The following was published in the Travel section of the Philadelphia Inquirer, November 29, 1998:

A Capital Idea: Exploring the D.C. Metro

The modern tube beckoned. Could it steal the affection of a rider who reveres the history of the New York subway?

I exited the double doors at the end of the shopping promenade and approached the top of a long steep escalator. With no signs to reassure me, I took it on faith this was it and stepped forward, descending into the deep abyss below. I purchased a fare card from a machine, passed through a turnstile, walked a few paces— and stopped.

My eyes fixated on a magnificent, temple-like complex sprawled out ahead. A spotless tiled floor complemented concave walls. In the distance, the pathway opened out into a gigantic concrete tube encompassing two tracks and platforms. Along the edge of the platforms ran a cement strip of evenly spaced lights imbedded in the surface. Conspicuously absent were pillars of any kind, litter, graffiti and stench.

I stood there, my jaw drooping a bit. “This,” I thought to myself with bitter envy, “is a subway.”

So began my reintroduction to the famous Washington Metro, a subway system reminiscent of a subterranean Egyptian tomb— a subway that, like New York’s, tens of thousands of tourists will be riding over the next several weeks from one holiday entertainment to another. My weeklong stay in Washington would take me to numerous stations on several different lines, into Virginia and Maryland. I would ride in the morning and late at night, near and far, sometimes unnecessarily playing the part of the inconspicuous native as best I could, but all the while observing my surroundings with the most critical of native New Yorker’s eyes, maintaining a haughty “What do they have that we don’t have?” attitude.

What started out as an innocent state of mind, though, soon flourished into a burning curiosity. How does the Metro retain tourist attraction status, while New York’s subway is notoriously snubbed as a rotten part of the Apple? (And Philadelphia’s? It barely figures into the tourist equation.) More important, could the Washington Metro, with all its allure, possibly oust New York from its place in this devotee’s mind as the subway with the most character?

One week and several fare cards later, with the psyche of the most seasoned Washington commuter ingrained in me, I had my answers.

Washington’s Metro stands out as something of a spectacle amid a crop of prominent landmarks. Touted by guidebooks as a necessary part of any itinerary, both architecturally and as a means of transportation, and described by the Washington Post as a “key piece of the Washington woodwork,” it has earned its spot among the famed attractions of the nation’s capital. By the same token, the subway has proven itself equally as popular with residents; with more than 275,000 riders per weekday, it is a heavily used method of commuting in D.C.— and is, some people say, the most enjoyable.

Having opened only 22 years ago, the Metro is one of the United States’ youngest and most modern subways. In keeping with its youth, its stations are clean and safe, its fare-card system efficient, and the lines themselves easy to navigate. Elevators at every station make the whole system wheelchair-accessible, while escalators provide respite for other passengers.

New York’s subway, meanwhile, finds itself at the opposite end of the spectrum. At a ripe old age of 94, its infamy precedes it, with dirty stations, decrepit cars, and an infinitely complex array of lines keeping the lighthearted at bay. Elevators are installed at fewer than two dozen of the 468 stations (many of which will never physically be able to accommodate them), and only recently has the Transit Authority finished implementing the Metrocard system, now giving riders free subway-to-bus transfers.

To complicate things, New York, unlike Washington, initially saw a slew of different railroad companies operating within its city, making the piecing together of tracks to form the current system a difficult, if not mind-boggling, task. Today’s New York subway boils down to an amalgam of three originally competing companies, and leaves some neighborhoods inundated with stations and others miles from the closest stop.

All this seems to point to the superiority of the Washington subway: newer, cleaner, simpler, wheelchair accessible, safe and people want to ride it.

What could be missing?

What indeed.

When compared to New York’s subway, what the Metro lacks in particular is a sense of history, an intriguing and deep-rooted past that might hold some secret to its present state. There is no enigma behind the Metro’s evolution, no questions about disjointed station facades or intermingling of car styles, no mysterious, time-worn colorfulness invoking a rich sense of nostalgia or wonder. While New York’s subway exhibits an intrinsic— you might say archaic— old-world charm derived from its city’s earlier days, the Washington Metro comes across as uniform and bland, a thing of modern times built in keeping with that city’s own air of sobriety and officialism.

Historically, New York City’s roots are in those of its subway. The city’s own expansion came about partly with the branching out of different lines, as new neighborhoods gradually sprung up around new stations. The Metro, on the other hand, was constructed after the fact, coming to fruition beneath a modern, bustling, full-fledged city as a response to a dire need for rapid transit. While both practical and aesthetically pleasing, the Metro conforms to the pulse of the city, and has thus done comparatively little to shape its demographics or culture.

To be fair, Washington does have a leg up on New York when it comes to efficiency, glamour, and modernness. But the Big Apple’s subway has appeal all its own. Since its inception, the subway has had an artistic flair to it, with elaborate mosaics, brandishing neighborhood flavor, adorning station walls and, more recently, placards bearing poetry displayed in subway cars— not to mention the once-ubiquitous graffiti. Throughout the years, planning ingenuities such as parallel local and express tracks, and a 24-hour-a-day operating schedule, have been deemed invaluable by riders. And whereas the Metro’s fare varies by time of day and distance traveled, New York’s fare remains set— now at a modest $1.50— regardless of when, or to where, a trip is taken.

The Washington Metro, with its platform lights that blink upon a train’s arrival, its come-hither, shrine-like stations, and carpeted cars with cushioned seats (an idea axed long ago in New York), is not without its merits. But in my opinion, the Metro possesses a dry, sterile aura. Each station is a duplicate of the next, inspiring no real curiosity beyond the initial glossy-eyed reaction; riders have no subway token, no communal icon, to identify with (although, granted, New Yorkers won’t either soon, with the gradual phasing-out of tokens and the introduction of fare cards). The mood in Washington stations and cars is somber and sedate, lacking the liveliness and charm ingrained in every facet of New York’s subway. All that historic mishmash gives the New York subway the character of a revered antique, not to be dethroned. ◼