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Published: September 19th 2009
September 15th 2009 Hang on a second!
Taking you back a couple of weeks, I woke up one Wednesday morning at the glorious Mountain Light Sanctuary. It was my intention to drive back across the Great Smokey Mountains, which I last explored rapidly in the dark on my way
to the Sanctuary. Betty Boy packed, I was ready for an adventurous trip down to Atlanta. I worked my way down to Asheville, making a serious of very rapid U-turns trying to follow the confusing road signs. At one point I was driving on the I-40, and highways 19, 23 and 74 all at the same time. Two of the roads where posted as going west, one was going east and the last north. How exactly you can be going west and east at the same time, I do not know. In fact, I don't want to know. But I feel a rationalisation of US road numbering is sorely required. Feeling slightly dizzy and disoriented, I found myself heading towards the mountains. I blinked - a split second - and landed in tourist hell. I think it was the town of Canton, but I can't be sure. It was
A Mac-mansion
One of the many palatial homes of Macon, GAhorrendous. Rather than a pretty, mountain village welcoming you to one of America's most beautiful natural landscapes, you are greeted by block on block of trash. Awful tacky, themed restaurants, motels, gift stores, crazy golf course, mini water-parks. I don't mean to be a snob, but it was just diabolical. Each block made me feel even queasier. Would it ever end??
Of course it did, and I eased slowly into the mountains along a rollercoaster of a road which reminded me of driving in England. I mean a narrow road. I had forgotten they even exist! Driving at home is going to be oh-so-much fun! Pulling into Cherokee, terribly excited to get on route 441 which would take me through the Mountain National Park, I was saddened to see flashing signs: 'Route 441 closed September 2nd 6am - 6pm'. Hmmm, it was 1pm. Guess my plan was up the creek. I stopped at a typical-for-the-area tacky gift store to ask what was going on:
Jenny (
all smiley and English): 'Hi, I was just wondering what is going on - is the road really closed all day?'
Store associate (
imagine the most southern accent you can): 'Oh yeah, they
Independent Presbyterian Church of Savannah
Famous for being in the opening of Forrest Gump - remember the feather, floating down from a church steeple. Well, it was this church's steeple! clawsed et.'
Jenny: 'So there's no way to get across the mountains today? The only road through is closed til six pm?'
Store associate: 'Yay, hey, Je-iff, curm owt he-e...'
Jenny stands, smiling sweetly as always, wondering what Je-iff may be able to add to the conversation.
Je-iff (
sounding remarkably like Forrest Gump): 'So, you wanna go through thu mown-uns, huh, through thu nashnul pawk, huh?'
Which in English English translates to 'you want to go through the mountains, through the national park' Jenny: 'Yes, sir.'
Je-iff: 'The rowd's clawsed.'
Jenny (
deducting Je-iff has very little to add): 'Yes sir. The sign says it's closed until 6pm.'
Je-iff: 'Hmmm. Ah hurd et be opun at 1 already. Bu-ut, it might be 6. Damn guverment. Dat guverment, they wanna celebrate thu foundun of the nashnul pawk. So they go un clawse thu rowd to thu pawk. The-e ain't no lowgic, now is the-e?'
Jenny: 'Well, it doesn't seem like the most sensible way to celebrate....'
Je-iff (
he's on a roll now): 'Un that damn president? Obama.
Jenny: 'Er...'
Je-iff (
his ears starting to turn just a little red): He's just too damn snooby tu curm. We
invited hi-im, but he won't curm. Not that I warnt that ma-an he-e anyways.'
Jenny (
inching towards the door): Um...
Je-iff (
now steaming slightly): 'He just thenks he too go-od for us he-e. But Ah didn't no vote faw hi-im'
Jenny (
half out the door): 'Well, thanks for all your help!'
Je-iff: 'And yoo know what....'
No, I don't know and I guess I will never find out. I was out of there, and instead of turning right up the 'clawsed rowd', I turned left and headed directly south to Atlanta.
