A historic pub with traditional Irish cuisine, fine drinks, and a paranormal past.

This general store near Boston was once owned by Henry Ford, who had it relocated to a different town using a team of oxen.

America's "second most important bell" is a contentious spoil of the Civil War.

This memorial is dedicated to a once popular but now defunct discount Shrewsbury department store.

The last holdout of a pre-Civil War rebel who took the matter of slavery into his own hands.

Once the largest gravity dam in the world.

The oldest Italian café in Boston, this spot also serves as a veritable museum of vintage coffee ephemera.

This area was once known for being a lawless haven for rough-and-tumble sailors, earning the maritime-themed nickname "the black sea."

This isn't your average roadway—it's actually a National Park and a transportation pioneer.

The romance of early commercial flight still fills this Art Deco destination.

Outside the Department of Transportation, a collection of artifacts honors the history of how we get around.

This stunning blue and gold room changed cities twice before becoming part of the Smithsonian.

The only Leonardo Da Vinci painting in the Western Hemisphere.

The "lovely red Vega" of the legendary record-settling pilot.

A 1,100-ton train fell through the floor in 1953. Workers got it patched up in just 72 hours.

Corn-inthian columns with a uniquely American take on neoclassical architecture.

The 5.5-mile ring of steel posts around the Capitol Building is one of the largest (and most uniform) of its kind in the world.

A fantastic array of trays and cables once whisked books over to the Capitol at 600 feet per minute.

One of the three perfect vellum copies of this historic book known to exist is on display in a specially-designed case.

The institution is sitting on a goldmine of 21,000 paints, varnishes, pigments, and primers preserved for posterity.

A little marble compass above George Washington's (empty) tomb in the Capitol marks where D.C.'s four quadrants intersect.

One critic described it as "middle Mussolini, early Ramses, and late Neiman-Marcus." Another called it an architectural "natural disaster."

"Congress may voluntarily remain in session throughout the summer, in order that our Congressmen may be protected from the intolerable discomforts and dangers of the ordinary outdoor weather!”

This evocatively named natural crevasse was created by a torrent of water that smashed right through a granite deposit.