to be heard
during parts of the class, and at one point two ceiling boards near
the side were removed from our room...
<p>The teacher, a friendly black man from Nigeria, taught of math and
English in high school -- it must have been a relief for him to have a
quiet class for a change. He didn't hide the fact that his story was
highly politically motivated. The State of Maryland wants us to drink
as much as we like and to drive as much as we like, as long as we
don't drink and drive. (Sure I though, both drinking and driving must
bring in lots of taxes :-)
<p>About drugs, on the other hand, he had only bad things to tell. Of
course, marijuana is listed with equal status as crack, heroine and
some things I hadn't even heard of (not that he made us any wiser --
all he told us about PCP was what the acronym stands for).
<p>Near the end he shamelessly started to tell us the answers to the
twenty multiple choice questions (20 seems to be the standard number
:-) that awaited us at the end of the class. The test itself took
about five minutes -- all of us passed with perfect scores. The
remaining 25 minutes were devoted to carefully writing out the
certificates. I got mine last because I lived closest -- nice touch
(for the others)!
<p>Now all I need is show up at the MVA with my certificate to take a
driving test. Any workday between 8.30 and 4.30 is okay, no need for
an appointment. I'm told that it only takes 15 minutes, so what do I
have to fear...?
<h3>Driving test</h3>
<p>Nothing, it turns out. On Thursday morning I borrowed Roger's car
(he was ill, how convenient :-) and drove to the MVA. The building was
a lot quieter than the first time! After only a moderate amount of
queueing I found the driving test office, where I was given a piece of
cardboard with a number written on it and told to drive around the
building to the place where the test started, and to wait for the
examiner.
<p>So I did. There were no other cars. The examiner showed up,
checked my name etc., and told me the procedure. Basically, we were to
drive around in a "playground" next to the MVA's parking lot, where toy
traffic signs indicated make-believe traffic situations. There was no
other traffic; he told me to imagine that there was though, to make
things "more realistic".
<p>Apart from stopping at a stop sign, yielding at a yield sign, and
using my blinkers at left and right turns, there were three "tasks" I
had to perform: driving backwards in a straight line, turning in a
narrow "box", and parallel parking. For the latter I needed three
tries -- the third try was perfect.
<p>This was it. There was no interaction with other traffic. Still, I
was a little nervous -- had I used my blinkers correctly? Had he seen
me look in my mirrors? No worry, I passed. I had failed to observe
traffic a few times, but the examiner helpfully suggested that if there
had been actual traffic around, I would have observed it...
<p>So back to the office for my licence.
<p>Whoa, not so fast... Turns out there was a reason why the building
was so quiet. On all desks, a sign said "computers are down", and the
help desk confirmed that they were down "indefinitely". I was offered
the choice to wait "indefinitely" or come back at a later time. Seeing
that there was still plenty of time for a full work day at CNRI, I
chose the latter.
<p>Saturday morning, I returned to the MVA. Busy, busy, busy! So the
computers were up. First line: to get a number for the real line.
Second line, about half an hour, to get my form verified and entered
into the computer. Third: for the cashier, to pay my $30. Fourth:
for the camera, to get my picture taken. ("Where did you get those
great glasses?") Fifth line: waiting for the actual licence.
Actually, the whole procedure took only about an hour. Curious thing:
today, nobody was interested in seeing my passport or Dutch driver's
licence -- I could have given my form (which proved that I had passed
the test etc.) to anyone and they would have come in possession of a
genuine Maryland driver's licence wih their picture on it... But I
didn't -- I kept it to myself.
<p>Now fully licenced, I decided to go:
<h2><a name=car2>More car shopping</a></h2>
<p>After the previous shopping experience, I had decided that it would
be a tie between the Geo Prizm and the Ford Contour; but first I wanted
to test the Dodge Neon. I had rented a Neon last year and liked it
better than most other rental vehicles, if only because it wasn't so
BIG and didn't have so many electric gadgets (power locks, windows,
mirrors). It also has distinctive looks, and is available in red.
