I don’t want to alarm anyone, but our nation’s capital is overrun with foreigners who have designs on our soil. Nearly 200 governments have claimed space within the District of Columbia as the Department of Homeland Security sits idly by. But before you finally make use of that fallout shelter Grandpa built, let me clarify: The hundreds of chanceries, ambassadorial residences, and cultural centers that dot DC’s sweeping grid are 100 percent Pentagon-approved and give the stately city an often-overlooked architectural and cultural nuance.

An embassy is typically composed of a number of buildings: the chancery, a semi-public office space where the ambassador and staff work, the private ambassadorial residence, and sometimes consular services, military intelligence offices, or cultural centers. For the two years I lived in DC, I fancied myself something of an embassy flâneur. I haunted Embassy Row, a well-stocked stretch of Massachusetts Avenue NW between Dupont Circle and the National Cathedral, and marched all over the city in search of an out-of-the-way residence or secluded cultural center, thrilled to find Brazil’s big black box of a chancery by Olavo Redig de Campos, which I later came to affectionately call the Death Star. I managed to get inside the Canadian embassy by Arthur Erickson for a photo show, the Swiss chancery by William Lescaze for a World Cup match, the Chilean residence for a memorial service and the French Deputy Chief of Mission residence for a meal but the typical embassy buff rarely gets a good look inside. Recently, to my delight, I toured two of Washington’s loveliest modern chanceries, scoring what any embassy tourist covets most: unfettered access to the building and a brief encounter with the ambassador (swoon).

By the early 20th century, dozens of foreign countries had established diplomatic missions in Washington; embassies were often housed in ostentatious turn-of-the-century mansions. The past couple generations, however, have seen many nations unhappy moving into just any old villa or office space to set up diplomatic shop. They’ve begun building their embassies from the ground up, employing some of their best national architects (see Kim Su-geun’s Korean residence in DC) to create unique buildings to house and represent their countries in Washington.

The United Kingdom kicked off the trend in with DC’s first signature embassy, designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens and by now the practice is par for the course. Jane Loeffler, an architectural historian, visiting professor at the University of Maryland, and author of The Architecture of Diplomacy, tells me: “The idea of using architecture, and high-profile architects, to draw attention to an embassy is all part of the larger picture of using design as part of public diplomacy to promote a diplomatic agenda. It is a way of raising the profile of the embassy itself.” One of those high-profile embassies belongs to a nation with a long history of compelling design.

Finland’s chancery, by Mikko Heikkinen and Markku Komonen, sits at the tonier and more wooded end of Embassy Row, just across Massachusetts Avenue from the vice presidential mansion. The vine-covered façade and green patina of the exposed copper suggest that the building has actually grown out of the woods behind, a verdant box nestled in the arbors. This tree-house theme, a nod to Finland’s extensive woodlands, is repeated throughout the building by a suspended central staircase, copious light from above, and a shaded deck that juts out into the trees. Finland Hall, the embassy’s capacious centerpiece, boasts a massive glass wall looking directly into the woods. Loeffler is quick to point to this building as exemplifying elements of the Finnish diplomatic mission through design. “The Finns have mastered it,” she says of the 1994 building, “but not just because they built such a remarkable and striking chancery; they’ve succeeded because they also coupled the architecture with programs that welcome the public and enhance the Finnish presence in DC and in the United States.” As much as I love the building, perhaps my fondest memory is of my chance elevator ride with Ambassador Pekka Lintu, a tall, well-dressed man who courteously informed me of a spider crawling on the collar of my shirt. Hardly the impression I wanted to make.