polka dot suitcase

We returned to Chez Polka Dot after a quickie trip over to the NC mountains. I visited with an old pal from high school and an old pal from college. Well, they’re not really old, of course. Although I sure felt old after driving home. Seems like a lot of driving lately. And I Hate Route I-85. It’s worse than I-95. Ugh, ugh.

My college pal first took me to an outstanding restaurant, Mela. Here’s a true confession: It was my first experience with a “real” Indian restaurant. Verdict: Amazing. So much so that I’m going to try to replicate one of the recipes here for the guys. YUM. I love spicy food, and while the meal I got wasn’t overly spicy, it definitely had a kick. The waitress took pity on me and brought out some wonderful cucumber sauce to dribble on my meal if I needed to cool it down. I loved that so much I alternated spicy/cool bites just to eat it. Then my college pal took me on a fabulous walking tour of Asheville. I think I want to move there. Too bad we just refi’d Chez PD.

Then my high school pal arrived, and I got to go hiking with her to Dupont State Forest. Lotsa waterfalls. And unlike Niagra Falls, you can walk right up to them — and even into them if you’re so inclined. Downside: Porta potties. I have a lifelong fear/aversion to porta potties, harking back to the days I’d rather let my bladder explode than go into one as a child. It’s bad enough that they smell awful and it’s scary to peek down into the belly of the dark, nauseating abyss. But I hate the way it sounds when you…go. It’s like you’re going into a hollow, echoing, bottomless well of despair. Or maybe that’s just me.

Anyhoo. I survived the porta potty experience and had a great time hiking. There are five waterfalls to wow you on this simple hike…well, I’m saying simple because length-wise, it’s not too far. Incline-wise is another story. Obviously, to have water falling down, you’ve got to have land that goes up. We were sucking wind by the time we hit the top of the trail. Well worth the exertion, though. And there were a bunch of little, little kids when we reached the upper falls and they were breathing quite normally, so maybe we’re just out of shape.

I got into a great conversation with one of my pal’s friends about where one is “meant” to live. You know, the place where you really feel like you fit in? My writing buddy just moved back to her Special Place, Colorado. And I once interviewed a famous writer/poet/actress/philanthropist/Renaissance Woman who said something to the effect of, “When you know where you’re meant to be, you feel it.” (She said it much more romantically than I just did.)

Much as I love Chez Polka Dot, I’m not sure my town is really Where I’m Meant to Be. Trouble is, I’m not sure where that is. Mars, mabe? Seems like nothing really fits. If you’ve found your Special Place, I’d love to hear how you found it. Is it where you were born? Where you vacationed? How the heck do people find their “somewhere over the rainbow” place?

In the last couple weeks I’ve enjoyed Atlanta and Asheville. Maybe I’ll just work my way through the alphabet.