<p>Another realization was that I would pay for it in cash. Both the
Ford and the Geo dealer that I had previously seen, came up with very
unfavorable numbers for leasing or borrowing money, based on my status
as an alien with no provable (US) credit record. Then came the
realization that I actually had enough money in my Dutch savings to
just pay cash, being my own bank -- surely borrowing money would cost
me more in interest than the corresponding amount of money in a savings
account could ever yield. Moreover, everybody pictured the image of
car dealers drooling at the thought of getting a car paid for in cash,
which would give me a better bargaining position. So I emailed Sjoerd
(the keeper of my money in Holland) to transfer a suitable amount to my
US bank account, just in case I would decide on buying a car soon...
<p>Thus decided, I went to the Neon dealer. The test drive was
uneventful but I didn't really like the way the clutch operated -- this
could be "newness" however. The saleswoman (!) touted Neon's superior
horsepower compared to the other cars I was interested in (although she
didn't really understand why I was comparing it to a Ford Contour, a
bigger car). I couldn't leave the shop without trying to negotiate a
price, she was ready to go about $1K5 below the sticker price.
<p>Next stop, Geo. (All dealers conveniently in the same "Auto Park",
about five minutes from Roger & Joyce.) This time I could actually test
drive the red Prizm that was in the showroom the last time I was here.
Driving it felt considerably better than the Neon, never mind its lower
horsepower. The salesman explained this was due to the Prizm's higher
"torque". What's torque? Never mind -- this techno-talk is completely
lost on me, I have to rely on my intuition and Consumer Report. We
drove by Roger and Joyce, who were busy in the garden. The salesman
even helped Joyce determine that the insects flying around the house
were winged ants, not termites. Surely a useful fellow!
<p>He was very insistent on doing business with me -- I barely escaped
without agreeing on a sale, but he eventually accepted my explanation
that I wanted to compare it with the Contour. He did immediately agree
with my suggestion to set the price at $200 above the "Factory Invoice"
-- a figure indicating what the dealer paid the factory for the car,
undoubtedly almost as fictitious as the "Sticker Price" (the first
asking price, which nobody ever pays). This brought the car's price
down by about $750 (assuming he wasn't lying). Notice that I didn't
have any money with me -- he still wanted to close the deal today,
saying that I could write a check when the money had actually arrived
in my bank account sometime next week. Even my being uninsured didn't
worry him -- I could get temporary insurance via the dealer. But first
I wanted to see the Contour...
<p>Of course I had forgotten that this was the most tenacious dealer of
all. The test ride went very smooth (this time no other cars were
injured). I believe I drove the same car as the previous time, and I
liked it as much. The comparison with the Geo was difficult -- the
Contour is definitely bigger and has a more powerful engine, but
driving it felt similar, and featurewise this car was sparser equipped
(no sunroof or pinstripe or floormats) but sported electric mirrors.
The trunk looked considerably bigger.
<p>However, the real reason that I bought it was the salesman's
perseverance. He simply did not want to mention a price, but instead
challenged me to name my price. Scary tactics! I first tried the same
trick as with Geo ("$200 above factory invoice) but he laughed me away
(without ever telling me how much that would have been). Then I
decided to compare it to the Geo. The sticker prices of the two cars
happened to be almost the same (the Prizm is somewhat cheaper but the
sunroof and a few extras added more than the Contour's electric
mirrors). So I named the same figure that the Geo would go for.
<p>But first I took care of a little trick that he wanted to play on
me: normally, negotiated prices don't include tax, title and tags, but
sometimes, the dealer also adds "Destination Charges" on top. This can
amount to about $500. It's purely a trick, since it's already included
in the sticker price, so I insisted on dropping it. When he heard my
figure, he frowned (but didn't laugh!) and said it would be difficult
to try and convince the sales manager, but that he would try. He was
back within a minute. "Congratulations!"
<p>So now I had to buy it. OK, the price did sound right, I liked the
Contour better than the Prizm, and what the heck -- I had to make up my
mind one of these days anyway, so why not now. And anyway, I had no
choice -- I had promised to buy if this price was right.
