Eureka Springs is a quaint little place. Its main streets are deep in the valley between two ridges; its shops terraced along the steep, curving streets cut out of the cliff rock.
I arrived at The Crescent Hotel a little worse for wear after my GPS going into melt-down mode when the grid structure Americans use to navigate their towns failed to work due to the actual roads following the cliffs and ridges instead of a neat pattern of grids. Numerous times I was instructed to turn right literally off the edge of a cliff; it is enough to make you paranoid that your iPhone is out to get you. As I climbed higher and higher I could see an impressive structure perched on the edge of the tallest ridge, its presence imposing and demanding attention against the green surrounding forest. When I finally ignored my GPS and made my own way using sense of direction, I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I saw the looming "The Crescent Hotel, est 1886" sign marking the entrance to the car park. I pulled in, and felt a wave of joy sweep over me, for the Hotel truly is magnificent, the grounds manicured in a perfect echo of the old time glory of the building itself. My joy was short lived however, when upon impulse I decided to check my itinerary (something I hadn't done in days), and to my dismay discovered that I was meant to be staying at The Arkansas House in Jasper - a town I'd passed through around four hours earlier. Worse yet - I'd already paid (in full) for this hotel room. Dangnabit!! Not to be disheartened, I rang the owner and apologised profusely and explained my predicament, and he gruffly agreed to refund my room and promptly hung up on me. Oh well, at least I got a good outcome, I told myself as I shook it off and made my way to the grand entrance of the Crescent. Old world manners live here, and I was greeted by a dashing young man opening the huge silver and glass door for me. In a matter of minutes, I had: patted one very cute cat who reminds me uncannily of Henri Le Chat Noir; been given the king balcony suite with jacuzzi for $99 instead of the initially quoted $269; and handed a glass of raspberry iced tea by one of the lovely hotel staff. I have to say, I felt rather chuffed at this point. I booked in for the 8pm hotel ghost tour and took my suitcase upstairs to the awaiting luxury suite. It really is a thing of beauty - massive antique king bed made from cherrywood, delightful curtains complementing the wallpaper, huge jacuzzi positioned to look over the balcony but with white gauzy curtains for privacy (the balcony is shared between two suites). The balcony itself was wonderful - massive, compared with the usual balconies I've had attached to hotel rooms - you could easily host a part of 30 out there. Lovely garden furniture, including tables with mosaic crescent moon symbols inlaid on the table tops. Best of all, I had been given a suite with a view of the valley and the opposing southern ridge. Beautiful. Make sure you check out the photos of the view and the "HC" hedge seen by looking directly down from my balcony. I decided a long hot jacuzzi with book in hand and balcony doors wide open to let in the mist was just what the doctor ordered.
The Crescent Hotel has been many things in its long life, one of which is a hotel set up for the rich and famous, indeed only those on the elite invitation list were able to come and holiday there for quite some time. Quite on the opposite end of the spectrum, a torture house and morgue for wealthy elite suffering from cancer. Advertised as a cancer-curing treatment retreat, the unscrupulous new owner (bought from the original owner after the great depression set in and no one could afford lavish hotel stays anymore) had no idea how to cure cancer, and was only interested in making a quick buck rather than actually treating people. He injected them seven times a day with a horrid concoction of herbs and acid. Many people tried to write their relatives to tell them that the 'treatments' were hurting them worse than their original disease, however his racket wasn't discovered for many, many years. When you entered the treatment facility, he would have you sign a blank letter. If you happened to die at the facility, he would fill in the blank letter with something along the lines of "I'm great! Improved dramatically, very happy, keep the cheques coming!" and post it to your family. In addition to treating your cancer, it was supposed to be a nice retreat, a break away from the stressful 'real life' back home. Well, many of his patients were in agony from their illness, and doubly so from their treatments. Some people in severe pain have been known to moan, wail, and even scream. Well this was disrupting the other guests' stay, so he had reinforced steel rooms built to be completely soundproof, so he could put these noisy creatures in and shut the door, and not have the peace disturbed for the other patients. As you can imagine, being locked up, writhing in pain and near death's door... many of these poor folk who died in these rooms aren't the most restful of souls. Indeed so many people died, he had to build a morgue in the basement of the hotel, to cope with the bodies. I'm sure by now you're getting a picture of the people who haunt this building, and why they're so unhappy and restless. The ghost tour was informative and very interesting; I realised I had already encountered two of the phenomenon earlier in the afternoon. I was out on the back porch, enjoying the view when I could smell the beautiful sweet scent of fruit tobacco, and I thought at the time how odd it was, because no one else was on the back porch with me, and I couldn't see anyone walking the gardens either. I did a bit of a sniff around and strangely, the scent was gone as quickly as it had come. Later on that night, we were told about one of the doctors who worked at the original hotel (as an on site doctor for the wealthy hotel guests) who was always seen wandering around with a pipe in his hand, his tobacco of choice? Cherry flavoured. Apparently it's quite common to smell the tobacco in small whiffs every now and then, and his ghost has actually been seen several times, crossing from the elevator across the hallway into his old office.
I did love this hotel, with all its quirks and freaky sensations and even the trip to the morgue which was slightly terrifying, was also enjoyable. Incidentally, SyFy did a show on The Crescent Hotel, and two amateur ghost hunters went down to the morgue with a thermal camera, and captured a rather creepy very clear image of a man standing in what appeared to be a civil war uniform, right next to one of the ghost hunters. Freaky, freaky stuff. I stood in the spot where this was caught on film and it was a little unnerving - the ghost caught on film didn't exactly look like he wanted to be best friends.
Slightly unnerved, I headed back to my room to try to get some sleep.. which just didn't happen. A combination of me being paranoid, and the ghosts (and guests) making all their unwelcome noises kept me waking every few hours. I packed up all my kit (which by now had grown to almost unmentionable size) and lugged it downstairs, unsure what I'd be doing for the day, but knowing that I wasn't going to stay another night in a hotel I just cannot sleep in, no matter how comfortable.
I drove towards downtown, wondering what I'd do for breakfast, when I happened to see a little house with a sandwich board sign out the front, advertising Oscar's Café. BINGO! What better way to get to know the locals, than get to know the locals off the beaten path? This proved to be a really wonderful idea, as the delightful English & American couple were happy to let me sit and plan my day, and he took time out of the kitchen to make suggestions and draw me a very helpful mud map. The homemade bagel with smoked salmon and massive side salad with absolutely perfect light lemon vinaigrette was a total hit. I walked in at the same time as a man covered in glitter, and as he twinkled in front of me, and ordered the same meal as me, I decided I'd like to get to know him. He turned to me once we'd ordered at the counter and said "so! where are we sitting?" YES. We chose a table on the porch and got to know each other. Sparky hails from Hot Springs, and is relatively new to Eureka Springs, but is finding everyone delightfully whacky (like attracts like!), and was in the process of getting ready for the afternoon's art street fair. I do now, with the benefit of hindsight, sincerely wish I'd just taken his hand and said "lead on!", but silly me, I thought I'd visit Branson. If you're ever in Eureka Springs, go and pay them a visit. The street is gorgeous - residential, so not covered in tourists - the house is very sweet and quirky, and the food is so good and healthful you'll forget you're in America.
One of the places the owner/chef had suggested was Black Bass Lake - a totally off the beaten path, not even signed, down a gravel road and round a few bends, locals' spot. You can walk the perimeter of the lake, take in its beauty, observe the wildlife, fish, sunbake - whatever takes your fancy. I did just that - whatever took my fancy - and spent a whole lot of time getting good photos of beautiful bright blue butterflies.
Downtown Eureka Springs is a gorgeously quaint little town; its shops built into cuts in the ridges, terraced shops lining both sides of the winding, climbing street. Dangerously steep in places, ramshackle (but not unsightly) in others, squeal-worthy cute in some - the two main streets were definitely worth the few hours I devoted to walking them.
But as is life, all good things must come to an end, and I was as far North in Arkansas as I could be, so the next stop was Missouri. I bode Eureka Springs and Arkansas a very fond farewell, and began the climb into the mountains to cross the border. Another beautiful countryside and forest drive, and I was over the border, and into the grand lakes of Southern Missouri.
If you'd like to see some photos, click here.
Till next time,
M x
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Friday, May 17, 2013
Gangsters, sassy madams & crooked politicians: the childhood home of Bill Clinton
The drive up Highway 7 from Little Rock was all it promised: beautiful sweeping views of the valleys and mountains; and stunning old forest growth lining each side of the road, the canopy almost touching overhead as the road curves and bends its merry way north. Wildflowers grow abundantly either side of the one-lane 'highway'; the concrete almost forgotten with such a bounty of nature right in front of you.
I arrived into Hot Springs and happily settled into my hotel for a well-deserved rest. I was even happier to discover how well I'd chosen; my room was not only plush and comfortable but overlooked Lake Catherine - a beautiful sight indeed.
Hot Springs is an interesting old town, it has seen many different eras. I suppose none so as interesting as the Roaring 20's, when Leo P McLaughlin was elected Mayor, and proceeded to announce to anyone who was interested, that he was only too happy to take bribes for himself and his police force, to look the other way at the illegal gambling and brothels that had begun to pop up in the town. So a golden era was born for Hot Springs. Infamous gangsters such as "Lucky" Luciano, and Al Capone came to call it their home away from home. So prevalent were the gangsters escaping the law from up North, that the town began to thrive on illegal gambling, with Leo boldly declaring that as long as the gangsters kept their crime (other than the gambling and whorehousing) out of Hot Springs, he would happily not notify the Northern authorities that they were in town, and leave them in peace. Hot Springs, so named for the many underground springs that welled up and provided essential healing and luxurious bathing, became the gangster holiday city of choice. 1927 - 1947 was the pinnacle for wealth and tourism in the area, with the architectural masterpiece Arlington Hotel being rebuilt for the third time in 1925. Suite 443 was the long-standing favoured suite of Al Capone, and often he would rent out the entire floor to ensure his privacy. Gangsters during this period, were the equivalent of Hollywood A-listers today, so an elaborate set of underground tunnels were used to provide the gangsters with a means of getting around the city without being frequently spotted and harassed for photos or their autographs.
Much to the disgust of the gangsters, brothel madams and undoubtedly the local police and other mayoral authorities, Rockefeller was elected Governor of Arkansas and began a campaign to bring illegal gambling to a close. In 1967 he succeeded, and Hot Springs was no longer the mecca for all things salacious as it had been in the forty previous years.
For the next twenty or so years, the city fell into decline. Indeed it wasn't really until after Bill Clinton was elected President, and the town received a boon of money to rebuild, than Hot Springs started to re-become a holiday destination in the area. Subsequently there are two sides to Hot Springs; the historic downtown district that encompasses Bathhouse Row and many other beautiful old buildings, and the almost derelict outskirts which I drove through with my windows up and my doors locked.
With two beautiful blue lakes in the town, and plenty of natural forest to provide that jade-green backdrop, Hot Springs is a lovely place to look at (if you don't go too far West and end up in the derelict areas..). North of the downtown area is a woodland called Garvan Woodland Gardens, where you can stroll around and see many beautiful trees and wildflowers. It even has a wildlife viewing area, although I didn't get so far on my walking tour, as it was blazing hot and even with my broad-brimmed hat on and my face slathered in sunscreen, I could feel the heat chipping away at my resolve step by step.
