Revisit List revisions

To anyone who may have been listening to me ramble on over the last 11 months about my distaste for Asheville, then this post comes as no surprise.  But why didn’t I write about it sooner?  I’ve blocked it from my memory.  I’ve taken it out of my mind to make room for happier things.

I just don’t like that place.  I’d considered putting Asheville on my Revisit List, but the more I consider it, the more unhappy I get about the whole prospect of going back there.  What could possibly be enjoyable the second time around?  Were there not enough stores closed by 6pm on a Friday night?  Was the weather not gloomy, chilly, and overcast enough in the middle of July?  Could the mountains not pretend to come over me like a canopy and bring on the claustrophobia times 10?  CAN I NOT FIND A DAMN CHICKEN FINGER TO FEED MY KID IN THIS TOWN??

The coolest thing that came out of Asheville, though (besides my friends and me racing away from town less than 24 hours after our arrival), was this:

My Sexy Bookworm Mudflap Girl sticker.  Or whatever their official name is, I don’t know. (But, if you ever find yourself so unfortunately stranded in this town, go to Malaprop’s Bookstore. They still closed ridiculously early but, hello???!!  It’s a BOOKSTORE!) There was also that freaky-what-the-hell-am-I-eating dinner I had at some forgettable downtown restaurant that not too much later made me sick.  And while I was busy being sick in the onlyother  restaurant open in town, DeAnna had to drive around the block a few times because, for a town where everything is closed, she still couldn’t find a parking space.  When she finally did find a parking space (which wasn’t legal, technically, because Ben had to stay in the running vehicle in case the cops told him to move), she walked to come find me and direct me back to her car when some asshole college students shouted insults to her. 

No, Asheville.  I have no love for you.

I do have love for the Double Decker Coffee Company, though. 

Basically, the mountains closed in on me, my cell phone signal shut down, I felt significantly uncool  in this town, and my kid shouldn’t have been swimming because July in Asheville is the equivalent of November in Florida.  Not Asheville’s fault, I know.  It’s just one more thing for me to bitch about.

Elle, on the other hand, loved Malaprop’s and the hotel pool.  The latter was evident by her pushing her body to the limits and swimming relentlessly yet happily in the freezing cold pool, ending up with blue lips.  We couldn’t afford an emergency trip to the hospital, though.  Would it have mattered, really?  No, the hospital probably closed at 6pm, too.

Onward.  Out of town.  Speed.  SPEED OUT OF THIS TOWN.  SPEEEEEED OUT OF THIS TOWWWWNN!!!!!  To Chimney Rock.  Aaaah, bliss.  This is what I’d driven 7 hours for.  This is what I’d spent the night in an overpriced Comfort Inn in Ridgeland, South Carolina, for.  This is what Elle had been waiting for.

It’s beautiful there.  Once you get over the 13 miles of winding roads that zigzag up and down the mountain, that is.  When the iron-stomached DeAnna is leading the way and hanging her head out the window in case her breakfast decides to make another appearance, you know you’re in for a rough ride.  Dizziness and the need to vomit from motion sickess are a sure bet, but, damn!  Is it ever worth it!

All my little girl wanted was to see a waterfall.  I don’t think she had any idea she’d be able to play inside of one.

That alone was worth the whole trip. 

So, Asheville,  you have been removed from my Revisit List.  Charleston, South Carolina, home of the infamous Exorcist Pea-Soup Head-Spinning Stomach Flu courtesy of Elle, you’ve just been moved to the #1 spot.  Congratulations!

(This is in no way a reflection of the wonderfully friendly Asheville locals we met while in town.  Except for those asshole college guys.  To them, I give my heartiest F*** YOU.)

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About Dena

I'm a suburban Clevelander by way of Oklahoma City, by way of North Florida, by way of Southern Maryland, by way of Upper Michigan, by way of Northern Italy, by way of Lower Michigan, by way of Texas. Because of living in so many places, I have something in common with almost everyone I meet. I love reading, writing, and American history (especially reading or writing about American history). I'm interested in culture of place, historical trauma, and writing about the kinds of histories most people don't know about.
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