Letter to the Editor: There's a whole town just waiting to be seen

There’s a whole town just waiting to be seen

TO THE EDITOR:

I sit on my screened-in front porch in Chapel Hill, garnished with white Christmas lights in July and the occasional mosquito that maneuvers its way through the mesh wiring. And I wait.

I wait for the deluge of memories, the sound of the marching band outside Carmichael at a painstakingly early 9 a.m. on Saturdays.

I wait for the sound of passing periods between classes, when every one and their mother (excuse the expression) meanders through the sea of people that is the Pit, a happy medium between jostling their neighbor and hugging their friends.

I wait for Polk Place, for the soft breeze that brushes me while I tell gangly high school seniors during a tour why they should apply to Carolina, why they really ought to don Carolina blue as their second skin.

I wait for listserv blasts from Teach for America, from Peer Advising, from the chancellor, encouraging me to sign up for this or get involved with that or give my time and energy to a specific cause.

But last night, sitting at Top of the Hill and drinking an Old Well White, I had an epiphany.

This university is a great one, overflowing with my peers that never cease to inspire me, humble me or amaze me. Our school spirit is unrivaled, our faculty unmatched. But a key ingredient to this school’s success, one often overlooked (myself included!) is the town that encompasses our campus.

Did you know that the Dead Mule Club is named after a slew of Southern authors, whose repetitive inclusion of a dead mule into their collective literature merited the name of the bar? Or that there’s a bar called the Cave, with stalactites and stalagmites and cave decor, alongside live music played every week?

The kindest bartender I’ve ever encountered serves a delicious, mouth-watering Asian drink special at the Lantern, and Milltown has the best chicken sandwich I may have had. Ever.

After a semester of study abroad and the traveling that accompanies such an experience, I find myself surprised at all this glorious little college town has to offer. I casually stumbled upon the Trevi Fountain while exploring the cobblestoned streets of Rome, soaked in the baths of Budapest until my fingers and toes surpassed the pruny and wrinkly stage, woke up at 7 a.m. after a night train-ride to Auschwitz in Krakow, and almost dropped my camera overboard while anchored a mere 300 feet away from the Cliffs of Moher.

On my flight back to America, I dreaded the repetitive lifestyle that college has to offer, the list of Thursdays I have spent at R & R or the smell of Alpine in the Union. I thought coming back to Chapel Hill signified a sort of death of personal growth, a permanent return to the ordinary and bland.

But what I failed to see — what my 20 year old self failed to recognize before she boarded the flight to Madrid on that fateful January 15, 2011 — is that adventure lies in the hands of those who are willing to grasp it. I must leave no stone unturned—I must explore, experience, and appreciate this town to its fullest.

I officially have less than 365 days as a UNC student. To sound trite and cliché, my days here are numbered.

But Fridays on the Front Porch of the Carolina Inn, the bricks in the quad that trip me daily, Mike Posner at Cat’s Cradle, the countless dreadlocks I spy while crossing the Weaver Street Market lawn and the Sunday morning religious folks strolling idly down Franklin Street around brunch time will stick with me long after my mailing zipcode is no longer 27514.

FRANK is an art gallery just itching to have guests wander the exhibitions, West End Wine Bar and the Crunkleton dazzle me with their class “in a glass”, and you actually can find some seriously cool stuff at Time after Time every once in a while.

Chapel Hill may need its students, but this summer, I’m realizing more and more each day that the students need Chapel Hill as well. It’s a relationship of the utmost reciprocity.

I must get back to the girl who followed Lonely Planet travel forum daily, who grabbed a map and a pen and conquered a city. Tourism isn’t always a plane ride away —sometimes we just need a twist of perspective to rediscover and cherish the gem that is Chapel Hill.

So get to work. Don’t wait. There’s a whole town just itching to be seen.

Madeline Merrill ’13

English