Day two in Hot Springs and I was ensconced in the Gangster Museum of America - quite an interesting step through history run by a very sweet young gentleman who offered to show me around town and pointed out some 'must see' attractions along Bathhouse Row to me. Once I'd had my fill of lazily wandering around taking happy snaps, I hopped back in my trust red mobile and headed North again along Highway 7. I had heard that Highway 7 North of Hot Springs was the most scenic of the self-named "scenic byway", and I was very much looking forward to drinking in the beauty of the wilderness as I drove North to Russellville. I imagine this stretch of highway to be particularly gorgeous (having seen some photos in the tourism brochures), but unfortunately for me, due to incredibly heavy fog, I barely saw a tree the entire three hours I drove North. At some points, particularly high in the mountains, the fog was so dense I couldn't see more than 10 metres in front of the car. Which is why the 90 minute drive took me three hours. While I still had GPS reception, I was actually relying on the little image on my iPhone screen to advise whether the road ahead was curving left or right. Disappointing, yes, but beautiful in its own haunting and ethereal kind of way.
Finally the fog cleared a bit as I descended the mountains and came to the Petit Jean State Park I had so been looking forward to hiking. I came to the visitors information centre, and proceeded to grab a trail map, when suddenly the light mist turned to dense fog, and then rain. Decidedly against getting soaked and lost in the wilderness, I jumped back in my car, sighed and headed North again for Russellville. Which by the way, is not a destination - it was simply a place to lay my head for the evening, without having to press too much further North.
Arkansas certainly delivers on its title of The Natural State. It is very easy to forget that you're only a few hours from the bustling metropolis of Memphis when your one-lane road bends and winds its way through mountains and valleys that are lush and green and filled with the noise of insects and movements of bigger things.
Chat soon,
M x
I arrived into Hot Springs and happily settled into my hotel for a well-deserved rest. I was even happier to discover how well I'd chosen; my room was not only plush and comfortable but overlooked Lake Catherine - a beautiful sight indeed.
Hot Springs is an interesting old town, it has seen many different eras. I suppose none so as interesting as the Roaring 20's, when Leo P McLaughlin was elected Mayor, and proceeded to announce to anyone who was interested, that he was only too happy to take bribes for himself and his police force, to look the other way at the illegal gambling and brothels that had begun to pop up in the town. So a golden era was born for Hot Springs. Infamous gangsters such as "Lucky" Luciano, and Al Capone came to call it their home away from home. So prevalent were the gangsters escaping the law from up North, that the town began to thrive on illegal gambling, with Leo boldly declaring that as long as the gangsters kept their crime (other than the gambling and whorehousing) out of Hot Springs, he would happily not notify the Northern authorities that they were in town, and leave them in peace. Hot Springs, so named for the many underground springs that welled up and provided essential healing and luxurious bathing, became the gangster holiday city of choice. 1927 - 1947 was the pinnacle for wealth and tourism in the area, with the architectural masterpiece Arlington Hotel being rebuilt for the third time in 1925. Suite 443 was the long-standing favoured suite of Al Capone, and often he would rent out the entire floor to ensure his privacy. Gangsters during this period, were the equivalent of Hollywood A-listers today, so an elaborate set of underground tunnels were used to provide the gangsters with a means of getting around the city without being frequently spotted and harassed for photos or their autographs.
Much to the disgust of the gangsters, brothel madams and undoubtedly the local police and other mayoral authorities, Rockefeller was elected Governor of Arkansas and began a campaign to bring illegal gambling to a close. In 1967 he succeeded, and Hot Springs was no longer the mecca for all things salacious as it had been in the forty previous years.
For the next twenty or so years, the city fell into decline. Indeed it wasn't really until after Bill Clinton was elected President, and the town received a boon of money to rebuild, than Hot Springs started to re-become a holiday destination in the area. Subsequently there are two sides to Hot Springs; the historic downtown district that encompasses Bathhouse Row and many other beautiful old buildings, and the almost derelict outskirts which I drove through with my windows up and my doors locked.
With two beautiful blue lakes in the town, and plenty of natural forest to provide that jade-green backdrop, Hot Springs is a lovely place to look at (if you don't go too far West and end up in the derelict areas..). North of the downtown area is a woodland called Garvan Woodland Gardens, where you can stroll around and see many beautiful trees and wildflowers. It even has a wildlife viewing area, although I didn't get so far on my walking tour, as it was blazing hot and even with my broad-brimmed hat on and my face slathered in sunscreen, I could feel the heat chipping away at my resolve step by step.
Day two in Hot Springs and I was ensconced in the Gangster Museum of America - quite an interesting step through history run by a very sweet young gentleman who offered to show me around town and pointed out some 'must see' attractions along Bathhouse Row to me. Once I'd had my fill of lazily wandering around taking happy snaps, I hopped back in my trust red mobile and headed North again along Highway 7. I had heard that Highway 7 North of Hot Springs was the most scenic of the self-named "scenic byway", and I was very much looking forward to drinking in the beauty of the wilderness as I drove North to Russellville. I imagine this stretch of highway to be particularly gorgeous (having seen some photos in the tourism brochures), but unfortunately for me, due to incredibly heavy fog, I barely saw a tree the entire three hours I drove North. At some points, particularly high in the mountains, the fog was so dense I couldn't see more than 10 metres in front of the car. Which is why the 90 minute drive took me three hours. While I still had GPS reception, I was actually relying on the little image on my iPhone screen to advise whether the road ahead was curving left or right. Disappointing, yes, but beautiful in its own haunting and ethereal kind of way.
Finally the fog cleared a bit as I descended the mountains and came to the Petit Jean State Park I had so been looking forward to hiking. I came to the visitors information centre, and proceeded to grab a trail map, when suddenly the light mist turned to dense fog, and then rain. Decidedly against getting soaked and lost in the wilderness, I jumped back in my car, sighed and headed North again for Russellville. Which by the way, is not a destination - it was simply a place to lay my head for the evening, without having to press too much further North.
Arkansas certainly delivers on its title of The Natural State. It is very easy to forget that you're only a few hours from the bustling metropolis of Memphis when your one-lane road bends and winds its way through mountains and valleys that are lush and green and filled with the noise of insects and movements of bigger things.
Chat soon,
M x
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Arkansas: The Natural State.
Arkansas was given a bit of a ribbing by the people I'd spoken to in Tennessee; I remember in particular Joel and Michael laughing when I said I was going to Little Rock. Their response? "What for?"
What for indeed? Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I'd never been this deep into the middle of the country (that I can recall - my parents may have taken me on one of our overseas holidays when I was little, but if they did, I don't remember) and I wanted to see what it was all about. Being a country girl, I figured I would love The Natural State. After hearing quite a few disparaging comments about Little Rock, AR, I was concerned I'd made a bad decision. But, determined to find out for myself, I hopped on the I-40 W, and did a rather lovely drive actually, for two hours through farming land from Memphis to Little Rock.
Little Rock is the city of museums. I kid you not when I say that you cannot walk a couple of blocks without seeing another museum. My first museum was the Old State House Museum - a lovely grand old building built pre-civil war with beautiful lush green gardens and a spectacular water fountain out front. They had several exhibitions showing, and I settled in happily for what I expected to be a few hours of losing myself in history. The first exhibition was on growing up pre-technology, when children actually sat at dinner tables and talked to their parents and did their homework and played outside with friends. It was a combination of recreated 1950s classrooms/living rooms etc and documentary-style video snippets on various aspects of the culture of Arkansas pre-technology (so really, pre 1980s, but as far back as the 1820s). Things like, the role the church played in family life. The importance of teachers, and how they were also a big part of 'bringing up' the local children. It was a simpler time in terms of your choices were limited, so you made the best of what you had available, and you really didn't know any better so you were content with what you had. At least, this is the message I got loud and clear from those interviewed in the doco's. By the time I'd finished this exhibition, I was feeling quite warm and fuzzy and nostalgic for an era I wasn't even born in. I headed upstairs to see the exhibition of Arkansas women's antique dresses I had been looking forward to - I do love vintage fashion. As soon as I walked into the room, I felt terrified. There was this cold dark presence pushing down on me, like I could feel someone watching me around the corner of the displays; someone full of ill intent. My heart filled with panic and instead of ignoring my rather good instincts, I walked backwards as quickly and calmly as I could, until I hit the threshold of the room and spun on my heel and fled virtually straight into the couple who had been going through the exhibits alongside me. I must've looked a bit odd, because I got a bit of a quizzical face from the woman, but at that point my heart was beating so fast I couldn't have cared less.
I don't ordinarily mind encounters with ghosts, primarily I suppose because I'm usually forewarned and therefore prepared to receive their presence. But I wasn't warned at all, and this spirit was angry, and vengeful. For those who don't believe in ghosts, or who aren't sensitive to them, you'll not understand that terror, and I'm happy for you to live without it. For those who have had this kind of encounter, you'll know what I mean when I say I couldn't have spent another minute in that room. The feeling of malice and ill intent was far too strong to ignore. Once I'd put enough distance between me and Mr Angry Ghost, I went to the front desk and asked "has anyone died in this building?" and without knowing which room I referred to, he said "oh yes, someone was stabbed to death in that top left room". OH GOOD! And you sent a young girl by herself up there with no warning! Thanks mister! Bloody hell. I left muttering to myself, feeling much better to be out in the fresh air and full sun again.
My next museum was the Historic Arkansas Museum, and it was an interesting spin through history. Once I'd had my fill here, I took a bit of a brisk walk around downtown, and eventually headed to my hotel to get ready for dinner with Joe David and his wife. Joe David Rice works for Arkansas Tourism, and we 'met' via email when I was enquiring about things to do and where to stay. They took me out to dinner that night, and it was delightful, with Joe David choosing great restaurants and the two of them being wonderful company. After around four hours, we eventually parted, and I gave them their gift of TimTams. I got a text the next day saying "TimTams are great!" Another fan acquired.
Just before leaving Little Rock the next morning, I headed over to the Farmer's Markets to buy some fresh fruit & vege for snacking. The markets didn't disappoint, and I ended up with a punnet of strawberries picked that morning! I also ended up with some very sweet, crisp sugar snap peas. Munching happily on my bounty, I did some final exploring in the surrounding area, before heading South-West to Hot Springs.
Hot Springs is worth its own blog, so I'll leave it there. If you'd like to see some photos from Little Rock, click here.
Chat soon,
M x
What for indeed? Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I'd never been this deep into the middle of the country (that I can recall - my parents may have taken me on one of our overseas holidays when I was little, but if they did, I don't remember) and I wanted to see what it was all about. Being a country girl, I figured I would love The Natural State. After hearing quite a few disparaging comments about Little Rock, AR, I was concerned I'd made a bad decision. But, determined to find out for myself, I hopped on the I-40 W, and did a rather lovely drive actually, for two hours through farming land from Memphis to Little Rock.
Little Rock is the city of museums. I kid you not when I say that you cannot walk a couple of blocks without seeing another museum. My first museum was the Old State House Museum - a lovely grand old building built pre-civil war with beautiful lush green gardens and a spectacular water fountain out front. They had several exhibitions showing, and I settled in happily for what I expected to be a few hours of losing myself in history. The first exhibition was on growing up pre-technology, when children actually sat at dinner tables and talked to their parents and did their homework and played outside with friends. It was a combination of recreated 1950s classrooms/living rooms etc and documentary-style video snippets on various aspects of the culture of Arkansas pre-technology (so really, pre 1980s, but as far back as the 1820s). Things like, the role the church played in family life. The importance of teachers, and how they were also a big part of 'bringing up' the local children. It was a simpler time in terms of your choices were limited, so you made the best of what you had available, and you really didn't know any better so you were content with what you had. At least, this is the message I got loud and clear from those interviewed in the doco's. By the time I'd finished this exhibition, I was feeling quite warm and fuzzy and nostalgic for an era I wasn't even born in. I headed upstairs to see the exhibition of Arkansas women's antique dresses I had been looking forward to - I do love vintage fashion. As soon as I walked into the room, I felt terrified. There was this cold dark presence pushing down on me, like I could feel someone watching me around the corner of the displays; someone full of ill intent. My heart filled with panic and instead of ignoring my rather good instincts, I walked backwards as quickly and calmly as I could, until I hit the threshold of the room and spun on my heel and fled virtually straight into the couple who had been going through the exhibits alongside me. I must've looked a bit odd, because I got a bit of a quizzical face from the woman, but at that point my heart was beating so fast I couldn't have cared less.
