Just slow your sweet self down

A couple days ago my friend Lexi posted this list of words from other languages that are untranslatable to English.

My favorite, of course, was this one:

The weather this morning was more hiker-friendly today than yesterday, so I got a good dose of Waldeinsamkeit.  But it came with a few other feelings, ones that I'm not able to translate into a single word.  What is the word for "knowing your vacation is coming to an end" or "the feeling of already missing a place you haven't left yet"?  I think the word is simply "blues", but I tried to shake it, knowing I still had one full day of Asheville ahead of me.

I had planned to take a Nia class at 11am, so I chose a short 3 mile trail where I could get in and out quickly and be on my way to dance.  But as I started on the Catawba Falls trail, I knew that this wasn't the kind of hike that should be under any time constraints.  The trail was easy going, but so beautiful that it required many stops for photos and pure awe.  Just slow your sweet self down, I told myself, and don't miss this.

The trail had many river crossings, so instead of trying to navigate the slippery rocks in my hiking shoes, I changed out to my sandals, and sloshed my way through the water.

Check that giant millipede!

I reached the Lower Falls in short time, and met up with a hiker from Raleigh there.  He'd done this trail many times and said, "Well, if you're up for a challenge, you can go up a little further.  If these falls are a '5', the Upper Falls are a '10'."  He said it was another half mile up, and involved a strenuous climb.  Feeling emboldened by my rock scramble up Old Rag last weekend, I thought I could manage.

The first part of the climb involved hauling myself up a steep rock face with the help of a rope, followed by additional climb, with the help of only rock slabs and rhododendron roots.  I took the climb slow and steady.  It was physically demanding and hard work, but when I reached the Upper Falls, I was richly rewarded.

I arrived about the same time as a local hiker and field guide for a wilderness therapy company named Brennan, and we swam in the ice cold pool below the waterfall and chatted on a sunny rock for a bit.  At one point in the conversation, Brennan abruptly stopped mid-sentence, his eyes darting all around.  "Sorry", he said after his pause, "I like to watch the butterflies."

Brennan at the Upper Falls

After a snack and a nice rest at the falls, I carefully made my way down the steep rock face again, only falling on my ass twice.  A delicate rain started on the hike out, tickling my skin, and nicely cooling me off.

I hit Native Kitchen again for a lunch stop, and as I walked in, the bartender said, "Hey, welcome back!"  I gave her a startled look - she had been working last night but hadn't served me, and must have just remembered my face.  "Oh, wow," I said, "I'm not used to being recognized.  I'm from New York and we all feel kind of anonymous there."  She laughed.  "Of course I remember you," she said.

I ordered a chicken club sandwich with German potato salad and a glass of Cheerwine (a Southern cola similar to a Cherry Coke), and it was just the thing.

Feeling good and tired from the hike, I headed back to the mountain studio and laid out a blanket on the  back porch, read a couple more Ron Rash stories and took a long nap.

I had planned to visit the Biltmore Estate today, but after my nap, I realized I hadn't left myself enough time, so I changed course and wandered the River Arts District instead, where dozens of local artists have open studio and gallery spaces in former warehouses and factories.

For dinner, I made my way to Tupelo Honey, recommended to me both by my New Yorker friends who'd visited the area, and by locals.  At 6pm, there was a 90 minute wait for a table for 4, but as a solo diner, I was able to walk right in and sit at the "Chef's Table" - bar seating that overlooks the kitchen.  The chefs fed me little samples of food they were preparing and entertained me with lots of good jokes. I started with a rosemary-peach lemonade and a biscuit with blueberry jam and tupelo honey.  For dinner, I had a smoked jalapeno-glazed pork ribeye with mac and cheese and asparagus spears, along with a flight of local microbrews.

Chef's Table 

After dinner, I walked a few blocks over to Pack Square, where the concert series Shindig on the Green was wrapping up its summer season.  The "Shindig" is a showcase of Carolina heritage and features cloggers, bluegrass, old time music, and square dance.  A few years ago, I read in the book Geography of Bliss that Asheville is the happiest city in the US, and at this Shindig, this cheer was on full display.  People genuinely love to have a wholesome, happy, good time here.

Finally, so many locals had recommended Bywater to me, that I had to stop in for one drink before heading back up the mountain for the night.  It's a truly special place, and along with Hammerhead's in Louisville, is now among my favorite places on earth.  It's technically a social club, so I paid a $5 lifetime membership fee to get in, but now I can bring you all as guests.  Bywater is an off-the-beaten-path bar up the river and just off the railroad tracks, popular with rafters and tubers.  They like to take a break from floating down the French Broad river and stop here to hang out for a while, and I can see why.  There's a cute bar with a patio, where a killer bluesy rock band was playing tonight, along with a massive yard, featuring a Vietnamese food truck, a fire pit, tons of picnic tables, outdoor games, and just a really sweet summertime happy vibe.  I sampled the locally brewed Green Man Thai Basil Wheat beer, and sat enjoying the cool evening and the fantastic band.

Tomorrow, Ingrid and I turn our wheels north and begin our journey home.

What's the word for "the feeling of being a visitor in the happiest place and knowing you have to leave"?