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Originally posted by LordTrychon
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Please let me know if you ever come and visit them again and we could hook up. I'm about to ramble on here so bear with me.Telluride is an interesting place. Undeniably beautiful and home to more of the rich and famous than I can count (or 2nd, 3rd, 4th homes rather). And, as backcountry and secluded as it is it's a rather cultured place. The Telluride Film Festival, the Bluegrass Festival and the Blues & Brews Festival are all top-notch. The ski slopes are hard to beat and most everyone I know learned to ski there. Interesting unique architecture & landscaping, and artisans & entrepreneurs galore. But, like so many resort communities in Colorado it's in its own bubble, and most of the locals don't have a very high opinion of the people that now live there. Most of the original settlers & their families have long since moved away and/or have been forced out. If I ask someone where they're from and they say "Telluride" my immediate follow-up question is, "But, where are you REALLY from?".
Many of my friends that fell in love with Telluride (either with the slopes or the image/culture) can't afford to live there so they live in an outlying community, commute to Telluride, and then tell everyone that they live in Telluride. Sad, in a way, but all that money has put food on the table for countless numbers of people in the area too. In many ways Montrose (where I'm at) is nothing but a service town for Telluride (and the rest of the central & northern San Juans). My wife has this crazy notion to have a 2nd home there someday. But anyway...
Yesterday, I witnessed something that me and my friends have always joked about, but it's the epitomy of Telluride, and the sad truth. I'm not even that surprised that I actually saw it happen.
This guy was walking down the street in front of us. He had dirty dreads that went down to his butt, no shoes, and faded, filthy and tattered clothes on that looked like they hadn't been changed (or washed) in weeks. And, even though he was several yards in front of us I could clearly smell his rank body odor and hear him talking on his phone in this annoying fake mountain hippie accent. Well, after a bit, I hear a "beep, honk, beep" and see the lights flash on this near brand new Lexus LX570. Yep, you guessed it; the dude walks right up to it, climbs in, and drives off.
We call them "Trustafarians". And in my not so humble (just for today) opinion Ziggy would've played for much longer if the crowd wasn't so obviously filled with people like that guy.
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