I don't ordinarily mind encounters with ghosts, primarily I suppose because I'm usually forewarned and therefore prepared to receive their presence. But I wasn't warned at all, and this spirit was angry, and vengeful. For those who don't believe in ghosts, or who aren't sensitive to them, you'll not understand that terror, and I'm happy for you to live without it. For those who have had this kind of encounter, you'll know what I mean when I say I couldn't have spent another minute in that room. The feeling of malice and ill intent was far too strong to ignore. Once I'd put enough distance between me and Mr Angry Ghost, I went to the front desk and asked "has anyone died in this building?" and without knowing which room I referred to, he said "oh yes, someone was stabbed to death in that top left room". OH GOOD! And you sent a young girl by herself up there with no warning! Thanks mister! Bloody hell. I left muttering to myself, feeling much better to be out in the fresh air and full sun again.
My next museum was the Historic Arkansas Museum, and it was an interesting spin through history. Once I'd had my fill here, I took a bit of a brisk walk around downtown, and eventually headed to my hotel to get ready for dinner with Joe David and his wife. Joe David Rice works for Arkansas Tourism, and we 'met' via email when I was enquiring about things to do and where to stay. They took me out to dinner that night, and it was delightful, with Joe David choosing great restaurants and the two of them being wonderful company. After around four hours, we eventually parted, and I gave them their gift of TimTams. I got a text the next day saying "TimTams are great!" Another fan acquired.
Just before leaving Little Rock the next morning, I headed over to the Farmer's Markets to buy some fresh fruit & vege for snacking. The markets didn't disappoint, and I ended up with a punnet of strawberries picked that morning! I also ended up with some very sweet, crisp sugar snap peas. Munching happily on my bounty, I did some final exploring in the surrounding area, before heading South-West to Hot Springs.
Hot Springs is worth its own blog, so I'll leave it there. If you'd like to see some photos from Little Rock, click here.
Chat soon,
M x
I was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale...
It wouldn't be an accurate recollection of my holiday if I didn't include my less than enthusiastic approach to the first half of my stay in Memphis; I arrived into gloomy weather and was super tired, thanks to my GPS going offline for 24 hours which resulted in me having to follow my sense of direction in an area I'd never been in before. So instead of the 2 hours it was meant to take me to get to Memphis, it took all day Thursday. The next morning (Friday) I awoke crying after a particularly ominous nightmare, and a deep sense of separation from Shaun. The huge storm cell that had been making its way south finally broke over Memphis, and as I woke up with that sense of loss, thunder clapped and the storm rolled over the Home of the Blues. I hunkered down in bed defiantly, not wanting to be an adult and get up to face the day. Little wonder, with a start like that, that I didn't end up particularly motivated to explore Memphis' downtown region.
Friday was spent catching up on laundry & Game of Thrones; and a 90 minute massage which put me in s stupor for the rest of the day. I did manage to eat lunch however, at a place I'd had on my hit list: Gus' World Famous Fried Chicken. Moist meat, crispy exterior with just the right amount of heat - I can see why this is a preferred local hang-out. While I was busy enjoying my chicken, the guy in front of me turned around and started asking me questions (starting with 'do you like the chicken?' and moving to things like 'how long you here for?'), and we found ourselves engaged in a lengthy and pleasant conversation about all things from Memphis to Brisbane. When Greg proposed we have dinner together that night, I was happy to oblige, as I had been wanting to go to the restaurant he was proposing, to try the local barbecue fare. Unfortunately, Interstate B-B-Q is.. how can I put this? Crap. The ambience is TERRIBLE (think ripped seats with stuffing coming out and smoke-stained walls), the waitstaff are surly, the neighbourhood is terrifying (Greg had to walk me to my car to ensure I got there safely, and the restaurant gives discounts to the police to keep them in the area!), and the food was overcooked, dried out, like somewhere between jerky and ribs. I have absolutely no idea why this place is an 'institution' in Memphis BBQ.
Saturday I woke determined to see downtown, and find something I liked about Memphis. Initially, I tried to go to Slave Haven Underground Railroad Museum, but upon pulling up outside and having my car eyeballed by a bunch of truly dodgy looking youths, I decided against it. Instead, I hit the next attraction on my list - Elmwood Cemetery. Not only did I get to pat the cemetery cat, Howard, (squeeee!!), I got a CD which is a guided tour of the cemetery and commentary on its more interesting residents. As you drive slowly around, the narrator tells you when to stop and which headstone to look for, and then proceeds to give you a colourful story about the person buried there. From brothel madams turned yellowfever heros to confederate generals and the first black millionaire, it was an interesting step through history.
After spending a couple of hours in Elmwood, I headed to the next target on my hit list: the National Civil Rights Museum. I wasn't entirely sure what this museum was about, but I do like my museums, and I am constantly fascinated by the history of slavery in America, so off I went. I would estimate more than two thirds of this museum is a shrine to Martin Luther King Jr, as it is the exact location where he was assassinated, and you can actually stand on the balcony where he received that fatal bullet, and stand at the window where James Earl Ray took aim and fired. The museum is much more than that, of course, it goes through the history of black slavery and civil rights (not just for black people, but all people) in the USA, the struggles, the triumphs, the set-backs. The component dedicated to MLK is very large however, and in detail goes through the lead-up to his assassination through to after Ray's sentencing, from both his side in chronological order, and James Earl Ray's. The feeling that it was indeed a conspiracy and Ray had more than help still lingers, and it seems pretty unlikely he was able to do it by himself, without financial assistance. I could go into it, but that would be more than one blog entry in itself. If you're interested, go here for more details. "No flash" photographs are allowed, so I made good use of my camera and took some shots of the balcony on which MLK stood, and the bathroom in which Ray stood, as well as the bullet recovered from MLK along with all the other evidence used in the criminal trial.
I wandered around the entertainment district for a while, after securely parking my car in a garage run by the most happy parking attendants I've ever encountered. They had a boom box going, playing all kinds of funky tunes, and they were dancing and laughing and calling me "baby" etc (not that this is unusual here in the South..) and were just a delight to witness really. Finally, I wandered onto Beale St, and boy oh boy. The first whiff of pee I got nearly had me doing a 180, but I steeled myself and threw my body headlong into the press of sweaty people lining the main strip which had been roped off to vehicular traffic. BB King's Blues Bar seemed like the logical place to go for lunch, and after settling in and ordering some fried pickles, I was pleased with my choice. The band were fantastic (although not strictly playing Blues..) and the female lead was excellent. She caught me taking happy snaps and winked at me, and for the rest of the afternoon I grinned at her like a love-struck fool as she belted out winners like "I'd rather go blind" and "Mississippi Woman" and "Chain of Fools". The food was sub-par, but the atmosphere and music were wonderful. I headed back out into the light like a mole rising above ground; squinting and struggling to find my sunglasses and to orient myself amidst the hustle and noise of Beale St midtown. So much to see! And unfortunately smell! After spending a good hour walking up and down, watching shoe shines holler for business and young boys do acrobatics up and down the street, I decided it was time I called it a day, and headed back to the peace and quiet of my room. Once you've eaten, and you've watched the buskers, and you've soaked it in - there's little to do in Beale St except sit down and start drinking, and I'm not on that kind of holiday.
My last day in Memphis was nothing short of beautiful - the clouds had moved South, and the rains had washed away any residual smog in the air, leaving a crisp, clear and slightly chilly day ahead. I started by doing another tour of the downtown region, further East this time as I had focused on the midtown area Saturday. Once satisfied I'd seen the best of the downtown area, I parked the car near the river and walked a few kms (miles?) up to Beale St Landing, a new under-development dock and parkland complex due to be finished in March 2014. This is the new location for the riverboats to depart from, and I was pretty determined to go on a riverboat cruise on the Mighty Mississippi. I arrived around midday to discover that boarding time wasn't 1pm, but 2pm, for a 2:30pm cruise. Whoops! After asking the girls manning the ticket booth how I could kill two hours, and receiving "nothing to do around here" as a response, I decided to just sit down and enjoy some sunshine on the dock instead. I noticed fairly quickly through the viewfinder of my trust Nikon, that the dock appeared to be uhm.. underwater. Feeling a bit alarmed, and wondering if Memphis was having a flood I wasn't aware of, I decided to be proactive and ask a man driving along in a golf buggy if he knew the answer. Boy! Did he know the answer! ALL of the answers! Jimmy is a veritable treasure trove of all thins Memphis, history and current goings-on, and not only did he answer that question (no, it's not flooding, more on that later) but he proceeded to invite me to hop in the buggy, and drove me all around the new development, showing me landmarks and telling me what's planned, and how things will look, and then took me up in an elevator to see the top part of the development, and then back down again to show me the architect's diagrams of the finalised project. He spent a good 40 minutes educating me on Memphis and the river, and I barely said a word, too scared that if I stopped his stream of information, he'd realise how long he'd been talking and realise he should probably get back to work. Turns out Jimmy is the Community Engagement Manager for the riverfront development - looks like they hired well. I was mighty engaged! Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and when we returned to where he'd parked the buggy, his two workers had arrived and were sitting on it expectantly. I went back to the riverfront and sat on the steps, watching the birds dance precariously on the debris swirling along the muddy river. It wasn't long before I overheard two men talking about Australia, and I had to giggle to myself when one said "...Brisbane... Sydney... Melbourne.. that's about it, I think they're the only real cities." The same man asked me if I minded them smoking cigars, and I said of course not, and well, as seems to happen, we struck up a friendship for the next few hours, as we talked about Australia and about their adventures as well. They were on what they call a "cigar holiday". Two good buddies, who reminded me uncannily of Danny Crane and Alan Shore from Boston Legal, with their cigars and fishing hats and subtle wealth under their easy going manner. Confusingly though, one looked so much like George Segal , I couldn't stop staring at him. We sat next to each other on the cruise, and chatted amicably for the next couple of hours. It was a little sad to say goodbye (they were flying home in a few hours) and Joel gave me a bit of a hug goodbye, while Michael aka George just kinda waved airily at me. Characters indeed.
Now! On to some actual information about Memphis and the Mississippi! The river's tide mark varies greatly season to season. In Spring, the water level rises to around 35-48 foot (at the bank level, not the level of the deepest parts), thanks to the influx of Spring rains and melting snow coming down from up North. After Summer however, due to a lack of rain and no more melting snow, the river will dip down to as low as -10, leaving huge stretches of riverbank exposed. To compensate for this constant shift in river level, the new development has a very smart system in place, whereby the ramp you walk down to meet the dock has five levels on a spiral system (four of which were submerged when I was there), and the dock itself is attached to two huge mechanical arms that swing up and down with the water, so lift the dock up to meet the required level of the ramp to meet the water level. Click here to check out some photos. There is also a whole riverbank walkway system that goes underwater during the high tide season, which of course has been built to withstand submersion. There's around $300Million worth of development going on in the Riverfront District right now; not only the Beale St Landing complex but also the world's sixth largest pyramid (yes, including the ones in Egypt) is undergoing a massive transformation inside. The pyramid was initially built as a fancy football stadium - it is six stadiums wide at the base - but in the late 90s, the local basketball and football teams wanted a state-of-the-art stadium built (not entirely sure what was wrong with the existing structure), and so FedEx Stadium was built. But it was built with an exclusivity contract attached, so since 2004, the pyramid has been empty. Recently, Bass Pro has bought the stadium, and is in the process of converting it into an outdoor sports ecosystem of marshes, creeks, log cabins etc, so people can go on holiday there and fish inside the pyramid. Bizarre. It's costing $30M apparently! The river was 55 foot deep when we went on our cruise, and running at around 9-10 miles/hour. She moves along at a clip!