<p>Before I could drive home in my new car, a few formalities had to be
fulfilled, and the car had to be cleaned. I was getting hungry (it was
4PM and I had sort of skipped lunch, coming to the Auto Park straight
from the MVA) but the excitement of actually getting the car sort of
compensated. My patience was severely tested. I had to wait, sign a
thousand forms, wait more, sign more forms, listen to a sales talk for
optional warranties and anti-rust treatments, wait, sign more forms,
and finally wait another half hour while the car was being cleaned.
The biggest form I had to sign was a loan agreement -- in case I
wouldn't come up with the cash within ten days, I would have agreed to
finance the car at some extraordinary rate...
<p>So here I am, the proud owner of a brand new 1995 Ford Contour.
The color, by the way, is called "champagne" -- it's actually a silvery
metallic color, with a touch of gold. Ken said this was the color he
had wanted for his Contour but didn't get, ha ha! In the mean time, I
haven't arranged my own insurance yet (I signed a form so it goes on
the dealer's insurance for loaner cars) and my savings are still
underway (I'm praying they arrive in my bank account before the 24th of
May), but otherwise I'm very happy with my newly acquired piece of
freedom. The next thing I need now is my own apartment -- time to make
a study of the Apartment Shoppers Guide!
<h2><a name=house>+ House shopping</a></h2>
<p>When I moved in with Roger & Joyce in Silver Spring, I thought
it would take me just a few weeks to find my own place. What I hadn't
counted on were a number of limiting factors, such as: (1) the need to
have a car before I could go house shopping; (2) I was working long
hours (average 9-10 hours in May) and spending an hour and a half or
two hours per day commuting between Silver Spring and Reston, so at
week nights I didn't have any energy left to even <I>think</I> about
house shopping (and I often needed the weekends to recover); (3) I had
to make my mind up where I wanted to live.
<p>Beginning with the latter (deciding where to live), initially I
decided I wanted to live in Maryland. Almost all of my friends live
there and of course they like their state better than "red-neck"
Virginia. Also, I dreaded having to go through all the hoops again in
Virginia to get a new driver's licence, tags for my car, etc.
However, it dawned upon me that I might not like to commute an hour
and a half or more for the rest of the year.
<P>It appeared possible to live in Maryland but close to the Virginia
border, so I first directed my house hunting to that area -- in
particular Glen Echo and Bethesda, the suburbs closest to the border.
These cummunities are also said to have an "artsy" or "liberal" or
"left wing" attitude which would suit me just fine. So I looked
through the classified ads in the Saturday and Sunday morning
Washington Post. The category "Unfurnished Apartments for Rent,
Maryland" seemed to suite me just fine.
<H3>Bethesda or Glen Echo, Maryland...?</H3>
<P>I found lots of ads that mentioned Bethesda as location and didn't
explicitly mention "no pets", and started calling the listed numbers.
Many of the numbers were answered by machines. I left my name and
number and why I called, but almost nobody returned my call.
Fortunately, a few times the phone was picked up by a real person, and
after verifying that the location was right, and they wouldn't object
to a cat, I was allowed to have a look at a few places. These were
all basement appartments -- given the popularity of the area, that was
probably all I could hope for within my budget.
<P>The first place was rented out by an old couple. This was a
basement apartment of a big house, in a nice old part of Glen Echo.
Unfortunately, that was about the only nice thing you could say about
it. The landlady was somewhat retarded and confused and paranoid
(lots of things I couldn't do), and the apartment was horrible. There
were only very small windows (OK so it was a basement -- but the house
was built on a hill so the entrance was at the garden level, yet there
was only a tiny window on that side). Adding to the very dark
appearence was the prevailing color: brown. The ceiling looked like
it could fall down any moment. There was no full kitchen -- only a
small sink and a microwave and a "bar style" counter. There were a
washer/dryer to be shared with the landlord's family, who preferred to
do their laundry on Saturday mornings -- my preferred day to sleep in.
On top of all that, there was a very noisy heater and air conditioner
in one corner, serving the whole house. I thanked the couple for
showing me around, even took their application form, and left.
