Day # 240 Exile

While it is not exactly Elba, or Ile du Diable or the Siberian Gulag, the town of Southworth, Washington is not exactly the Great White Way either.  Yet as I begin to sort and pack what will hopefully be the smallest possible amount of personal possessions, I realize that this is where I'm bound.  I will be miles and a ferry boat ride from any major metropolitan area.  Can a good urban creature such as myself survive this ignominious banishment?

I have spent the vast majority of my life, at least the portion that I had control over, living in the midst of several of America's cities.  To be sure, I have dwelt in far-flung hamlets, some even without benefit of traffic lights, but this was mostly in the course of my employment and always on a temporary basis.  I love the forests and mountains and often retreat there, but my heart always answers the smelly call of the city.

I like big cities.  I like the excitement and the smell and the noise and the culture and the bustle of a good city.  I seek out and treasure run-down bookstores, corner cafes, eclectic coffee houses and neighborhoods with foods from all parts of the globe.  I love hearing languages other than my own spoken on the streets of my home city.

When I travel, I often wander the countryside, but it is the cities that I remember.  The frenetic energy of Bangkok, the grit and electricity of punk-era London, the awe-inspiring scope of Mexico City or the foodie nirvana of San Francisco; all of these places pull me back.  I heed the urban call.

Soon I will be living on land that was once an orchard on the wrong side of Puget Sound.  I will be able to walk for miles, literally, in any direction and arrive at:  nothing.  Trees, to be sure and lots of houses here and there, set back from the little roads on their two or five acres or clustered tightly along the shores of Puget Sound wherever the cliffs aren't too steep.  Nothing else.  No cafes, no stores, no coffee kiosks and most certainly no damn noodle shops.

There are things to add to the credit side of the ledger, to be sure.  There are new places to paddle, circumnavigating Blake Island or getting epic and paddling across the shipping lanes to West Seattle.  Yes, that's it!  I can plan my escape by sea, slipping into the waters of the Sound and paddling my sorry ass all the way to the beaches of Lincoln Park.  How I will enjoy the blessings of urbanity while toting my board around I do not know.  At least I'll be close enough to smell it.