So all in all, I did end up finding some spots I quite enjoyed, but I have to say, I'm terribly disappointed with Memphis BBQ. I heard so much about how wonderful it was before I left, and I was really looking forward to some finger-lickin' ribs. I don't know if I just kept going to the wrong places, but I honestly did not have one good meal while I was there. Which is appalling if you consider I was there four nights, and five days. Monday morning I awoke refreshed and ready to get on with the rest of my road trip. I turned on 95.3 HICK-FM and headed on the I-40 W for Little Rock. Miranda Lambert (fittingly) sang me out over the state line with my new favourite song "Mama's Broken Heart". I particularly like the lines "Go and fix your make up, girl, it’s just a break up / Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady / 'Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together / Even when you fall apart". Click here to listen to her awesomeness.
Chat soon,
M x
Friday was spent catching up on laundry & Game of Thrones; and a 90 minute massage which put me in s stupor for the rest of the day. I did manage to eat lunch however, at a place I'd had on my hit list: Gus' World Famous Fried Chicken. Moist meat, crispy exterior with just the right amount of heat - I can see why this is a preferred local hang-out. While I was busy enjoying my chicken, the guy in front of me turned around and started asking me questions (starting with 'do you like the chicken?' and moving to things like 'how long you here for?'), and we found ourselves engaged in a lengthy and pleasant conversation about all things from Memphis to Brisbane. When Greg proposed we have dinner together that night, I was happy to oblige, as I had been wanting to go to the restaurant he was proposing, to try the local barbecue fare. Unfortunately, Interstate B-B-Q is.. how can I put this? Crap. The ambience is TERRIBLE (think ripped seats with stuffing coming out and smoke-stained walls), the waitstaff are surly, the neighbourhood is terrifying (Greg had to walk me to my car to ensure I got there safely, and the restaurant gives discounts to the police to keep them in the area!), and the food was overcooked, dried out, like somewhere between jerky and ribs. I have absolutely no idea why this place is an 'institution' in Memphis BBQ.
Saturday I woke determined to see downtown, and find something I liked about Memphis. Initially, I tried to go to Slave Haven Underground Railroad Museum, but upon pulling up outside and having my car eyeballed by a bunch of truly dodgy looking youths, I decided against it. Instead, I hit the next attraction on my list - Elmwood Cemetery. Not only did I get to pat the cemetery cat, Howard, (squeeee!!), I got a CD which is a guided tour of the cemetery and commentary on its more interesting residents. As you drive slowly around, the narrator tells you when to stop and which headstone to look for, and then proceeds to give you a colourful story about the person buried there. From brothel madams turned yellowfever heros to confederate generals and the first black millionaire, it was an interesting step through history.
After spending a couple of hours in Elmwood, I headed to the next target on my hit list: the National Civil Rights Museum. I wasn't entirely sure what this museum was about, but I do like my museums, and I am constantly fascinated by the history of slavery in America, so off I went. I would estimate more than two thirds of this museum is a shrine to Martin Luther King Jr, as it is the exact location where he was assassinated, and you can actually stand on the balcony where he received that fatal bullet, and stand at the window where James Earl Ray took aim and fired. The museum is much more than that, of course, it goes through the history of black slavery and civil rights (not just for black people, but all people) in the USA, the struggles, the triumphs, the set-backs. The component dedicated to MLK is very large however, and in detail goes through the lead-up to his assassination through to after Ray's sentencing, from both his side in chronological order, and James Earl Ray's. The feeling that it was indeed a conspiracy and Ray had more than help still lingers, and it seems pretty unlikely he was able to do it by himself, without financial assistance. I could go into it, but that would be more than one blog entry in itself. If you're interested, go here for more details. "No flash" photographs are allowed, so I made good use of my camera and took some shots of the balcony on which MLK stood, and the bathroom in which Ray stood, as well as the bullet recovered from MLK along with all the other evidence used in the criminal trial.
I wandered around the entertainment district for a while, after securely parking my car in a garage run by the most happy parking attendants I've ever encountered. They had a boom box going, playing all kinds of funky tunes, and they were dancing and laughing and calling me "baby" etc (not that this is unusual here in the South..) and were just a delight to witness really. Finally, I wandered onto Beale St, and boy oh boy. The first whiff of pee I got nearly had me doing a 180, but I steeled myself and threw my body headlong into the press of sweaty people lining the main strip which had been roped off to vehicular traffic. BB King's Blues Bar seemed like the logical place to go for lunch, and after settling in and ordering some fried pickles, I was pleased with my choice. The band were fantastic (although not strictly playing Blues..) and the female lead was excellent. She caught me taking happy snaps and winked at me, and for the rest of the afternoon I grinned at her like a love-struck fool as she belted out winners like "I'd rather go blind" and "Mississippi Woman" and "Chain of Fools". The food was sub-par, but the atmosphere and music were wonderful. I headed back out into the light like a mole rising above ground; squinting and struggling to find my sunglasses and to orient myself amidst the hustle and noise of Beale St midtown. So much to see! And unfortunately smell! After spending a good hour walking up and down, watching shoe shines holler for business and young boys do acrobatics up and down the street, I decided it was time I called it a day, and headed back to the peace and quiet of my room. Once you've eaten, and you've watched the buskers, and you've soaked it in - there's little to do in Beale St except sit down and start drinking, and I'm not on that kind of holiday.
My last day in Memphis was nothing short of beautiful - the clouds had moved South, and the rains had washed away any residual smog in the air, leaving a crisp, clear and slightly chilly day ahead. I started by doing another tour of the downtown region, further East this time as I had focused on the midtown area Saturday. Once satisfied I'd seen the best of the downtown area, I parked the car near the river and walked a few kms (miles?) up to Beale St Landing, a new under-development dock and parkland complex due to be finished in March 2014. This is the new location for the riverboats to depart from, and I was pretty determined to go on a riverboat cruise on the Mighty Mississippi. I arrived around midday to discover that boarding time wasn't 1pm, but 2pm, for a 2:30pm cruise. Whoops! After asking the girls manning the ticket booth how I could kill two hours, and receiving "nothing to do around here" as a response, I decided to just sit down and enjoy some sunshine on the dock instead. I noticed fairly quickly through the viewfinder of my trust Nikon, that the dock appeared to be uhm.. underwater. Feeling a bit alarmed, and wondering if Memphis was having a flood I wasn't aware of, I decided to be proactive and ask a man driving along in a golf buggy if he knew the answer. Boy! Did he know the answer! ALL of the answers! Jimmy is a veritable treasure trove of all thins Memphis, history and current goings-on, and not only did he answer that question (no, it's not flooding, more on that later) but he proceeded to invite me to hop in the buggy, and drove me all around the new development, showing me landmarks and telling me what's planned, and how things will look, and then took me up in an elevator to see the top part of the development, and then back down again to show me the architect's diagrams of the finalised project. He spent a good 40 minutes educating me on Memphis and the river, and I barely said a word, too scared that if I stopped his stream of information, he'd realise how long he'd been talking and realise he should probably get back to work. Turns out Jimmy is the Community Engagement Manager for the riverfront development - looks like they hired well. I was mighty engaged! Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and when we returned to where he'd parked the buggy, his two workers had arrived and were sitting on it expectantly. I went back to the riverfront and sat on the steps, watching the birds dance precariously on the debris swirling along the muddy river. It wasn't long before I overheard two men talking about Australia, and I had to giggle to myself when one said "...Brisbane... Sydney... Melbourne.. that's about it, I think they're the only real cities." The same man asked me if I minded them smoking cigars, and I said of course not, and well, as seems to happen, we struck up a friendship for the next few hours, as we talked about Australia and about their adventures as well. They were on what they call a "cigar holiday". Two good buddies, who reminded me uncannily of Danny Crane and Alan Shore from Boston Legal, with their cigars and fishing hats and subtle wealth under their easy going manner. Confusingly though, one looked so much like George Segal , I couldn't stop staring at him. We sat next to each other on the cruise, and chatted amicably for the next couple of hours. It was a little sad to say goodbye (they were flying home in a few hours) and Joel gave me a bit of a hug goodbye, while Michael aka George just kinda waved airily at me. Characters indeed.
Now! On to some actual information about Memphis and the Mississippi! The river's tide mark varies greatly season to season. In Spring, the water level rises to around 35-48 foot (at the bank level, not the level of the deepest parts), thanks to the influx of Spring rains and melting snow coming down from up North. After Summer however, due to a lack of rain and no more melting snow, the river will dip down to as low as -10, leaving huge stretches of riverbank exposed. To compensate for this constant shift in river level, the new development has a very smart system in place, whereby the ramp you walk down to meet the dock has five levels on a spiral system (four of which were submerged when I was there), and the dock itself is attached to two huge mechanical arms that swing up and down with the water, so lift the dock up to meet the required level of the ramp to meet the water level. Click here to check out some photos. There is also a whole riverbank walkway system that goes underwater during the high tide season, which of course has been built to withstand submersion. There's around $300Million worth of development going on in the Riverfront District right now; not only the Beale St Landing complex but also the world's sixth largest pyramid (yes, including the ones in Egypt) is undergoing a massive transformation inside. The pyramid was initially built as a fancy football stadium - it is six stadiums wide at the base - but in the late 90s, the local basketball and football teams wanted a state-of-the-art stadium built (not entirely sure what was wrong with the existing structure), and so FedEx Stadium was built. But it was built with an exclusivity contract attached, so since 2004, the pyramid has been empty. Recently, Bass Pro has bought the stadium, and is in the process of converting it into an outdoor sports ecosystem of marshes, creeks, log cabins etc, so people can go on holiday there and fish inside the pyramid. Bizarre. It's costing $30M apparently! The river was 55 foot deep when we went on our cruise, and running at around 9-10 miles/hour. She moves along at a clip!
So all in all, I did end up finding some spots I quite enjoyed, but I have to say, I'm terribly disappointed with Memphis BBQ. I heard so much about how wonderful it was before I left, and I was really looking forward to some finger-lickin' ribs. I don't know if I just kept going to the wrong places, but I honestly did not have one good meal while I was there. Which is appalling if you consider I was there four nights, and five days. Monday morning I awoke refreshed and ready to get on with the rest of my road trip. I turned on 95.3 HICK-FM and headed on the I-40 W for Little Rock. Miranda Lambert (fittingly) sang me out over the state line with my new favourite song "Mama's Broken Heart". I particularly like the lines "Go and fix your make up, girl, it’s just a break up / Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady / 'Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together / Even when you fall apart". Click here to listen to her awesomeness.
Chat soon,
M x
Thursday, May 9, 2013
The War of Northern Aggression - the trail continues...
