Living in Asheville
You'd hate it.
I moved to this relatively sleepy burg at the beginning of 2023 and couldn’t be happier with my decision. I’m nearly sixty years old, so the laid-back (but not boring) pace of life in Asheville agrees with me. I logged twenty-eight years in Atlanta through my young adulthood, which fulfilled my craving for big-city life. Most recently, I spent seven years in Richmond, VA – a smaller version of Atlanta and still more city than I needed. Asheville is just right.
A friend who had lived in Asheville for twenty-five years inadvertantly described this place well when she complained: “Traffic is getting horrible. I mean, you can’t even drive downtown between 5:00 and 5:30!”
To most transplants, traffic is relative child’s play here, even during a Friday afternoon rush hour. In my previous towns I’d need to plan a day around when the best time to drive might be, which reminds me of when I first searched for an apartment here in Asheville.
I had three or four appointments to check out places and talk with potential landlords. I got carried away chatting at one of these stops and departed in a rush, assuming I’d be late for the next place. Instead, Google indicated I faced only eight minutes of driving to the other side of town. Along the way, I passed wonderful neighborhoods, music venues, breweries, restaurants, and shops. But the best part of AVL — besides the scenery, of course — is the people.
Getting carried away talking to people is easy to do in Asheville, and I do so often as manager of a mattress store on the main thoroughfare north of town. People here are generally intelligent and pleasant, and often fun and witty as well. Many folks have moved here to escape the stress and rat race of somewhere else, which seems to boost friendliness. We seem to share happiness and relief for having found this place – a town that feels right.
At my previous mattress sales job in Richmond, encountering an asshole, (usually synonymous with “northerner”) happened at least several times a week. In Asheville, rude customers appear so seldomly that they’re more comical than offensive. They are so rare that I consider them to be varieties of zoo animals. I look at them with wonder. I find them entertaining, and nearly impossible to take personally. Even northerners are mostly nice here, perhaps due to contagion.
The mannerly vibe of this town extends to drivers, too. Despite the high traffic volume in front of my store, car horns don’t sully the air for hours. I’ve noted several entire days when I couldn’t recall even one punitive honk – and I pay close attention because this blows my mind. Asheville motorists are also quick to let others into a line of traffic. One can almost assume the first car possible will yield, often with a smile and wave. Similar courtesy can cause problems at four-way stops, however.
Most everyone here is so nice that my latent big-city stress can bubble up. Sometimes they’re just too nice.
Recently, I visited my energy healer, located half a mile from my house. The fourth one away, in other words. Anyway, at a stop sign, three Subarus had the right of way but invited me to go instead. This can be annoying, but it’s a good problem to have. I try to smile and thank god I don’t have to deal with Atlanta traffic anymore. And speaking of driving – doing so in the Asheville area is a blast.
I changed cars recently, to one in which I sit in a cockpit instead of a lounge. My previous car, a Ford Fusion, handled like a living room sofa. It was great for extended time in traffic, though, due to the quiet cabin and smooth ride that allows the driver to feel above the fray. But a big sedan is not the proper tool for driving around the many narrow residential streets of Asheville.
Much more appropriate is my 2023 Mazda 3 AWD, which is perfect for the winding, hilly roads of Western North Carolina, including the nearby Blue Ridge Parkway. Driven properly, the car can feel like riding on a rollercoaster on your way to amazing hiking trails and mountain vistas. No more lumbering into turns in my land yacht, saddened by the lack of fun involved. Now I zoom-zoom-zoom around and rightly enjoy the landscape.
More Fun, Free of Charge
Besides occasionally burning up the local roads in my Mazda, I get my kicks at the Asheville Drum Circle. This gathering, which first convened over two decades ago, takes place every Friday evening downtown in Pritchard Park, which features terraces of concrete seating in a semi-circle. This setup is ideal for drummers and spectators alike. At its summer peak, as many as fifty players of varying skills and seriousness create a celebrative cacophony, sharing many smiles and a sense of community.
Some of the players are crazy good, especially on congas, which set the pace for all manner of percussive soundmakers. My playing is no great shakes but the good drummers seem fine with me being around. I hung around in the background when I first started attending, pounding a hand drum my mom picked up in Equador. I contributed produced a full, low-end sound — more supportive than flashy. Since gaining more confidence, I’ve added an 11” compact conga on a collapsable stand. It produces multiple sounds and tones, and the variety spices up my sessions.
Also, I’m one of many drummers who wander around and play instruments that others have brought to the party, while others play mine. This free-wheeling approach often employs wood blocks, cowbells, fifty-five-gallon barrels, shakers, or practically anything else bangable. One lady, who dresses in a different festive costume every week, is known to blow a bukke horn to punctuate peaks in energy. Another guy blows a whistle from time to time while still another wanders around playing a flute. Others stay seated and play quietly, almost for themselves, while soaking in the spectacle.
Adding to the fun is the audience, which can number well over one hundred on a good night. Spectators span the gamut of locals who bring their kids to watch the spectacle and a constant revolving door of tourists who stumble into the area on their way out to eat. Watching their reactions can be almost as fun as playing. One guy shows up every week, watching for hours while barely moving or talking to anyone, apparently high as a kite. My favorites are toddlers in sensory overload trying to keep time on one of the numerous “guest drums.” Best of all, people from all walks of life move, groove, or even start dancing as if they were at the club.
Getting back to describing Asheville, I should mention the relatively mild summers. Temperatures rarely rise high enough to make the drum circle uncomfortable. Heat can get annoying here, but it doesn’t challenge one’s will to live like it does in the lowlands. And there’s always a nearby option of hanging out above 5,000 feet to cool off if it gets too bad. (As an aside, one of my favorite uses of my phone since moving here is toggling between Asheville’s current temp and those in Atlanta or Richmond in the summer.)
In summary, what I’m trying to say is don’t move here. The closest beach is five hours away, remnants of fallen trees are everywhere, housing costs a fortune, snow falls sometimes, and selling something on Facebook Marketplace can take forever.
