I went to Virginia this weekend.
It was far enough away I got to slip out of Daily Same Place Mode and into Traveler Mind. Which makes me want to write again. I feel full of eagerness to describe a place and a way of life that is different than mine, and this is even within the United States. But with that comes the self-consciousness that my experience is only a tiny moment within a huge and expansive culture and I have no way of representing what may be empirical truth about a place. So I only offer my observations.
I was in Lynchburg Virginia, a town about the size of Ithaca approximately, accompanying a Mr. Tall Ballet Chef to his art school reunion. I have spent very little of my life as a plus-one at events, so that was like an adventurous experience too. Except, with a brashly striped dress and my silver spiked hair at the soirée, everyone was asking me what year I had graduated the art school. "Ha, I work with dirt," I responded. I had wine and cheese and listened to ballet dancers talk about their old eccentric teachers. And about pain in their metatarsals. I was a little out of my element so I got to bring out people-watching and listener mode. Because it was all ballet dancers nobody touched the tiered display of cupcakes, but I walked out with pockets burgeoning with truffle cheese. I rescued it from the forgotten catered display at the end of the night, and remembered my days in college where I'd take full trays of food like this down to the women's shelter, that had been out and thus would have to be thrown away.
Pockets aside, I enjoyed being in the town of Lynchburg and observing what felt different compared with my towns in New York State. One of my friends warned me, "Lynchburg, prepare yourself. It's pretty red down there." But I found a town that was a lot more than Ted Cruz signs and pickup trucks and countless churches.
The covered indoor market illustrated the juxtaposition I was seeing existing in this Virginia town: fried southern charm with Locavore organic existing side by side. I found this dynamic fascinating and utterly charming. Live jazz grooving away filling the indoor market building, old couples and families sitting with biscuits and gravy and strawberry cream crepes on styrofoam plates, vendors of handmade knitted hats, wire jewelry, and a cheese shop. Pound cake and also grass fed bison meat. Kitchy horse knickknacks and also organic lavender soap. Fried Pies next to Healthy Treats next to each other in little plastic bins. (If I had to represent my Lynchburg experience with one thing, it would be that.)
Overheard: (apply thick drawl)
"There's a lot going on today: that steam engine comin' in and all that" (never did find out what that was all about though)
What people say about southern friendliness and politeness I found to be completely true. Take the black man in a black coat and cane passing me on the street, nub of cigarette hanging from his mouth, greeting me with a friendly, "Windy dis mornin!" This one simple statement was so much and left me grinning, feeling acknowledged as a human, a simple hello of sorts, commenting on the shared experience of the wind. I feel this so rarely happens in my northern cities.
Also, I feel like my hair, currently in its distinctive way, has never been so well received as in Lynchburg. "Your hair is SO striking! All of us at my table were like, look at that girl's hair!", "Your hair is beautiful!", etc. My theory is that hair like this is likely more rare in a small southern town, but also that people in general are more outgoing and friendly and thus I'm more likely to hear about it. My little follicle egos were happy.
I was ma'am'ed many times, each time taking me by surprise. I had so many doors opened for me, gentlemen waiting for me to enter an elevator first, even though they were carrying suitcases and I was further steps away. When there was a pause where I realized that they wouldn't enter that elevator until I had crossed the hall and gone in myself, thus I created a little hiccup in the natural southern rhythm of women moving around gracious men, because I am mostly unaccustomed to it.
I love moments like these, where little expectations about a place ("oh the south, people are friendlier and things move slower") do actually have evidence to be true, that this country has not succumbed into a giant homogenous stew.
Other observations: tree blossoms! I was in colorful-plant infused giddiness because of the pansies in flower boxes and puffy pastel flowering trees all amongst the brick of the city. Going south was like going forward in time, into spring. And even though it was only a small town there was an expansive marble staircase monument, feeling presidential and commemorative. Also --Burg's: so many of the towns in Virginia were Thisburg or Thatburg.
Finally: many many churches. Grand historic churches, little store front churches in faded plazas ("Back to Eden Commandment Church"), wide and low churches with a tiny steeple, the kind where you could practically hear the praise band just by seeing the building. I could feel poignantly the Bible belt. There was a beer on tap at the hotel, a chocolate peanut butter porter that was named, I kid you not, Sweet Baby Jesus. "Let's go drink us some sweet baby Jesus!" I felt surprised to see this beer, it seemed like it could come off as irreverent, but religion just seems so seamlessly a part of life here that it might be naturally a part of the rest of it all without note. Also the hotdog stand: Hot Dogs For Jesus. Billboards about how to find the way to heaven, church placards: "Taking Jesus Seriously".
And in Virginia we visited my sister, big hugs and screeches and laughs to be reunited. Teasing her about the very high stack of un-nested egg cartons atop the fridge, and our two boys now having a fellow to do Waymanism Eye Rolls with (efficiency and knowing exactly how much something cost were prime examples).