I rolled into Franklin mid-morning and headed straight for the only major attraction I didn't visit last year - Lotz House. To be honest, after the captivating stories at Carter House (just across the road from Lotz House) and Carnton Plantation (a couple of miles down the road), Lotz House didn't impress me much. Unfortunately, the original owners (the Lotz family..) had to flee town, after Mr Lotz, a woodworker from Germany, hand-made a piano depicting the Civil War they experienced. He carved symbols for both the Confederates and Federal sides into the piano, the most dramatic of which was a huge eagle, wings spread, claws clutching a Confederate flag. No one is entirely sure of why he did this, but the KKK (Klan..) heard about it, and were NOT impressed. They planned to come kill him as they thought it was a really offensive symbol. He heard about their intention, and within ten days had sold their house and all the belongings he could, and had packed what was left and his family into a covered wagon, and headed as far away as he could. He ended up all the way West into California. When the Klan came calling, they barged straight into the house much to the surprise of the new owners, and once they established he was long gone, they dragged the piano out front and burned it down to ash. The disappointing part of Lotz is because the owners left so soon, and it wasn't handed down the generations, the house was emptied of its original furnishings, and has been used for different residential and commercial purposes; it has been a family home, a subway shop and pretty much everything in between. An historical home loses some of its fascination when it doesn't really contain the original contents.
Feeling a little underwhelmed, I decided to hop back on the Civil War Trail down Columbine Pike (the infamous pike that Gen. Schofield managed to sneak his 20,000+ men down past Gen. Hood's army..) and head to Spring Hill, the site of the previous major battlefield the day before the Franklin Battle. Upon advice that Rippavilla (I kid you not) Plantation was the best place to go, I headed straight there, and was not disappointed. She's a beauty. The antebellum architecture is grand and stately and in immaculate condition. The interior has been modified, yes, but only slightly by the man who bought the house from the original owners, and so it is still 100+ years old even with the modifications. I would love to own and live in this home. Fourteen foot ceilings downstairs and sixteen foot ceilings upstairs! Grand entranceways and a beautiful serene light-filled sunroom! Amazingly, much of the furniture and décor in the home is from the original family, including hand-sewn quilts placed at the end of the feather-stuffed mattresses in the bedrooms. This home has great historical significance, because it is here General Hood (my main man!) gave his ill-fated orders for the Battle of Franklin. They still have the original dining suite that Hood and his Generals sat on, the dining table he spread his maps out on, to plan his assault on the Federal forces north in Franklin. Looking at those weathered chairs it's easy to imagine the men gathered around, feeling tense and nervous, moving pieces around on their old parchment maps. It was here I learned the origins of the expression 'bite the bullet'. Apparently, when soldiers were gravely wounded, and needed their limbs amputated or some kind of painful medical procedure performed, they were given bullets to bite down on, to try to grit away their pain. Not everyone had painkillers on hand, or left in supply. The museum wing of the house has bullets recovered from the battlefield with actual teeth marks clearly imprinted in them. Glad you live in the 21st century? I patted my handbag containing panadol and gave a moment of thanks upon hearing this story. Also in the museum was a 19th century curling iron. Oh how I was photography was allowed inside the home, because I'm not sure I an adequately describe it. But it is shaped much like the curling irons of today, but with a barrel about 5mm across, and of course no electrical plug. I imagine they heated them by putting them in the fire, and then did their best not to burn their fingers (or scalp!) while curling tiny little tendrils of hair. The sheer patience and amount of time you'd have to spend to get a whole head of hair curled this way is unfathomable. Who has the time?!
A little-known piece of terribly interesting information (if you think about the implications), is that Generals Hood and Schofield were actually good friends - as were many of the soldiers on opposing sides of the war - they both went to Westpoint Military School, and more than that - were roommates. Imagine growing up with someone, going through something as testing as military school, graduating together, and then being called into service on opposite sides? To culminate in a great bloody battle during which SIX Generals died and over 10,000 soldiers lost their lives?
Another interesting piece of information I picked up here was the purpose of those antique settees I've seen around (I believe my nan had one); one joined settee with two 'chair' shapes at each end and a lower, uncomfortable-looking middle seat? Know the ones? Well, these were called 'courting settees', or 'chaperone chairs'. The unwed couple would sit one at each end, and the chaperone would sit in between them, in the uncomfortable part, designed specifically to be uncomfortable so as to keep the chaperone awake and alert. Doesn't that sound like a fun way of dating?! Gods only know what topics were 'safe' or 'appropriate', and how they managed to have a flowing conversation around a crotchety old relative (think elderly aunt or grandmother) or worse yet - the girl's father.
Joining me on this tour was a busload of seniors from Nashville - and boy were they a hoot. One of the lovely old ladies was a member of the Tennessee Confederate Union, and she stood straight and proud when she announced this to all of us. I made friends with a few of them and by the time I left I found myself wishing they could come with me further South. I got a lovely compliment from a couple of them asking me if I was there learning about the War for a college assignment. Ha! God bless!
From Spring Hill I headed South-West to Savannah Tennessee (not to be confused with the Savannah, in Georgia) to spend the night. It seemed like a good place to lay my head, as I was getting weary, and it held a few areas of interest for me. I arrived very weary, and headed straight for the visitors centre, to ask for recommendations on where to sleep and eat. The lady advised that the motel directly across the street gets her good feedback, and the BBQ joint three doors down is very good. So I took her sage advice, and wandered across the road to check in. After I was settled I had dinner - Hickory Pit - very cute little restaurant that is kept in business by the locals and random passers-by. The waitress there had the thickest southern accent I've heard in a long time, it was like listening to molasses slide down her throat. She was such a sweetheart I tipped her nearly 30%. I'm giving Australians a great reputation for tipping in these parts! It was only after I returned to my room to turn in for the night that I noticed across the other street, was a large boring building with the sign "Savannah Correctional Facility". EEP! I locked everything I could and threw my now very heavy suitcase in front of the door, but after watching two episodes of Game of Thrones on my laptop I forgot about my first-world woes and went to sleep grateful for the large comfortable bed and clean sheets. TEN HOURS LATER (which has to be record for me) I awoke refreshed, and ready to tackle the day.
Leaving the car park I was waved at by another guest, and off I went to tour the Historic District of downtown Savannah. Boy oh boy I could live here. Seriously. The homes are beautiful. The grounds are beautiful. The fast-moving Tennessee River creates a natural border for the residential district, and people fish directly off their back porches into it. The abundance of wildlife and nature sounds; the smell of serenity and just a hint of haunted past lingers in the air. The ghosts here whisper with just the right amount of menace; enough for the hairs on the back of your neck to prickle slightly, but not so much you feel endangered. After a couple of hours and covering pretty much all of the northern side of town, I headed for breakfast, where I ran into the same guy from the hotel car park. We exchanged conversation and chatted about traveling the Civil War trail; he's heading for Vicksburg in a very round-about kind of way, and had just come from Shiloh and Memphis - the direction in which I was to head. David from Minnesota is a nice chap, and gave a few recommendations & ideas for the next part of my journey. While I was in the café I asked the staff what the main source of economy is in Savannah, TN. Their responses were hazy; they know a lot of people in town work for a government department called 'ISR' but they're not entirely sure what is done there. One of the girls took the initiative and called out to a local patron to find out. Turns out ISR is secret military research, looking into things like unmanned drones and whatnot. How terribly exciting!
My last stop for this leg of the Civil War trail was in Shiloh, the site of one of the most famous military battles. Shiloh Military Park has a 13 mile driving tour of significant points of interest from the battle in April 1862. Suffice to say (I know not all of you are keen on Civil War history) I found it thoroughly fascinating, and took time to stand on the battlefield and feel the breeze, and imagine the sounds of terror and smell of blood and gunpowder rolling over me. Of course I saw plenty of wildlife, which I endeavoured to capture photographs of, but by far the most wonderful was the nest of bald eagle babies, complete with mum & dad flying to & fro delivering fresh catfish from the Tennessee River only minutes away. I did my best to capture the moment with my new digital SLR; I haven't yet looked at the photos but I am hoping against hope that one or two of them came out OK; they were very high up and I just don't have a good zoom lens. Yet...
After leaving Shiloh Military Park, I headed to Hagy's Catfish Hotel (another recommendation from the helpful lady in Savannah's visitor centre) for lunch. Established in 1938 after owner Norwin Hagys cooked dinner of catfish & hushpuppies for his good friend, Governor Gordon Browning, the restaurant has been in the family ever since. Apparently Gov Browning was so impressed with the fare he insisted Norwin open a restaurant to serve same. Who can argue with their Governor?
Now given I still didn't have any mobile reception (it disappeared just before I reached Savannah the night before), and my phone is acting as my GPS, I didn't have the faintest how to get to my hotel in Memphis in the most direction fashion. Subsequently, I simply followed signs based on the helpful 'south' or 'west' indicators, and meandered my way south-west until I eventually (hours longer than it should have taken) found myself on the outskirts of Memphis, where I finally recovered signal. This journey wasn't wasted however, as I got to see some great back-roads (as opposed to the boring interstates), and drove through a quaint little town called La Grange, established earlier but finally incorporated on December 1, 1829. Situated on a high bluff overlooking the Wolf River with a view of several miles into North Mississippi, this area was originally home to Chickasaw Native Americans. La Grange was settled primarily by families from Virginia, North Carolina and Alabama. Many of the original homes still exist, with cute signs out from identifying when they were built. They range from the super-impressive Woodlawn Plantation (1828) to the small but character-filled La Petit Maison (c1900), and everything in between. I did several turns up and down the main road, taking photos and trying not to get hit by the traffic as the main street happens to by highway 57.
Speaking of photos, as I have now arrived into my hotel in East Memphis, and am safe and sound with reliable wifi, I think I'm going to get about looking at my photos, and creating an Instagram account or Tumblr or whatever you young'uns are doing these days to display photos. Better get onto it now before it gets away from me...
Chat soon,
M x
**update** I have finally created a Tumblr account. You can view photos from my trip so far here: AussieGirlinUSA
Feeling a little underwhelmed, I decided to hop back on the Civil War Trail down Columbine Pike (the infamous pike that Gen. Schofield managed to sneak his 20,000+ men down past Gen. Hood's army..) and head to Spring Hill, the site of the previous major battlefield the day before the Franklin Battle. Upon advice that Rippavilla (I kid you not) Plantation was the best place to go, I headed straight there, and was not disappointed. She's a beauty. The antebellum architecture is grand and stately and in immaculate condition. The interior has been modified, yes, but only slightly by the man who bought the house from the original owners, and so it is still 100+ years old even with the modifications. I would love to own and live in this home. Fourteen foot ceilings downstairs and sixteen foot ceilings upstairs! Grand entranceways and a beautiful serene light-filled sunroom! Amazingly, much of the furniture and décor in the home is from the original family, including hand-sewn quilts placed at the end of the feather-stuffed mattresses in the bedrooms. This home has great historical significance, because it is here General Hood (my main man!) gave his ill-fated orders for the Battle of Franklin. They still have the original dining suite that Hood and his Generals sat on, the dining table he spread his maps out on, to plan his assault on the Federal forces north in Franklin. Looking at those weathered chairs it's easy to imagine the men gathered around, feeling tense and nervous, moving pieces around on their old parchment maps. It was here I learned the origins of the expression 'bite the bullet'. Apparently, when soldiers were gravely wounded, and needed their limbs amputated or some kind of painful medical procedure performed, they were given bullets to bite down on, to try to grit away their pain. Not everyone had painkillers on hand, or left in supply. The museum wing of the house has bullets recovered from the battlefield with actual teeth marks clearly imprinted in them. Glad you live in the 21st century? I patted my handbag containing panadol and gave a moment of thanks upon hearing this story. Also in the museum was a 19th century curling iron. Oh how I was photography was allowed inside the home, because I'm not sure I an adequately describe it. But it is shaped much like the curling irons of today, but with a barrel about 5mm across, and of course no electrical plug. I imagine they heated them by putting them in the fire, and then did their best not to burn their fingers (or scalp!) while curling tiny little tendrils of hair. The sheer patience and amount of time you'd have to spend to get a whole head of hair curled this way is unfathomable. Who has the time?!
