The Cesspool of Sin in the Great Blue Hills of God
We spent a few days in the hills before descending into the cesspool. We came for the the Shindig on the Green, a Scotch-Irish American affair if there ever was one, but were able to see parts of the city beforehand in the hours we had to kill. I rather like hippies, but it can't be denied that they are as much a homogenizing force as the fast-food dispensaries we were able to avoid on the 469 miles of Blue Ridge Parkway. A block of Asheville, North Carolina, is pretty much indistinguishable from one in Ithaca, New York.
Later, at thje Shindig on the Green, I found that it is not the hippie but the Scotch-Irish American who offers true resistance, just like the Cherokee before him, and it's the same cultural resistance that fueled his resistance during the War of Northern Aggression. That said, at least the hippies are trying, although failing miserably, to create something authentic and real. Some of them even showed up at the Shindig on the Green, and were welcomed of course, just as my Korean wife was welcomed by the local granny sitting next to us.
It was the yuppies whom I could not stand; the transplants in the local boutiquey shop we stumbled upon or at the visitors' center, who tried to steer us away from the Shindig on the Green ("too hot, too crowded, too dirty") towards the Biltmore Estate and its wine-tasting and whatnot. They were clearly embarrassed by the thriving he Scotch-Irish American culture that surrounded them. These yuppies are the true cesspool denizens.