It’s not so comfortable. This weekend, I was fortunate enough to give a talk at a classics conference down south, at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill.
I spoke about the editing process of Homeric poetry and listened to about 11 hours of other students and professors talk about a spectrum of subjects, from the geography of Rome to Ovid’s “Metamorphoses,” but I learned more from the people themselves and culture than their respective research topics.
The only people who approach me on the street in Boston are normally creepy older men, either because they mistake me for a prostitute or are just generally interested in random, college blondes. I’ve been called everything from a “princess” to a “goddess” by these men of the street, but am dismissive of each instance nonetheless as I briskly walk away to another area, feigning a foreign accent or a fake boyfriend who is “anticipating my arrival.”
But in North Carolina, amidst the blossoming trees and blooming flowers, not to mention the 75-degree weather, normal people walking by casually say hello in a non-creepy way. It’s like being in a dream, or at Cheers. Strangers. They just feel like being friendly because it’s the kind, polite thing to do.
I asked my wonderful host at UNC if this was a normal occurrence, to which she responded, “Of course it is — I say hi to random people all the time. It’s the polite thing to do!”
This brought me back to my childhood when my mom would bring me into Boston and we’d walk by the graphic images of a crucified Jesus on route to “The Nutcracker,” to which she would just tell me to keep my eyes down and keep on walking. Encounters with such strangers prepared me at an early age to be distrustful of all city strangers.
As I walked back with my host to her apartment, I asked her if there was a grocery store around so I could grab a snack for the night. She had already prepared cinnamon rolls and told me there would be no reason to find my own food. This pleasantly surprised me, as not many of my friends here would have been so thoughtful.
So the south, in my opinion, lived up to its reputation of being genuinely hospitable and friendly. It was a strange experience as a more hardened, cynical northerner, one that would take me a much longer time to adapt to, but I realized there is a striking difference between Boston and most other cities.
In any case, I’m not so willing to make conversation with the next stranger who greets me on Commonwealth Avenue.
Sydney L. Shea is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences and can be reached at slshea@bu.edu.
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