A little-known piece of terribly interesting information (if you think about the implications), is that Generals Hood and Schofield were actually good friends - as were many of the soldiers on opposing sides of the war - they both went to Westpoint Military School, and more than that - were roommates. Imagine growing up with someone, going through something as testing as military school, graduating together, and then being called into service on opposite sides? To culminate in a great bloody battle during which SIX Generals died and over 10,000 soldiers lost their lives?
Another interesting piece of information I picked up here was the purpose of those antique settees I've seen around (I believe my nan had one); one joined settee with two 'chair' shapes at each end and a lower, uncomfortable-looking middle seat? Know the ones? Well, these were called 'courting settees', or 'chaperone chairs'. The unwed couple would sit one at each end, and the chaperone would sit in between them, in the uncomfortable part, designed specifically to be uncomfortable so as to keep the chaperone awake and alert. Doesn't that sound like a fun way of dating?! Gods only know what topics were 'safe' or 'appropriate', and how they managed to have a flowing conversation around a crotchety old relative (think elderly aunt or grandmother) or worse yet - the girl's father.
Joining me on this tour was a busload of seniors from Nashville - and boy were they a hoot. One of the lovely old ladies was a member of the Tennessee Confederate Union, and she stood straight and proud when she announced this to all of us. I made friends with a few of them and by the time I left I found myself wishing they could come with me further South. I got a lovely compliment from a couple of them asking me if I was there learning about the War for a college assignment. Ha! God bless!
From Spring Hill I headed South-West to Savannah Tennessee (not to be confused with the Savannah, in Georgia) to spend the night. It seemed like a good place to lay my head, as I was getting weary, and it held a few areas of interest for me. I arrived very weary, and headed straight for the visitors centre, to ask for recommendations on where to sleep and eat. The lady advised that the motel directly across the street gets her good feedback, and the BBQ joint three doors down is very good. So I took her sage advice, and wandered across the road to check in. After I was settled I had dinner - Hickory Pit - very cute little restaurant that is kept in business by the locals and random passers-by. The waitress there had the thickest southern accent I've heard in a long time, it was like listening to molasses slide down her throat. She was such a sweetheart I tipped her nearly 30%. I'm giving Australians a great reputation for tipping in these parts! It was only after I returned to my room to turn in for the night that I noticed across the other street, was a large boring building with the sign "Savannah Correctional Facility". EEP! I locked everything I could and threw my now very heavy suitcase in front of the door, but after watching two episodes of Game of Thrones on my laptop I forgot about my first-world woes and went to sleep grateful for the large comfortable bed and clean sheets. TEN HOURS LATER (which has to be record for me) I awoke refreshed, and ready to tackle the day.
Leaving the car park I was waved at by another guest, and off I went to tour the Historic District of downtown Savannah. Boy oh boy I could live here. Seriously. The homes are beautiful. The grounds are beautiful. The fast-moving Tennessee River creates a natural border for the residential district, and people fish directly off their back porches into it. The abundance of wildlife and nature sounds; the smell of serenity and just a hint of haunted past lingers in the air. The ghosts here whisper with just the right amount of menace; enough for the hairs on the back of your neck to prickle slightly, but not so much you feel endangered. After a couple of hours and covering pretty much all of the northern side of town, I headed for breakfast, where I ran into the same guy from the hotel car park. We exchanged conversation and chatted about traveling the Civil War trail; he's heading for Vicksburg in a very round-about kind of way, and had just come from Shiloh and Memphis - the direction in which I was to head. David from Minnesota is a nice chap, and gave a few recommendations & ideas for the next part of my journey. While I was in the café I asked the staff what the main source of economy is in Savannah, TN. Their responses were hazy; they know a lot of people in town work for a government department called 'ISR' but they're not entirely sure what is done there. One of the girls took the initiative and called out to a local patron to find out. Turns out ISR is secret military research, looking into things like unmanned drones and whatnot. How terribly exciting!
My last stop for this leg of the Civil War trail was in Shiloh, the site of one of the most famous military battles. Shiloh Military Park has a 13 mile driving tour of significant points of interest from the battle in April 1862. Suffice to say (I know not all of you are keen on Civil War history) I found it thoroughly fascinating, and took time to stand on the battlefield and feel the breeze, and imagine the sounds of terror and smell of blood and gunpowder rolling over me. Of course I saw plenty of wildlife, which I endeavoured to capture photographs of, but by far the most wonderful was the nest of bald eagle babies, complete with mum & dad flying to & fro delivering fresh catfish from the Tennessee River only minutes away. I did my best to capture the moment with my new digital SLR; I haven't yet looked at the photos but I am hoping against hope that one or two of them came out OK; they were very high up and I just don't have a good zoom lens. Yet...
After leaving Shiloh Military Park, I headed to Hagy's Catfish Hotel (another recommendation from the helpful lady in Savannah's visitor centre) for lunch. Established in 1938 after owner Norwin Hagys cooked dinner of catfish & hushpuppies for his good friend, Governor Gordon Browning, the restaurant has been in the family ever since. Apparently Gov Browning was so impressed with the fare he insisted Norwin open a restaurant to serve same. Who can argue with their Governor?
Now given I still didn't have any mobile reception (it disappeared just before I reached Savannah the night before), and my phone is acting as my GPS, I didn't have the faintest how to get to my hotel in Memphis in the most direction fashion. Subsequently, I simply followed signs based on the helpful 'south' or 'west' indicators, and meandered my way south-west until I eventually (hours longer than it should have taken) found myself on the outskirts of Memphis, where I finally recovered signal. This journey wasn't wasted however, as I got to see some great back-roads (as opposed to the boring interstates), and drove through a quaint little town called La Grange, established earlier but finally incorporated on December 1, 1829. Situated on a high bluff overlooking the Wolf River with a view of several miles into North Mississippi, this area was originally home to Chickasaw Native Americans. La Grange was settled primarily by families from Virginia, North Carolina and Alabama. Many of the original homes still exist, with cute signs out from identifying when they were built. They range from the super-impressive Woodlawn Plantation (1828) to the small but character-filled La Petit Maison (c1900), and everything in between. I did several turns up and down the main road, taking photos and trying not to get hit by the traffic as the main street happens to by highway 57.
Speaking of photos, as I have now arrived into my hotel in East Memphis, and am safe and sound with reliable wifi, I think I'm going to get about looking at my photos, and creating an Instagram account or Tumblr or whatever you young'uns are doing these days to display photos. Better get onto it now before it gets away from me...
Chat soon,
M x
**update** I have finally created a Tumblr account. You can view photos from my trip so far here: AussieGirlinUSA
Goodbye sweetheart, well it's time to go..
Nashville is a funny place. It was only ten years ago that Nashville real estate wasn't worth much at all, a kind of place where people came to live if they didn't have much coin and wanted to be in a pretty spot near a medium sized city. Forward ten years, after many investors came and bought up the little houses by the dozens, flipped them and marketed them as the new, attractive place to live, and you've got yourself a city who isn't quite sure of her place in the world. A country music mecca, for sure. A big town that hasn't lost its roots (evidenced by cowboy hats and boots pretty much everywhere you look), but has outgrown its 'town' status. There's a great demonstration of the rich versus poor lifestyles that are unfortunately the great American reality. Green Hills & Berry Hills - full of glamorous malls with shiny marble floors, filled to the gullet with shops like Louis Vuitton; leafy green tree-lined streets with stately homes manicured within an inch of their fence lines. Then hop on the interstate north-west and you'll find dirty, run-down and abandoned shopfronts, streets lined with more rubbish than foliage, and the ever-present feeling that you shouldn't leave your purse in your car even if you're going to be leaning against it while you wait for a friend to run into the shop for gum.
There's the glitz of Broadway and the general feeling that Nashvillians are trying to promote the city as a glamorous heartland of country music, where dreams come true and celebrity flocks to those who seek it. Next door to the Country Music Hall of Fame you have a sign telling you not to 'feed the animals' (perhaps they weren't the exact words), as the homeless population line up to beg for your coin with their parlour tricks or genuinely good attempts at busking musically. Businessmen move through Church St in their impeccable suits, sharing the sidewalk with folks in well-worn jeans and broad, dusty Stetsons, and men walking with slightly less purpose, the tell-tale signs of their life on the streets showing in the dirt staining the cuffs of their thread-bear pants. It's a city I've grown quite fond of, and am certain to return to in a future visit. Not least of all because on our last night in Nashville, we discovered the gay district, and it is just as full of character and charm as any other I have ever visited. 'Twas truly a pity I was incredibly tired, as was Donna, because we had gone to Mad Donna's (no, the irony isn't lost on us) for dinner, only to discover we'd found probably the best neighbourhood in which to hang our hats for a couple of hours. We came for Drag Bingo, and unfortunately were both so utterly tired by the time we had full bellies, we chose to head back to the hotel to have an early night before Donna flying home in the morning, and me moving down the Civil War trail.
Before Mandy left us (sad panda..) the three of us took a trip to Belle Meade Mansion, and did a guided tour of the mansion itself. Fascinating stories to be heard here, but what really delighted me was the connection with my beloved Franklin. As it so turns out, the McGavock's daughter (remember them from Carnton Plantation last year?) wound up marrying the son of the people who owned Belle Meade, and they lived happily together in the mansion, raising their family. The grounds were simply breathtaking. Huge expanses of green, green grass, hundred year old oaks, ash and pine (among others) dotted throughout the property, their huge limbs stretching out, providing wonderful pockets of shade on the soft lawns. As we were leaving, I spied a red cardinal (I believe it is the Tennessee State bird) flitting through the grass, and gave chase to try to capture him on film. He was a wily little thing, and ended up leading me over to a couple of wild bunnies, and successfully distracting me with their cuteness. I did, however, get a couple of passable photos of him, his brilliant red a stark contrast to the brilliant emerald of the lawns. The crowning jewel in the wildlife spotting, however, was the chipmunk we witnessed sprinting from one hidey hole to the next. I was so excited I think I may have lost powers of coherent speech as I struggled to get my camera out of its bag and calibrate the appropriate settings (SLRs might take great shots but bloody hell they're hard work when you want a quick snap!). Alas - he disappeared down a little hole Mandy pointed out to me before I was able to photograph him. His cousins, the squirrels on the eastern lawn, however were quite happy to pose for many photographs.
Our last night as a trio was spent at Bluebird Café, which is an absolute gem, tucked away in the suburbs of Nashville. It seats only 100 people, so it is not only wise but essential, to make a reservation. There are no bad seats, so if you do go and are allocated 'the bar' - be happy as you are within easy calling distance of the bartender, and are only two metres from the artists. Four men sat in the round, three guitarists and one on keyboard, and took turns at performing a mix of their own music (much of which has been 'cut' by high-profile artists such as George Jones, Keith Urban, and I believe BB King was mentioned), music they had collaborated on, and music they played to honour the late George Jones. For those of you who believe I do not like live music venues, you were proven irrevocably wrong Saturday night. For three hours I was captivated and ran the full gamut of emotions, from joy to sadness. I was driven to tears over a couple of songs and had to go outside for some very frosty night air to clear my head. The good news is they pipe the music out the door so I didn't miss anything. The last song played was 'Maniac' from Flashdance - performed by the original songwriter. Who, by the way, I got a photo of. Very grainy, because it was simply too dark in the bar to get a good one, but he posed for me and I was a little star-struck. Once I get myself organised, I will post a gallery of photos and upload the link, and you too can peer at the face of musical genius. It was just loud enough to feel ensconced, but not so loud I couldn't hear Donna & Mandy when they leaned over to tell me something. Perfect.
