In one direction it overlooks the Potomac River and Rosslyn, Virginia; in the other it opens onto the North-west section of the capital, a residential area where preservation committees pulled a William F. Buckley Jr. maneuver, stood athwart history, and yelled Stop. The university grounds are covered with cherry blossom trees and dogwood, floral clusters, and heavy Flemish Romanesque architecture. Outside the main gates, the cobblestone streets are flanked with eighteenth- and nineteenth-century row houses and unattached mansions that come in pastels and boast prim lawns and price tags as long as telephone numbers. Madeleine Albright and John Kerry, John Edwards and the Kennedys—they all keep homes there. There are no Metro stops in Georgetown, a conspicuous fact that makes it a singularly difficult part of the city to get to or from without a car, and for which there are a variety of vague and contradictory explanations. The one told most often and convincingly is that the locals are trying to discourage the inward flow of out-of-town riffraff.