<P>The next place I looked at was ten thousand times better. Also a
basement apartment, it was brand new, with a fully equipped kitchen
(OK so there wasn't a lot of space besides sink, stove and fridge), no
shared appliances, and a friendly yuppie couple as landlords (she as
American as they come, he from Algeria and talking with a thick French
accent, both very nice and eager to rent so they could pay the
mortgage). The only big problem was that the house was on a busy main
road. While the front yard was big enough that the cars and buses
didn't appear to drive through the bedroom (thanks to double paned
windows), it would be impossible to let Tom outside -- I'd fear for
his life every minute. Sure, he's not blind or deaf and rather
intelligent for a cat, but evolutionally he's just not equipped to
cope with things coming at him at a speed of 40 miles per hour. And
after the time he'd spent at Roger & Joyce's place, where he could
freely walk in and out and play in the woods, I'd hate to lock him
inside for the rest of the year.
<P>I found location number three through a real estate agent who'd
left a business card on the bulletin board of the Glen Echo CO-OP (an
environmentally correct health food store). He found an address in
his database and made an appointment for me to come and see it Monday
evening after work. Good, I though, then I can test how long the
commute will be! By the time I found the place I had decided that I
wouldn't take it -- it took me 40 minutes. This was probably a bad
day for traffic and I wasted a little time finding it, but this was
clearly not a significant improvement over living in Silver Spring!
So when the door was answered by a young couple who had just moved in
a week ago (must've been a mistake in the realtor's database that it
was still listed as "available") I wasn't at all disappointed -- even
though this would have been an ideal place for me & Tom to live.
<P>Right there and then, I decided that I would start looking in
Virginia instead. The next day I called Ken Buchanan, a Virginia
realtor who had been recommended to my by a number of people at CNRI.
I had talked to Ken before, but since he only works in Virginia I had
initially decided not to pursue it any further. Now I was ready for
him, and he was ready for me.
<H3>Vienna, Virginia...?</H3>
<P>But first, I looked at the Virginia section of the classified ads,
and had a look at two of them. One was a nice and tidy small
townhouse in Vienna, maybe 20 minutes from Reston, in a quiet
neighborhood, surrounded by trees. (A townhouse is a single-family
home in a row of similar homes -- what the Dutch call "rijtjeshuis".
Townhouses are looked down upon somewhat because they defeat the
American Dream principle of a free-standing home for everyone. I
could've looked for apartments but most of those are in highrises
which don't tickle my fancy very much.) The owner had lived there
before and she told me she liked the neighborhood so much that they'd
bought a new home less than mile away. The only drawback for me was
that it appeared to be a a little far away -- the road from Reston to
Vienna is narrow and busy, and there are some nasty stoplights in
Vienna. Also I wasn't ready to say "yes" right there and then yet to
the first place that I actually liked.
<P>Another place I visited in Vienna was a three bedroom basement
apartment. It had doors opening to a lawn and the rooms on that side
were bright enough, but in general it made a fairly dark impression.
Another thing about it that I didn't like about it was the building
style: a row of four-storey concrete blocks, separated by lawns and
trees. Sure, in the seventies it must have looked very modern and
bright, and I've seen much worse in poor neighborhoods, but it just
didn't feel right.
<H3>Reston, Virginia...?</H3>
<P>By this time, Ken Buchanan had a whole collection of townhouses
lined up for me. He gave me a list of ten different townhouses for
rent in Reston. He'd checked all of them for availability and
acceptability of pets. (These realtor's computer print-outs are
amazing. Unfortunately it took me a long time before I understand
enough of their abbrev's -- "OWC PET" means "Owner Will Consider Pet",
a very important for me!)
<P>I took a couple of hours off one afternoon and had a look (on my
own) from the outside at every single townhouse on Ken's list. There
sure is a lot of variation in townhouses! Some were HUGE, others not
so. Some were built of concrete in the seventies and showing serious
signs of decay. Some seemed to be located in lousy areas -- bored
highschool kids hanging around in the parking lots, lots of trash,
tiny gardens. Others seemed to be built in totally sterile locations,
everything neat and tidy, "Neighborhood Watch" signs at every corner.
Some were just right except that they were very close to a busy road.