Sunday afternoon we hugged and kissed Mandy goodbye as she drove off to her family (darn children..) despite our threats of stealing her keys and taping her to our hotel room. Donna and I were a little morose at saying goodbye to her, and spent Sunday in a kind of mourning, sitting side by side in our hotel beds watching TV and intermittently talking rubbish.
On Monday Donna and I decided to embark upon the journey into Kentucky, to pay a visit to Mammoth Caves. They've certainly earned their name, as one of the world's largest single cave system. We did a deep cave tour 350 feet under ground, squeezing through shafts that were honestly a little concerning to me, given some of the larger Americans on our tour (I had visions of vasoline being liberally applied to their sides). After getting over my initial feeling of claustrophobia and panic, it was quite pleasant, other than the incredibly over-awed American woman directly in front of me on said squeezy trail (so I couldn't get around her darnit) gasping and yelling excitedly "oh my gohd!" pretty much every single step she took. Donna suggested it was the first time she'd left the house. I can only surmise. There were some very pretty formations at the end of the tour, but again, with so very little light it was hard to capture decent photos. I did get some good photos of Donna however; upon loading them into my laptop and going through to weed out the terrible ones (oh so many) I discovered I was a bit of a stalker on the tour, and nearly every photo I've kept has Donna in it. In a way it's good though, as it gives some sense of scale and perspective to the otherwise ambiguous shots of rock and 'gaps'. The best part of the trip to Mammoth Caves I have to say, was the wildlife spotting. The land above and below is all National Park, and so it is protected from hunters. On our way in I nearly peed from excitement because I spotted a turkey on the side of the road. Yes, a turkey. But he was oh so cute! I gave Donna my camera and she got some great shots while I called out 'turkey turkey turkey!' at him to make him turn toward us and fluff up his feathers. My calling got us that reward - and a greater one - he let out a very loud 'gobble gobble gobble!' which made me squeal with delight. I'm easily pleased. On our way homeward, I screeched to a halt as there was a deer standing in the middle of the road. She wasn't there for long, and before I knew it I was camera-at-the-ready, stealthily tracking her through the woods on the side of the road. I needn't have worried about stealth, as it turned out, she was just as interested in me as I was in her. At one point I thought she was going to charge me, because she lifted her head, stared straight at me and took a few steps towards me. Just curious, as it turned out. I got some excellent photos of her - by 'some' I mean around 100. I kid you not. I fixed my camera to 'continuous burst' mode and just keep pressing the shutter button. That was an awful lot to sort through when we got home that night.
I dropped Donna off at Nashville airport feeling quite sad for our time have come to and end. I was a bit at a loss as to how to proceed with my day, whether I should wait for Prince's Hot Chicken to open (11:30am) or whether to just head South to Franklin. I took Donna's advice and did just that. For a refresher on why I fell in love and where I visited last year, see here .
Take care,
M x
There's the glitz of Broadway and the general feeling that Nashvillians are trying to promote the city as a glamorous heartland of country music, where dreams come true and celebrity flocks to those who seek it. Next door to the Country Music Hall of Fame you have a sign telling you not to 'feed the animals' (perhaps they weren't the exact words), as the homeless population line up to beg for your coin with their parlour tricks or genuinely good attempts at busking musically. Businessmen move through Church St in their impeccable suits, sharing the sidewalk with folks in well-worn jeans and broad, dusty Stetsons, and men walking with slightly less purpose, the tell-tale signs of their life on the streets showing in the dirt staining the cuffs of their thread-bear pants. It's a city I've grown quite fond of, and am certain to return to in a future visit. Not least of all because on our last night in Nashville, we discovered the gay district, and it is just as full of character and charm as any other I have ever visited. 'Twas truly a pity I was incredibly tired, as was Donna, because we had gone to Mad Donna's (no, the irony isn't lost on us) for dinner, only to discover we'd found probably the best neighbourhood in which to hang our hats for a couple of hours. We came for Drag Bingo, and unfortunately were both so utterly tired by the time we had full bellies, we chose to head back to the hotel to have an early night before Donna flying home in the morning, and me moving down the Civil War trail.
Before Mandy left us (sad panda..) the three of us took a trip to Belle Meade Mansion, and did a guided tour of the mansion itself. Fascinating stories to be heard here, but what really delighted me was the connection with my beloved Franklin. As it so turns out, the McGavock's daughter (remember them from Carnton Plantation last year?) wound up marrying the son of the people who owned Belle Meade, and they lived happily together in the mansion, raising their family. The grounds were simply breathtaking. Huge expanses of green, green grass, hundred year old oaks, ash and pine (among others) dotted throughout the property, their huge limbs stretching out, providing wonderful pockets of shade on the soft lawns. As we were leaving, I spied a red cardinal (I believe it is the Tennessee State bird) flitting through the grass, and gave chase to try to capture him on film. He was a wily little thing, and ended up leading me over to a couple of wild bunnies, and successfully distracting me with their cuteness. I did, however, get a couple of passable photos of him, his brilliant red a stark contrast to the brilliant emerald of the lawns. The crowning jewel in the wildlife spotting, however, was the chipmunk we witnessed sprinting from one hidey hole to the next. I was so excited I think I may have lost powers of coherent speech as I struggled to get my camera out of its bag and calibrate the appropriate settings (SLRs might take great shots but bloody hell they're hard work when you want a quick snap!). Alas - he disappeared down a little hole Mandy pointed out to me before I was able to photograph him. His cousins, the squirrels on the eastern lawn, however were quite happy to pose for many photographs.
Our last night as a trio was spent at Bluebird Café, which is an absolute gem, tucked away in the suburbs of Nashville. It seats only 100 people, so it is not only wise but essential, to make a reservation. There are no bad seats, so if you do go and are allocated 'the bar' - be happy as you are within easy calling distance of the bartender, and are only two metres from the artists. Four men sat in the round, three guitarists and one on keyboard, and took turns at performing a mix of their own music (much of which has been 'cut' by high-profile artists such as George Jones, Keith Urban, and I believe BB King was mentioned), music they had collaborated on, and music they played to honour the late George Jones. For those of you who believe I do not like live music venues, you were proven irrevocably wrong Saturday night. For three hours I was captivated and ran the full gamut of emotions, from joy to sadness. I was driven to tears over a couple of songs and had to go outside for some very frosty night air to clear my head. The good news is they pipe the music out the door so I didn't miss anything. The last song played was 'Maniac' from Flashdance - performed by the original songwriter. Who, by the way, I got a photo of. Very grainy, because it was simply too dark in the bar to get a good one, but he posed for me and I was a little star-struck. Once I get myself organised, I will post a gallery of photos and upload the link, and you too can peer at the face of musical genius. It was just loud enough to feel ensconced, but not so loud I couldn't hear Donna & Mandy when they leaned over to tell me something. Perfect.
Sunday afternoon we hugged and kissed Mandy goodbye as she drove off to her family (darn children..) despite our threats of stealing her keys and taping her to our hotel room. Donna and I were a little morose at saying goodbye to her, and spent Sunday in a kind of mourning, sitting side by side in our hotel beds watching TV and intermittently talking rubbish.
On Monday Donna and I decided to embark upon the journey into Kentucky, to pay a visit to Mammoth Caves. They've certainly earned their name, as one of the world's largest single cave system. We did a deep cave tour 350 feet under ground, squeezing through shafts that were honestly a little concerning to me, given some of the larger Americans on our tour (I had visions of vasoline being liberally applied to their sides). After getting over my initial feeling of claustrophobia and panic, it was quite pleasant, other than the incredibly over-awed American woman directly in front of me on said squeezy trail (so I couldn't get around her darnit) gasping and yelling excitedly "oh my gohd!" pretty much every single step she took. Donna suggested it was the first time she'd left the house. I can only surmise. There were some very pretty formations at the end of the tour, but again, with so very little light it was hard to capture decent photos. I did get some good photos of Donna however; upon loading them into my laptop and going through to weed out the terrible ones (oh so many) I discovered I was a bit of a stalker on the tour, and nearly every photo I've kept has Donna in it. In a way it's good though, as it gives some sense of scale and perspective to the otherwise ambiguous shots of rock and 'gaps'. The best part of the trip to Mammoth Caves I have to say, was the wildlife spotting. The land above and below is all National Park, and so it is protected from hunters. On our way in I nearly peed from excitement because I spotted a turkey on the side of the road. Yes, a turkey. But he was oh so cute! I gave Donna my camera and she got some great shots while I called out 'turkey turkey turkey!' at him to make him turn toward us and fluff up his feathers. My calling got us that reward - and a greater one - he let out a very loud 'gobble gobble gobble!' which made me squeal with delight. I'm easily pleased. On our way homeward, I screeched to a halt as there was a deer standing in the middle of the road. She wasn't there for long, and before I knew it I was camera-at-the-ready, stealthily tracking her through the woods on the side of the road. I needn't have worried about stealth, as it turned out, she was just as interested in me as I was in her. At one point I thought she was going to charge me, because she lifted her head, stared straight at me and took a few steps towards me. Just curious, as it turned out. I got some excellent photos of her - by 'some' I mean around 100. I kid you not. I fixed my camera to 'continuous burst' mode and just keep pressing the shutter button. That was an awful lot to sort through when we got home that night.
I dropped Donna off at Nashville airport feeling quite sad for our time have come to and end. I was a bit at a loss as to how to proceed with my day, whether I should wait for Prince's Hot Chicken to open (11:30am) or whether to just head South to Franklin. I took Donna's advice and did just that. For a refresher on why I fell in love and where I visited last year, see here .
Take care,
M x
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Boots, music & pine trees: I must be back in Tennessee
I love Tennessee. With its lush green pines, oaks, and ash lining every street and tucked into every piece of ground that hasn't been built over, it really is a beautiful place to just look at. The people are so friendly and sweet, the music is plentiful and getting from one end of Nashville to the other takes only 15 minutes. So getting lost really isn't a problem. Not that this has happened to me so far; weirdly enough I seem to have a good map of downtown and the outlying interstates in my memory from last year's adventure.
The trip over was painful; I didn't have the best night's sleep Wednesday night, so I figured I'd crash out for a good eight hours on the Sydney-Los Angeles leg. WRONG! I slept for an hour or so at the most, and by the time I arrived into LAX I was delirious. So delirious indeed, that I didn't even realise the cute Border Control & Immigration Officer, Pepper, was flirting with me until I'd walked about five minutes away from him. Pepper! What a gorgeous name for a gorgeous black guy, complete with insanely white teeth flashing at me every time he smiled and asked me more questions (which went from the standard "why are you coming to America?" to the less routine "do you have a boyfriend?" and "I'll bet you're a heartbreaker...?"). Having declared the Timtams I'd brought over for Donna & Andrew (spoiler alert Andrew! You're getting Timtams!) I had to explain to the customs officer why I was bringing Australian Timtams in when they make their own here in the US of A. "Because ours taste better, Sir.."
