Settling In

Strange...I may have to change the name of this blog.

"Peripatekitos" (a name unfortunately and oddly shared by other blogs) refers to the ancient Greek roots of the word "peripatetic", meaning itinerant, migrant, or nomadic. The antonym of the word, according to the website "Allwords.com" is "settled".

And right now, I'm feeling quite settled.

This is a wonderful place, one of the nicest places in which I have lived for a long time. The setting is beautiful--Asheville is set amidst the Blue Ridge Mountains--and the weather is gorgeous. While it is a bit colder than much of the Southeastern United States, due to its placement in the mountains, it is much warmer than my native Northern climes. The people are friendly and open, and while I would not call the city particularly well "desegregated", it is quite diverse.

And so I quickly am settling in to a rhythm here. I have my favorite coffee shop, where a single espresso costs 80 cents (I am quite sure that in New York City, no coffee shop will even consider making an espresso for less than one dollar) and the Internet is free. As a matter of fact, I am there right now.

My job is exciting and entertaining, and while occasionally stressful, really quite pleasant. My house (and my housemate) are great, and when it is cold I light a fire and sit on the couch before it.

The only strange part about this city is that certain quadrants of the city seem to be incredibly populated with drug addicts and homeless people. Take, for example, my experience of the other night. I had stopped at a small market of the "Quik Mart" variety. I was starving and had not had time to eat anything substantial, and so I had decided to pick up an unhealthy snack.

As I entered the store a man approached me, requesting some change. I denied his request and continued into the store. After a brief search, and the realization that I had entered the wrong place for a delicious snack, I settled upon the hot dogs rotating on the counter. I dressed my frankfurter with a variety of toppings. As I finished doing so, I felt a presence to my side, and turned my head.

"Yo, can I get half that hot dog?" the man to my side asked me.

"Uh...no," I replied, and continued to the counter to pay the girl working in the shop.

Another man approached me. "Yo, you got a cigarette?" he asked.

"Sorry, no," I again denied.

Another man approached me. "Yo, can I get a piece of that hot dog?" he too asked.

"Nah dude," I told him, and hurried from the store, feeling bad for the girl working there, having to put up with this strange trio of hungry drug addicts.

I got in the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Reaching the red light on the corner, I noticed the original beggar (the first guy to have asked for a piece of my hot dog) running toward the car, gesturing in a way that revealed his desire for money or food.

The light turned green just then, and I pulled away.

Very strange indeed, and perhaps a bit disconcerting, but oddly, never frightening. Perhaps these are southern-bred drug addicts, different from their New York bretheren--calmer, more polite, more friendly .

Regardless, I continue to hold the opinion that this city (hard to call it a city really, with its population of 70,000) is a great place. And besides the crackheads that seem only to come out at night, and then only to frequent mini-marts, the people are a wonderful, friendly, and open group.

OK. Enough. Time to work.