<P>There was one that looked just right for me and Tom. Tucked away
at the end of a small neighborhood, with woods and (according to my
map) a little stream behind it, and the sun shining upon it at just
the right angle, it simply invited me to come and live there. Better
still, it was about five minutes (by car) away from CNRI, mostly on
quiet streets.
<P>So I called Ken Buchanan, and the next day we went there and
visited the inside. It was less tidy than what I'd hoped for. The
current tenant hadn't really taken good care of it, the kitchen was
filthy, and there were two smelly ferrets in cages in the basement.
(Why anybody would want a ferret as a pet is beyond me, but they are
very popular here!) Yet, if the landlord would clean up (that's
usually part of the contract anyway) the current tenant's mess was
none of my business, and otherwise the place looked fine -- no holes
in the walls, as Ken expressed it, and the airconditioning appeared to
work fine (a definite requirement in this part of the country). So
together with Ken I filled out a three-page application form and a
standardized five-page rental agreement form, both in quadruplicate,
gave Ken a check for $20 for processing of the application, and said
my prayers.
<P>The next day, Friday, about 20 mintes to 6, as I was about to
finish up and go to the premiere of Batman Forever with Ken, Barary
& Jane, I got a call from Ken. In our hurry to get the forms
filled out we had overlooked a few details. I had to initial each
page of each form (I'd only signed the last page of each) and the
check I had written was in the wrong name (it should be the landlord's
realtor). I hurried over to Ken's office to correct the mistakes and,
due to exceptionally light traffic, made it to the movie in time.
<P>By Monday, Ken hadn't heard from the landlord's realtor yet. That
evening he finally heard from them, but it was not all good news: I
had to fill out a different application form, which cost $15 more, and
moreover, because of the unlikelihood of getting my credit checked in
the usual way, they wanted someone from CNRI to co-sign the lease.
This was quite unusual, and I quickly found out that CNRI would have
nothing of it. After all, this makes the co-signer responsible for
any debts if I were to disappear. Instead, we planned a scheme
whereby my credit cards would serve as a reference for my good credit.
But the next morning, after I'd filled out the new form and written a
new check, Ken looked in his computer again, and found out that the
place was now rented to someone else. Nasty. Of course you can't
prove anything, but it sure sounded like they had just given me three
impossible things to do to buy some time...
<H3>Reston, Virginia...!</H3>
<P>But Ken didn't despair. Within twenty minutes he faxed me a new
list of ten places to look at. Some I had already seen and rejected
in my first round, but there were a few new ones and one for which I
couldn't remember why I didn't like it so just to be sure I had
another look at it. This one and another one in the same neighborhood
actually looked quite alright from the outside, so that same evening
Ken and I had a look at both inside.
<P>It was easily decided which one we would try first. There was one
that was available immediately, immaculately clean. It had an
interesting, unusual wedge-shaped floor plan, with one large room on
each of three floors. The other was more traditional, with no
basement and three small bedrooms upstairs, and the current tenants,
who had lots of junk and (yes!) a ferret for a pet, were in the middle
of moving out (not that we met them -- it was obvious from the piles
of stuff on the floor and the disconnected washer in the middle of one
room).
<P>We managed to recycle most of the rental application and lease
forms that I had already filled out, so we had to fill out only a new
front page of each (listing the correct address and so forth). I'd
run out of checks (luckily I'd gotten them all back unused), so I gave
Ken $30 in cash for the application fee. This was very unusual, he
said, and indeed, we later found out that the office processing the
application had faxed copies of the bills to the owner, who had a good
laugh out of it but not the warm fuzzy feeling he would've gotten from
a faxed copy of a check written in his name. Oh well...
<P>A day later Ken called me again. This time we were lucky! My
lacking credit record did not put off this owner or his realtor, and
they definitely went for my offer (Ken's idea) to start renting the
last week of June instead of per July 1st -- this yielded an extra
week's rent.
<P>So on Saturday morning, 11 AM, Ken & I showed up at my new
address, and met the landlord (an airline pilot) and his agent. We
filled in a few blanks in the lease form and initialed them, I handed
over two banker's checks (one for the rent, one as a deposit) that my
bank had printed for me earlier at a $20 fee (cash would have been
easier but by now I had grasped that no-one in this country likes cash
any more...).