I arrived into the hotel here in Nashville completely exhausted, and pretty much ready to pass out in the doorway to our hotel room. Upon hearing Donna's voice through the door I cheered up considerably, and woke up enough to have a decent conversation, a shower and to formulate a plan of attack for the evening. It was a toss-up between heading to Cracker Barrel, Buffalo Wild Wings or any barbecue (spelt correctly for the soil I'm on) joint for dinner. The choice was made easy as when we arrived at the T Mobile store to purchase my American SIM card, we discovered a Buffalo Wild Wings literally next door. Excitement! Damn their wings are good. All things in moderation though, and with a full belly and a hazy head from 30 hours of no sleep, I handed Donna the car keys to get us back home.
Mandy joined us Friday afternoon, and she was a welcome sight - it's been far too long since I saw either of these girls and a few days just isn't enough. For me anyway, I'm sure they're both a bit over my company now given it's been two days of shopping. Which, by the way, wasn't intentional - it's not my fault I woke this morning to 7oC weather! I had packed with warm memories (pun intended) of last summer in Tennessee, and had brought only a few things, which consist mainly of singlet tops and short shorts. So today I had to go shopping for something warmer to wear. With weather forecasts in Memphis being the same as they are here in Nashville, I'm looking ahead at a week or so of rather cold, rainy weather. Which doesn't bother me so much now that I have some lovely warm clothes to wear. And... *drumroll* cowgirl boots! Authentic, Nashvillian cowgirl boots. Man oh man are they cute. They'd better be too, for the price they are. I'll be wearing them tonight so will endeavour to have one of the girls take a photo of my outfit showcasing my new purchase.
We went to The Black Keys concert last night, and there's no easy way of putting this.. not the best concert I've ever been to. Gold on the Ceiling kicked ass, and a few others were good, but they just do not know how to engage the audience. It was like watching a loud music video. Their music is awesome, and they're certainly polished and a well-oiled machine, but they just don't know how to play to an audience. I could've done 20 minutes and been happy, but of course they spaced out their big hits so half of us didn't leave after they were all played. The girl next to me was singing her little heart out, god bless her, in really badly off-key notes and it was beginning to hurt my ears. I wasn't sad when she left. She was cute as a button though, and turned to me at one point and sad "are you 21?" to which I was flattered, and said "oh no honey, no" (how naïve am I? I was like ohh she's being sweet...) and then I added "I'm nearly 34" and her eyes lit up and at this point the penny dropped inside my thick noggin', and she said "oh can you do me a favour...?" and I smiled and said as gently as possible "probably not honey". Yeah, like I'm going to be the one that buys the booze that gets her drunk and makes her walk out into traffic. Sure, I'm happy to be responsible for cutting her life short. Nuh-uh! Yes yes, a bit dramatic, I know, but seriously. It happens all the time doesn't it? Teens getting drunk, losing judgement, doing things they can't take back or ending up hurt? I don't need that karma. Besides, you do NOT need to drink to enjoy a concert!!
So tonight we're heading to Bluebird Café, in the suburbs of Nashville, apparently it's featured on the hit TV show imaginatively titled "Nashville". I feel good about this, as it's Mandy's choice, and given I've dragged her around shopping today, I'm glad we're doing something she has chosen. When Mandy asked if we wanted to go I had no idea what it was all about (still not entirely sure, but I hear live music features. In Nashville?? Never!) but I'm totally open for suggestions, and if the girls want to go, I'm keen!
Managed to get some salad vegetables in my diet today, which is great as it's now been over a week since I worked out and I swear I've put on gut fat already. Geez. This body maintenance business is hard work! Would've been great to take Jayvan in my suitcase but alas! I'll be doing it on my own for the next four weeks. The last two mornings have just been impossible for me to work out - Friday I slept for nearly 11 hours as I was so utterly trashed from the previous 48, and last night we didn't get to bed until after 2am (late concert followed by a later dinner and then nattering) so when we finally got out of bed at 10am this morning it seemed wiser to seize the day, rather than make Donna & Mandy wait for me to go to the gym. And in all honesty, I was still a bit tired, and a bit jetlagged. Tomorrow, I promise myself.
Mandy chose a Mexican restaurant for lunch today, which was a great idea. We had a very interesting and almost heated discussion about gun control in the USA, and we had all levels of pro/against in our party. Mandy provided the Georgian point of view, with articulate arguments (which is to be expected as she's an intelligent woman); I provided solid proof that gun control can work to reduce gun related crime and still have citizens feel happy to live in the country; Donna says she can see both sides of the coin and isn't entirely sure where she sits. I value these conversations, debates, whatever you want to label them, and I do like trying to see a different perspective, and I certainly respect Mandy's opinion, but I have to say I still feel strongly about introducing gun control into the States. I'm entirely sure I got not too few death stares from the other diners sitting around us while I made (what I thought to be) valid, solid points in my argument for gun control. As I said to Mandy, I'd like to do a social experiment here, which would be introduce the same gun laws we did in 1996, and just wait 10 years and see how crime rates are, and how the American people feel. I realise there isn't a strong likelihood of this experiment, but it would be a very interesting experiment indeed.
Despite the very cold (for me) weather, and the general gloominess of a rainy day, I'm in remarkably good spirits. Tired still, yes, but very happy to be spending quality time with two women I cherish, in a country I adore, and as Donna said at lunch today "this yearly trip to America thing is great, you have to keep doing it".
Indeed.
Chat soon,
M x
It's 2am.
The trip over was painful; I didn't have the best night's sleep Wednesday night, so I figured I'd crash out for a good eight hours on the Sydney-Los Angeles leg. WRONG! I slept for an hour or so at the most, and by the time I arrived into LAX I was delirious. So delirious indeed, that I didn't even realise the cute Border Control & Immigration Officer, Pepper, was flirting with me until I'd walked about five minutes away from him. Pepper! What a gorgeous name for a gorgeous black guy, complete with insanely white teeth flashing at me every time he smiled and asked me more questions (which went from the standard "why are you coming to America?" to the less routine "do you have a boyfriend?" and "I'll bet you're a heartbreaker...?"). Having declared the Timtams I'd brought over for Donna & Andrew (spoiler alert Andrew! You're getting Timtams!) I had to explain to the customs officer why I was bringing Australian Timtams in when they make their own here in the US of A. "Because ours taste better, Sir.."
I arrived into the hotel here in Nashville completely exhausted, and pretty much ready to pass out in the doorway to our hotel room. Upon hearing Donna's voice through the door I cheered up considerably, and woke up enough to have a decent conversation, a shower and to formulate a plan of attack for the evening. It was a toss-up between heading to Cracker Barrel, Buffalo Wild Wings or any barbecue (spelt correctly for the soil I'm on) joint for dinner. The choice was made easy as when we arrived at the T Mobile store to purchase my American SIM card, we discovered a Buffalo Wild Wings literally next door. Excitement! Damn their wings are good. All things in moderation though, and with a full belly and a hazy head from 30 hours of no sleep, I handed Donna the car keys to get us back home.
Mandy joined us Friday afternoon, and she was a welcome sight - it's been far too long since I saw either of these girls and a few days just isn't enough. For me anyway, I'm sure they're both a bit over my company now given it's been two days of shopping. Which, by the way, wasn't intentional - it's not my fault I woke this morning to 7oC weather! I had packed with warm memories (pun intended) of last summer in Tennessee, and had brought only a few things, which consist mainly of singlet tops and short shorts. So today I had to go shopping for something warmer to wear. With weather forecasts in Memphis being the same as they are here in Nashville, I'm looking ahead at a week or so of rather cold, rainy weather. Which doesn't bother me so much now that I have some lovely warm clothes to wear. And... *drumroll* cowgirl boots! Authentic, Nashvillian cowgirl boots. Man oh man are they cute. They'd better be too, for the price they are. I'll be wearing them tonight so will endeavour to have one of the girls take a photo of my outfit showcasing my new purchase.
We went to The Black Keys concert last night, and there's no easy way of putting this.. not the best concert I've ever been to. Gold on the Ceiling kicked ass, and a few others were good, but they just do not know how to engage the audience. It was like watching a loud music video. Their music is awesome, and they're certainly polished and a well-oiled machine, but they just don't know how to play to an audience. I could've done 20 minutes and been happy, but of course they spaced out their big hits so half of us didn't leave after they were all played. The girl next to me was singing her little heart out, god bless her, in really badly off-key notes and it was beginning to hurt my ears. I wasn't sad when she left. She was cute as a button though, and turned to me at one point and sad "are you 21?" to which I was flattered, and said "oh no honey, no" (how naïve am I? I was like ohh she's being sweet...) and then I added "I'm nearly 34" and her eyes lit up and at this point the penny dropped inside my thick noggin', and she said "oh can you do me a favour...?" and I smiled and said as gently as possible "probably not honey". Yeah, like I'm going to be the one that buys the booze that gets her drunk and makes her walk out into traffic. Sure, I'm happy to be responsible for cutting her life short. Nuh-uh! Yes yes, a bit dramatic, I know, but seriously. It happens all the time doesn't it? Teens getting drunk, losing judgement, doing things they can't take back or ending up hurt? I don't need that karma. Besides, you do NOT need to drink to enjoy a concert!!
So tonight we're heading to Bluebird Café, in the suburbs of Nashville, apparently it's featured on the hit TV show imaginatively titled "Nashville". I feel good about this, as it's Mandy's choice, and given I've dragged her around shopping today, I'm glad we're doing something she has chosen. When Mandy asked if we wanted to go I had no idea what it was all about (still not entirely sure, but I hear live music features. In Nashville?? Never!) but I'm totally open for suggestions, and if the girls want to go, I'm keen!
Managed to get some salad vegetables in my diet today, which is great as it's now been over a week since I worked out and I swear I've put on gut fat already. Geez. This body maintenance business is hard work! Would've been great to take Jayvan in my suitcase but alas! I'll be doing it on my own for the next four weeks. The last two mornings have just been impossible for me to work out - Friday I slept for nearly 11 hours as I was so utterly trashed from the previous 48, and last night we didn't get to bed until after 2am (late concert followed by a later dinner and then nattering) so when we finally got out of bed at 10am this morning it seemed wiser to seize the day, rather than make Donna & Mandy wait for me to go to the gym. And in all honesty, I was still a bit tired, and a bit jetlagged. Tomorrow, I promise myself.
Mandy chose a Mexican restaurant for lunch today, which was a great idea. We had a very interesting and almost heated discussion about gun control in the USA, and we had all levels of pro/against in our party. Mandy provided the Georgian point of view, with articulate arguments (which is to be expected as she's an intelligent woman); I provided solid proof that gun control can work to reduce gun related crime and still have citizens feel happy to live in the country; Donna says she can see both sides of the coin and isn't entirely sure where she sits. I value these conversations, debates, whatever you want to label them, and I do like trying to see a different perspective, and I certainly respect Mandy's opinion, but I have to say I still feel strongly about introducing gun control into the States. I'm entirely sure I got not too few death stares from the other diners sitting around us while I made (what I thought to be) valid, solid points in my argument for gun control. As I said to Mandy, I'd like to do a social experiment here, which would be introduce the same gun laws we did in 1996, and just wait 10 years and see how crime rates are, and how the American people feel. I realise there isn't a strong likelihood of this experiment, but it would be a very interesting experiment indeed.
Despite the very cold (for me) weather, and the general gloominess of a rainy day, I'm in remarkably good spirits. Tired still, yes, but very happy to be spending quality time with two women I cherish, in a country I adore, and as Donna said at lunch today "this yearly trip to America thing is great, you have to keep doing it".
Indeed.
Chat soon,
M x
It's 2am.
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