Merry Christmas, Mr Washington
Standing at Atlanta International Airport, I was perplexed. It is the busiest airport in the U.S. but compared with Heathrow it felt like waiting at Guernsey airport. Maybe they are just incredibly efficient? Or they sneak some of the passengers out the back door? Certainly after waiting for an hour I wondered if Uncle David and Auntie Denny had gone the same way. Where were they? Just as I was about to pop the greeting balloons and head back to the hotel, I saw their little heads appear at the top of the escalator. Yeah, more visitors!! Extra special visitors. For
they brought clothes with them. My clothes, my lovely winter clothes. Thank you!!!
Having caught up on some sleep and repacking Betty Boy, we three muskateers made a quick exit from Atlanta. Our first stop was Macon (as in bacon), a surprising find to the south-east of Atlanta on highway 401. Having munched on a lunch of fried green beans (which taste unsurprisingly like fried green tomatoes and other deep-fried vegetables!), Uncle David and Auntie Denny visited the Georgia Music Hall of Fame. Having had my fix of country music in Nashville, I chose to explore the town a little. I ended up at the Cannon Ball House - the home of Judge Asa Holt which was, go on, guess... yep, it was hit by a cannon ball during the Civil War! I went to open the front door but it was locked. I shook the door knob. A little face appeared at the window. A little hand waved. The door opened, a hand popped out and pulled me into the house. 'You here for the 12.30pm tour?', the little face attached to the little hand asked. 'Yes, ma'am?', I answered, not knowing there was a 12.30pm tour! I'll
call my guide Mary, for I have no idea know what her actual name is. Mary is a through-and-through Southerner; her favourite phrase is 'I don't know how you do it up there, but that's how we do things in the South!'. The house tour was interesting, particularly as I found out that Macon is home to one of the first women's colleges in the US. Despite the town's attractions, we decided to continue on a little before stopping for the night in Dublin. Yes, there is a Dublin in Georgia. Although it can hardly be said to give the original Dublin a run for it's money!
But onwards to Savannah! On December 22nd 1864, General Sherman wrote to President Washington presenting him with an early Christmas gift: the city of Savannah. In doing so, as the locals say, he saved the city from being raised to the ground. Perched on the banks of the river which also forms the Georgia/South Carolina border, Savannah is a quaint town. Historic downtown covers a large area, but can still be explored easily by foot. The old market, the river front, the historic houses and museums provide plenty of entertainment, opportunities to
eat very, very, very well (Tubby's Tank House and the Pink House offering particularly fine fayre) and to submerge yourself in the history of the South. A history that includes seeing the bench that was used in the film
Forrest Gump and the house where Juliette Gordon Low, founder of the Girl Scouts, lived, and the Mercer Williams home which was the scene of the infamous murder of Danny Hansford. Seriously, I am a mine of useless information!
For me, the highlight of our visit to Savannah was trip out to Tybee Island. It wasn't the joy of having a completely not-to-scale map which left us driving around random suburbs of Savannah for over an hour, nor the lack of easily accessible parking which thrilled me. It was seeing the ocean. The Atlantic Ocean. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls I have driven coast to coast! Across an entire country, an entire continent. A monumental moment for me, if unremarkable to anyone else.
Low country, back water
After three days in Savannah, we left the audicious Thunderbird Inn which had been our home, and started the long, agonising journey into South Carolina. Five minutes later, we
had arrived. Other than a short stop to stretch our legs in beautiful Beaufort and to grab a bite (of the most uninspiring chicken ceaser salad I have EVER come across) at a Waffle House somewhere along highway 170, we pushed on past Charleston and up along the coast towards Myrtle Beach. We have to share our intention - based on reviews from the Lonely Planet - to spend a couple of days in Georgetown. On arrival, though, we were disappointed, to say the least. So, we kept going. Again relying on the guidebooks, we headed for Murrell's Inlet. Talk about a good decision. We drove through the inlet, perplexed by the abundance of restaurants and lack of hotels. Maybe they don't like overnight guests in this quiet backwater? As it happens, they do allow a select few to stay each night at the Brookwood Inn, a throwback to the 1950s, if ever I slept in one. Uncle David and Auntie Denny loved the place; I have my reservations. What we did agree on, though, was the excellent cuisine on offer in this tiny corner of South Carolina. Although never quite matching Auntie Denny's expectations, the bountiful seafood was too
scrumptious to resist!
