Dixieland

I live in Florida, located in the Southern United States. However, after years of being the recipient of the New and the depository of the Old, Florida is no longer The South. It is too cosmopolitan, too artificial, too inviting. This is neither good nor bad, and by no means I am getting into deep rooted political discussions about whether or not the South is right or wrong in all it's idiosyncrasies. I'm just saying that living in Florida does not prepare you to face what stretches to the West as far as Texas and to the North as far as Virginia. It's a whole different ball game.

Our trip started somewhere around 5:00 AM on Thursday and it went without interruption from Wesley Chapel, Florida to Hamilton City, Georgia. It was a nice place to stop for coffee, after all it gave us a sense that our trip really started. A huge Confederate Flag waiving without a bit of shame announced our arrival to Dixieland . The coffee hit the spot as the temperature was dropping accordingly (we were going through part of the cold front that brought some snow to New Orleans that same day). Outside, impervious to the cold, a woman smokes a cigarette and talks to herself as the rain starts falling softly.

Reaching Hawpond Rd., we got the sight of cotton fields stretching for miles. The earth smells different, rich in minerals with shades of orange and brown we hardly ever see at home, where the best of the soil manages to have a touch of sand.

With some 5 hours ahead the trip divides between stretching stops, casual conversations, snacking, our enforced no cell phone policy, which dad kept breaking ( Dear Dad, the point of vacationing is leaving your job behind!!!!!) and quiet contemplation of billboards. I've always thought that bill boards speak volumes about a place and our way from Georgia to North Carolina seems to be the tightest fit of the Bible Belt.

God is in every other billboard along the road. Literally, Billboards signed by the Almighty. Sometimes He is gentle, reminding us all of John 3:16, others, He's all fury, shouting from high in big, bold, black letters that our sins will be visited upon our children.

Six cups of coffee, three stretches, four call backs, ten trivial conversations and forty billboards later, we arrived to the Smoky Mountain Tourist Center. It was cold, but bearable as the mountain range seemed to stretch into forever with the help of the mist left behind by the previous storm.

Maggie Valley proved to be quite the place to unwind, Eduardo really hit it on the head with this one. The air is crisp, the sun hides around four thirty, leaving it all enveloped in purple and soft blue until the night literally falls upon you in a matter if seconds.

We stayed at Castlewood a cozy, beautiful lodge right by Ghost Town (no kidding!!!) What can I say, the combination of people and place is hard to find anywhere else. As I said before, it only takes a little venture into the unknown to find the heart of Southern Charm and Hospitality.

As day broke, we were cheated off the promised snowfall by a sudden rise in temperature, but the ground was covered in frost and the sky clear of clouds as we made our way up to the Mountain. Had fun, even if the snow was not freshly packed, we got some pictures with white background, bonded over the several uses people of Spanish descent could give the word "creek"and let the day lazily go by before heading home again.

The South Carolina Border proved to be a Tourist Trap of Grand Design... did our best to avoid it.

Spent the night in Savannah, vowed to return, when time allows it.

On our way back home, our stop dujour was St. Augustine. We have been there before, but it was sort of a thank you note for Gramps, who was in excellent behavior through the trip. He loves the city and it's Seafood and thus, he was handsomely rewarded.

Now I'm back home, with all the responsibilities of a cell phone carrying fiend and still looking for a job. Whenever things look grim, I'll think about Dixie and how people just seem not to struggle against the tide, and yet they arrive the same way.

The quote, not really:

This trip was sponsored by "Werewolves at Cozy Creek" and "I hate you guys", which actually means I love you more than words can say.