MEMOIR
Blues in Happy Town
Hostels, hostiles, and hippies
I decided to drive to Asheville on a whim. I didn’t have any particular reason to go, but I’d heard my share of good things about the famed mountainside town. More than anything, I wanted to go on a road trip and get away from living another day of winter in Pennsylvania. Admittedly the idea seemed a little lofty for an inexperienced solo traveler.
I want to be the person who spontaneously gets in his car and goes places. The truth, though, is that right now, I’m not. I made it here — yes; I survived my longest car ride yet. Whether my 2011 Ford Focus would even make it this far was no given. But now that I’ve made it here… now that I’m staying in an unfamiliar hostel with a bunch of strangers… I could hardly feel less welcome in this new city. For a hostel, the environment is strikingly hostile.
From the cameras that line the building’s interior to the contract we had to sign in order to be admitted, to the anti-social come-and-go nature of every person residing here, there’s hardly a part of this that feels communal.
Arriving at 11 PM, I expect to walk into a room full of vibrant creatives. Instead, I’m greeted by a bureaucrat with blond hair standing in front of a wall of surveillance monitors. She proceeds to hand me the wrong key and guide…
