This is where dead signage gathers, some pieces displayed still in all their flickering glory, others installed in rooms according to colour, the letters piled on top of each other, massive and meaningless. There are dimmed examples from the 1940s to almost present day in this curious museum, recently relocated to premises that had previously been an old East German department store.

The Willard is a postcard-perfect restored Beaux-Arts hotel replete with potted palms, marble columns, velvets and silks. If you can tear yourself away from the lobby (the term “lobbyist” was reportedly coined for the political operatives who worked this room), visit the Round Robin, which through several renovations and reincarnations has served presidents, potentates and other elite since 1850. Settle in at the circular marble bar among Washington’s nabobs and you will be as marinated in American history as a cherry in an Old Fashioned. They say that Senator Henry Clay of Kentucky introduced the mint julep to Washington at the Round Robin, or perhaps more accurately insisted the recipe should start with his home state’s bourbon whiskey. This is a gold nugget in a city full of sophisticated bars.

“An American Mercantile and Dry Goods Store,” this boutique has anchored the hip end of U Street for 20 years. Vintage and unusual used furniture is a large part of their trade, but there is also jewellery, retro women’s wear from small contemporary designer labels, and new gift items and housewares. It is always an entertaining browse.

A new place with an old look, a restaurant where the food and drink are too high grade for it to really be called a saloon, but ignore the conceit. Order the burger “all the way,” with fried egg, bacon and cheddar, and you’ll find their attention to every detail rewarding indeed. Cocktails are well-balanced and a sensible portion. A standout is the Beltway Boy, a rye drink with bitter appeal.

A white double-fronted shop, looking sedate alongside its neighbour Kiki, a gay bar housed in rainbow-hued corrugated iron. Perched somewhere between shop and gallery, the space is used for exhibitions, with unsold items slipping into the inventory along with the regular stock. There are prints and posters, blankets and cushions, even clothing and perfume, all mostly of Icelandic origin, and a long way from the novelty puffins sold in many local shops.

It’s only proper that a second-hand bookshop be a little chaotic, overcrowded and dusty, all of which this is. Books are arranged by category, but consider that no more than a rough guide; perseverance is essential but can be rewarding. Amid eccentric displays of antique objects, old photos and newspapers are interesting old editions of every type of book, from English language fiction to Norse mythology.