<P>There were some minor formalities, and we found an unpleasant
surprise in the basement level room: someone had (very recently, since
Ken & I had looked at the place two days before) tried to break
in. They hadn't succeeded, but they had broken the flyscreen and one
pane of glass in the double-paned door. Luckily, the landlord took
full responsibility and called the police and promised to have it
fixed. His insurance would probably pay for it anyway.
<P>Much though I'd wanted to, I couldn't move in the same day: I had
three more social engagements that more than filled my day. First
there was a special Contact Improv class that would last most of the
afternoon; next, Joyce's sister Lynn gave a dinner party; and finally,
I wanted to see Barry's new band play at a club in downtown Bethesda
later that night (the band wasn't new, but Barry is their new base
player).
<P>But Sunday, nothing was going to stop my. I packed a small part of
my stuff in two suitcases and drove over. On the way, I bought some
essentials that I thought I couldn't live without, like a vacuum
cleaner, a telephone and a bunch of towels (remember, I came into this
country carrying two suitcases full of clothes and CDs and not much
else; since then I've bought a computer and some books and more CDs,
but hardly anything else).
<P>Once I'd delivered this to my new address, there was more shopping
to do: cat food and cat litter, bowls and a litter box, and all those
things everyone has in the kitchen like spunges, a trash can, dish
cloths, hand soap, plastic containers, etc. Luckily, this is a
one-stop shopping country, and I could find all of this at K-mart. I
could've picked up the cat things there too, but as a matter of
principle I bought that at the local pet store -- unfortunately it
looked like it was about to go out of business, if not by lack of
clientele or through K-mart's competition, then probably because the
owner, a friendly and helpful woman in her late 40s, couldn't count or
calculate my change correctly if her life depended on it...
<P>Next stop, Mattress Discounters. The salesman, the type full of
old jokes, let me try a numer of different mattress styles, and sold
me the most expensive Queen Size mattress in the store, at a discount
price because it was the week of the fourth of July sale. I let him
do it because I didn't want to waste time shopping around, and what
good is a home without a bed? Unfortunately, he couldn't deliver it
until Thursday.
<P>By now, I had really set my mind on moving in today, so (once back
in Silver Spring to pick up Tom and the few remaining bits of my
stuff) I called Ken for help. He promised to lend me an old futon of
his (this is a sort of flat mattress made of cotton, very popular with
new age people). It turned out that, with Tom on the front seat, my
computer in boxes on the rear seats and some other bulky stuff (like
my CD collection, two months of accumulated paperwork, and the only
piece of furniture I had bought so far -- a standing 300 Watt halogen
lamp of which there are at least five in every home, since Home Depot
sells them under $17 a piece) in the trunk, the only place where the
futon would fit was on top of the computer, blocking my rear view
mirror completely. Oh well, for once I would have drive only 55 miles
per hour in the rightmost lane on the Beltway, rather than passing
everyone at 70 in the leftmost lane. It was worth it!
<P>Tom, by the way, did not like the trip. He was in alarm mode the
entire time, which means that he emits one extremely loud and
frightful miaow about every three seconds. I let him out of his box,
and he explored the car (minus the driver's seat, fortunately) but
this didn't stop him from complaining. Neither did friendly words,
caresses, or anything else I could think of, even tuning the radio to
a classical station.
<P>Upon arrival he quieted down almost immediately. However, he
hasn't yet taken a liking of his new surroundings. I think it is the
lack of furtinure that's putting him off -- there are no couches to
hide on, chairs to sit on, or dressers to hide behind. He has
inspected all walk-in closets and decided that the best place for him
to hide is in the closet where I keep my clothes (perhaps this gives
hime the most "inhabited" feel), underneath the shoe-rack. This
probably really is the best hiding spot in the house -- the amazing
thing is that he found it within ten minutes.
<P>This is about the state of things at the moment. I've convinced
the water and electricity companies to keep me connected and send me
the bills, and Bell Atlantic is willing to connect me to their phone