A couple months ago, I made the last-minute decision to run away. Because that’s what adults do when they have problems they don’t want to deal with, obviously.
My hideout of choice was this charming Victorian bed and breakfast in New Bern, North Carolina.
For context, New Bern is one of those towns the heroine comes “home” to in a Hallmark movie. It sits adjacent to the Neuse River, so you’ll inhale the scent of salty brine and see a lot of old couples strolling hand-in-hand on the boardwalk. Speaking of which, I was probably one of the youngest people in the town (and maybe even within a 10-mile radius).
This all is perhaps fitting. I mean, one of the town’s most famous residents is Nicholas Sparks.
Anyway, it took me a whole two hours to drive to New Bern. The bed and breakfast cost $165 a night. That price was well worth it — and I say that as a college student — for one key reason.
Camille and her goddamn pancakes.
Camille, the innkeeper (she owned the house, but I’m not sure what the correct term for the owner of a B&B is) made the most absolutely delicious lemon ricotta pancakes that I have ever had in my whole life. Those pancakes could cure depression, I tell you. They were light, fluffy and scrumptiously tangy all at the same time.
Camille, herself, is one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. I haven’t asked her permission to write this post, so I’m not entitled to give you much information about her. But just being around her was like drinking a straight shot of pure, bubbly energy.
I say this all because most of my classmates are vacationing for Spring Break, and I’m stuck at home. I’d very much like to be in New Bern right now, instead.
I’ll be honest — I made the spontaneous decision to go to New Bern last semester because I was in a cruddy mood. A lot of shitty things happened leading up to my weekend escapade (cough).
A semester has gone by since, and I’m kind of craving a plate of Camille’s lemon ricotta pancakes with blueberry compote again.
Of course there were other things I miss from my trip to New Bern, too, like having a conversation with two absolutely random men from two absolutely random walks of life over breakfast in the dining room. One was an old white dude who I vaguely remember being a doctor, though I could be wrong. He told me to get all As that semester, which I ended up being only a hair away from. The other guy was an Indian dude in his 30s who slammed his bedroom door a bit too loudly.
Another thing I miss is having so much time to myself.
Maybe it’s not a good thing, liking being alone so much. I was never really truly alone, in the sense that I had a chat with the “maid” who gave me a tour of Tryon Palace — she was a retiree from my hometown — and somehow managed to get a whole group of women in a trolly tour to jokingly adopt me.
But the whole little adventure was really rejuvenating.
It’s funny, because if you’d asked me as a sophomore I would have told you I was an extrovert. I don’t know what I am anymore.
I loved reading my Nicholas Sparks with a coffee in hand, perched on a bench overlooking the river. I liked strolling down the streets, lined with colonial-esque brown cobblestone buildings, without a destination in mind. I liked eating dinner by myself in a 1960s style diner.
I got Camille to send me the recipe for her pancakes when I got back to campus. She gave me a hug when I left, and somehow it felt like I’d stayed for much longer than a weekend. New Bern was weird because I felt alone, but still warm and toasty on the inside.