I have been holed up inside for the past two days writing about geologic hot spots, quartz crystallization, and the near-extinction of humans due to a super volcanic eruption at Mount Toba 70,000 years ago. All this newfound knowledge makes me want to visit Yellowstone National Park before it blows up and kills us all.
But that’s a vacation for another year because this summer I’m shooting for Key West where my husband and I can wear flip flops, eat a fresh ocean catch, smell and taste the salty air, and visit all those polydactyl cats at the Hemingway house. This must happen before August when the hurricanes start to show up uninvited. I have priorities, people. Besides, scientists think we have at least a few thousand years before Yellowstone explodes and I’m banking on their expertise.
All this fanciful daydreaming about vacation got me thinking back to one of my least favorite ones – my weekend trip to Asheville, North Carolina, back in 2008, which I know I’ve
written complained about before. It was damp and cold, my dinner made me sick, parking was impossible, stores were closed early, and my friend was insulted by two assholes downtown. You can’t blame us for refusing to love on Asheville after all that. But I’m willing to give the city another go. I’m married to a man who has been practically everywhere in the country so I put a lot of emphasis on both of us seeing a place for the first time…together (Key West will be one of them!). Trying to arrange any trip with him is not easy (because of me, I’ll admit this), but we both agree that Asheville is a place we should visit together, even though we’ve both been there separately before. Asheville and the surrounding area is one of his favorite places in the country and it’s time to let bygones be bygones, especially because it’s just so damn beautiful.