It didn’t take long for camera-toting tourists to ferret out Room 871 at Washington D.C.’s Mayflower Hotel. The site of New York Governor Eliot Spitzer’s call girl tryst is the latest in a long list of sex scandal locales dotting the capital. For those interested in mapping out their own tour, Slate helpfully provides an annotated Google mash-up.

Last Saturday, my sister and I dug into a plate of our favorite tapas dish—patatas bravas—at Washington, D.C.’s popular Jaleo restaurant. It’s always the first dish I order—hearty chunks of potato doused in a spicy tomato sauce and finished with a garlicky white sauce, best devoured with the aid of toothpicks. While the patatas are a best seller in Washington, they’re an obsession in Spain. 

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My return flight from Ireland landed at Dulles International Airport late Sunday afternoon, giving me a first-hand opportunity to see how the Disney-produced, U.S. government video to promote travel to the U.S., Welcome: Portraits of America, was being presented and received. I was amused, albeit probably not in the intended way. 

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As we’ve noted, modern air travel leaves a lot to be desired, tarmac delays and all. But we’ve come a long way since the 1940s, when nurses were brought on board to calm jittery passengers anticipating a bumpy ride in unpressurized planes. I was reminded of the marvels of jet-age flight while visiting a new exhibit at the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum, America by Air, which traces the history of passenger air travel since 1914. 

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Two recent stories on Paris and Washington D.C. after dark are a good reminder that taking in cityscapes by night can yield an entirely different travel experience than tromping around at mid-day. A Washington Post article and slide show on the patchwork system used to illuminate the monuments lining the National Mall nicely conveys the city’s nocturnal alter-ego, while a New York Times piece on ascending the Eiffel Tower at night actually made me want to brave the interminable line to try it. 

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I’ve attended a German Bundesliga game in Hamburg, a Japanese J-League game in Osaka and a Mexico-Argentina friendly in Los Angeles, which, during 90 minutes of ”Si se puede” chants, could have passed for Mexico. The atmosphere at last night’s D.C. United-Los Angeles Galaxy match in Washington D.C.—the Major League Soccer debut of David Beckham—was equal to any of those games in electricity, sometimes greater. The three Brits sitting in front of us said it exceeded the atmosphere at most Premiership matches in England, where Beckham first made his name and gave birth to his global cult. 

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For immigrants in the United States, karaoke sounds like home. Today’s Washington Post has a fantastic story today about the immigrant karaoke scene around Washington D.C. “In the Washington suburbs, where this Salvadoran-Mexican restaurant sits next to a Vietnamese deli, karaoke transcends borders,” Karin Brulliard writes. “At hole-in-the-wall cafes and crowded bars, song lists come in Filipino and Korean and Spanish and Chinese, allowing laymen of all tongues to unleash their inner singers.” Drinks and laughter and bonding are the core elements of the experience, and Brulliard finds a theme in the songs a lot of immigrants choose. “Songs are steeped in memory and distance,” Brulliard writes. “And many are about heartbreak.”

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Greetings from Washington D.C., where I’m spending Independence Day in the nation’s capital for the first time. I usually lay low on the Fourth, but today I’m taking part in some of the events around the District. I just returned from hearing Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin and John Adams read the Declaration of Independence on the steps of the National Archives, fife and drum corps in tow. In a few hours, I’ll be out on the National Mall to see Stevie Wonder and the fireworks show. This will be our only post for the day, but it’s not the only Independence Day material we’ve got. Check out Joel Deutsch’s story about spending the Fourth in Los Angeles with some of his Russian immigrant friends. And over at MSN, Jim has a story about watching Fourth of July fireworks at a U.S. military base in Stuttgart, Germany. Happy Fourth, everyone. 

This afternoon, after two weeks on the road, a convoy lead by the great-grandson of Dwight D. Eisenhower—the 34th president is one of the fathers of the American Interstate System—will arrive in Washington D.C. to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the big roads. On June 29, 1956, Ike signed the legislation to launch the project, and the country has never been the same. Loads of copy have been spent in recent days on the convoy—some participants have blogged the trip—and impact of the Interstate System on American culture. The best I’ve read so far is by Hank Stuever in today’s Washington Post. Stuever, as usual, offers a fresh take and lovely writing. “The interstate didn’t create us,” he writes, “it is us.”

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Bellhops at Washington D.C.’s Hotel Palomar are learning lessons in classical ballet in advance of the hotel’s September opening. “It’s a ... uh ... different experience,” bellboy-in-training Alvin Green tells the Washington Post’s Adriane Quinlan. It’s part of a trend by boutique hotels to develop themes other than “Hand over credit card, get key.”

The 21-year-old Norwegian’s unlikely tale takes our prize for the oddest travel story to emerge during our brief Thanksgiving break. According to an Associated Press report, Johansen dozed off on a short flight from the central Norway city of Trondheim to his hometown of Namsos via Roervik. When he woke up, he was back in Trondheim. 

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Plane Crazy, a play about “stew life” in the ‘60s, is in the middle of a nine show run in the New York Musical Theater Festival. New York Times writer Miriam Horn gave it a mixed review, but the show appears to have sold out every performance. I wonder: Is it a good play that does justice to the life of stewardesses in the early jet age, or do people just like the songs and the outfits?

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