Wherein I attend a festival under false pretenses.
So, considering that he is Black, perhaps it should not have come as a surprise to me that my boyfriend wanted to attend the annual Goombay Festival, which is Asheville's Afro-Caribbean festival. It's held every year in The Block, the heart of downtown's historic Black business district. The Block is one of the very few areas of downtown yet to experience the renaissance that has brought the rest of the area roaring back to life. Thus, not only is the festival held to celebrate the contributions made to the city and region by African-Americans, it's an attempt to bring The Block back to life.
There's been some success... I can remember when The Block was an area you didn't dare visit, day or night, whereas now there are a number of popular restaurants in the area and a museum housed in the building that was originally home to what may have been the very first Black community center in America. There's still quite a ways to go, however.
All in all, it was a small and mellow, manageable festival. I enjoyed it, my boyfriend and I found a couple of bitchin' masks to add to our small -- but growing -- collection, and I even ran into a friend whom I haven't seen for months. Then, oddly, my boyfriend insisted on coming home and cooking supper. This was strange because he's as much of a restaurant fiend as I am; there's nothing we like more than to eat a good, hot meal prepared by someone else in a kitchen we won't have to clean. He was very adamant about coming home to cook and eventually I gave in. Meh. We had leftover ceviche to go along with the shrimp and rice he wanted to cook. It would save money.
Lies. All lies, as you will see later.
But first, Goombay!
If you're interested, you can watch this year's opening parade.
• Video Link
• Video Link
The Block lies in the shadow of Asheville's government buildings: the county courthouse, city hall, and the old public market building that now houses the headquarters of the police and fire departments.
The weather was absolutely perfect. All we got from Hurricane Irene over on this side of the state was a good stiff breeze that kept the heat down and a gorgeous pattern of clouds that danced and changed all day long.
Over on Biltmore Avenue, construction of the Aloft Hotel is moving right along.
No idea whatsoever.
If you're ever in town, I recommend the salt fish and collard greens served here.
A friend of mine. Haven't seen her in practically forever. You may, but almost certainly don't, remember her from our photographic jaunt through an abandoned factory building downtown last August.
Nothing attracts the street proselytizers like a street festival. This one seemed a little less self-righteous than they usually are, however. He had the decency to erase the Y and admit he wasn't perfect. That's -- sadly -- a big step forward. Nobody was paying him any attention.
In the opening parade of the festival, which wound its way through downtown on Friday, a few of these guys went walking along atop their very high stilts. I was impressed when this guy came trotting up the street as comfy on his stilts as you would be barefoot. On his stilts, he stood about nine feet tall.
Unfortunately, when I take crowd shots, I try to take 'em quick. The background usually ends up tilted.
In another recent thread, someone mentioned that the South is home to a ridiculous number of extremely attractive young men and women. Allow me to present Exhibit A.
Stilting right along.
So, we'd had our fun and I suggested going for a walk over to Martin Luther King Jr. Park to see a statue of MLK that I've been meaning to take a look at forever. Boyfriend agreed and we went for a stroll.
MLK Park lies in the middle of what used to be an extensive Black residential neighborhood called the East End. It fell to urban renewal in the 1960's. Only about a fourth to a third of the old East End survived.
The statue was quite lovely.
Then we headed back through downtown to the parking deck where we'd deposited our car.
Surely you wouldn't think that Goombay would be the only thing going on downtown on a summer weekend. In Pack Square Park an ongoing bluegrass event called Shindig on the Green was just starting. By the time it winds down, the park is usually packed.
Over in Pritchard Park, meanwhile, Praise in the Park, a low-key contemporary Christian music event was going on.
And of course we mustn't forget the buskers. They were everywhere, playing all manner of instruments from mandolins and cellos to trombones. And that is to say nothing of the firebreathers, living statues, and the guy in yellow body paint and very high, rhinestone-studded high heels balancing on a small teeter-totter while juggling scimitars.
Boyfriend wanted coffee. Odd... First he wants to rush off home and then he wants to linger.
Few things are more enjoyable than chugging frozen green tea while watching people come and go, including this gigantic guy and his itty-bitty wife/girlfriend/whoever, who stood about two feet shorter than he did. Their baby was utterly fascinated by the ceiling fans. I can remember being entranced by ceiling fans when I was little myself, actually, so I could relate.
We got home, and there were twelve people crowded into our apartment who ambushed me with a surprise birthday party. To say I was surprised was quite an understatement, but suddenly so many things made sense -- my boyfriend's sudden, severe urge to nest and just clean the everliving hell out of our apartment today and last night, the surreptitious text messages, the burning desire to go to Goombay and leave the apartment unattended, and all the rest. Our living room was bedecked with pink crepe paper.
Some day, some time when he's least expecting it, I'll get him.
The theme of the party was "Pretty, Pretty Princess." I was forced to wear the pretty princess tiara and sunglasses, the pretty princess sash, and hold the pretty princess bow and glitter-encrusted pretty princess My Little Pony before I was allowed access to either the liquor
or the sushi, and that's just plain cruel. There are pictures out there, including some taken with my very own camera, of me wearing the pretty princess garb but you will never see them. Should they ever be leaked to the outside world, I will track down the culprit and pieces of said culprit will turn up over the next few months in various selected weedy ditches throughout the greater Asheville metropolitan area.
This means you.
My favorite part was the pretty princess crown cake, by far.
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I really like the mural on the bridge.
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