MEMOIR
Kava, Condoms, and My Friend The Septuagenarian
A strange Friday in Asheville
Sitting at the large, vacant table of my Asheville hostel, I’m feeling slightly sorry for myself. It’s a vibrant town full of interesting people and I don’t know any of them. I’ve had prolonged conversations with a couple of people at the nearby coffee shop, but neither talk rose to anything particularly meaningful.
I feel mired in the traveler’s realization that I arrived at a few years ago in Hawaii: you need to know people to meet people. Of course, that’s not always the case. Friendships can emerge sporadically. But more often than not, when I’m with a group of friends, I’m not exactly on the hunt for new ones.
I don’t have an “in” into so many of the groups and conversations that I’d want to be a part of here. Making friends in new places can be challenging. I’m getting a little better at powering through the discomfort and sometimes it’s a successful strategy. But other times, it’s clear that people are happy in their cliques and aren’t exactly scouring the streets of Asheville for lonely-looking creatives to invite into their drunken shenanigans.
So I’ve wandered the neighborhood and found unique little shops and talked to their owners. I’ve certainly encountered no shortage of good food. At a…