Would that be a single or a double?
It's fair to say I was blown away by Charleston. It felt like my kind of place. It was small enough to walk around, there were of lovely places to eat and drink, and so many people go running! I love a place that has lots of runners. Makes me want to run! And considering the poor state of my marathon training schedule, I need all the motivation I can get. But back to the matter in hand. Similar to Savannah, Charleston is seeped in American history. Yet unlike Savannah, they appear more apologetic for their role in perpetuating the abhorrent slave trade. A visit to the condensed museum at the old slave market left me feeling physically sick. And so it should. Not wishing to make light of the whole subject, but I feel the need to recall meeting Joseph, a really cool guy who works at Boone Hall, the oldest continually functioning plantation in North America. Joseph is employed to share his heritage, the Gullah culture. Gullah is local to the Georgian and South Carolinian low country, a shared culture and language that arose
from the different African tribes shipped into the America slave trade. I am still not sure if Joseph's story is an intentional joke, but certainly made the audience giggle. Here goes...
Two Gullah men from the South Carolinian coast decided to leave home and travel to New York in search of work. They come to a recruitment agency.
Recruitment agent: 'Good morning, how can I help?'
Fella no.1: 'Gud mornun. Ay be in need uv a job.'
Recruitment agent: 'Yes sir, well, what do you do?'
Fella no.1: 'Ah pil-et'
Recruitement agent: 'Ahhh, you're a pilot. Excellent, I have a number of possible openings for you. Please fill out this form.
Fella no.2: 'Un wad about me, sah?'
Recruitment agent: 'And what do you do?'
Fella no.2: 'Ah cut wud.'
Recruitment agent: 'Well, I'm sorry to say that we don't have much need for woodcutters in New York City'.
Fella no.2: 'But, my bruder and me, we'd be always wuhk tagedder. No can wahk widout each uvver.'
Recruitment agent: 'I'm sorry, sir, but your brother is a pilot. How exactly is it impossible for your brother to work without his woodcutting brother?'
Fella no.2: 'But sur, I done
cut de wood, un my bruder, he pile it!'
Writing phonetically is tricky. Maybe you got it, maybe you didn't. Or maybe it's a case of having to be there, in the moment! Er, moving on swiftly...
The most striking feature of Charleston remains its unique architectural style. In historic downtown, residential dwellings come in singles or doubles. Either way, houses do not face the street, but rather all you see is the side of the houses. Your typical single house has a front door on the street side, but the door doesn't open into the house. Oh no, it opens onto a ground floor balcony! It's a captivating feature, which really stands out as well, unique!
Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn
It's curious how different people have such contrasting ideas of what is interesting about a place. In the South the most frequently asked question is whether this staircase or that doorway was used in
Gone With the Wind. Legitimate questions, but not my main reason for visiting. Conversely, tour guides are most eager to point out all the places George Washington, the country's first president, has stood, sat, slept, eaten.
If George Washington was there, the world needs to know! On the other hand, I have learnt plenty of random facts in the last week which would probably be of no interest to anyone. For example, Boone Hall was once the world's largest pecan plantation. All the foods and dishes that now appear on a typically Southern menu have been imported from other countries and cultures. And - this is a corker - ever heard the joke about the Spanish moss? Well, spend an hour or two in the South and you will. The trees in Savannah, and across the region, are covered with long grey-green tendrils which is commonly known as Spanish moss. But, as all guides will gleefully tell you, it is neither Spanish, nor is it moss. Rather, it is tillandsia usneoides, a flowering plant which causes no damage to the trees on which it resides. So there you go!
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Keep 'em coming!
Once again, a wonderful glimpse into another American gem. I love your attempts to capture the accents - you do them very well. (Thank goodness I saw 'Forrest Gump', or I'd be lost!). You'll have to put all this in a book when you get home. Keep well, and God bless you. lots of love.