I scuttled plans of Europe tripping post-Christmas due to not liking
giant New Year's crowds, everything being priced out and booked up
because of said crowds, and that whole financial thing because to travel
near holidays is so damn expensive, travel is expensive anyway, and with having a ridiculous car
insurance bill (thanks a lot, dude who smashed my window downtown and
credit card companies penalizing yours truly for not being a slave yet),
having to reconstruct my earlobe at some point (I find myself fingering
the two halves when I get restless), and general holiday shenanigans, it just wasn't going to work.
While the Eternal City is no doubt amazing, I'm still kind of wanting to go on a
jaunt like this or hit up other roads less traveled. I have my passport now, and know how I like
to go, and that sometimes I get sick of being around the same people all day, prefer sleeping on the couch to staying in hotels, and want nothing too fast-paced, just a chance to cut loose and drift as the whim takes me. I
think I've conquered the fear of flying at this point, of looking down 30,000 feet
onto rolling hills and Maryland mansions, and find that Bulgakov and
Pamuk make excellent companions while laid over but I'm in no hurry to do it again in two weeks.
My mom and sister picked me up last night, and I jabbered nonstop about how weird my accent sounded and how it wasn't quite the culture shock I was expecting, given that I have hillbilly roots not too far deep. Atlanta seemed like sprawl to me, the airport labyrinthine. The shuttle bus dropped me off in Athens where I wandered around but somehow didn't take any REM-related photos. Lots of little collegetowny shops and bars. The low battery light was blinking, a quick dig through the bag revealed that my charger didn't make it off the dining room table so I conserved my shots as much as possible.
They live on part of a horse farm, where the houses are set back in acres of land, cows across the street, a church camp up the road. The family up there has 14 kids and a sawmill as well, and the air smelled like pine and cedar. We drove into Athens for the night, ate at an Irish pub, went to a coffeeshop called Hendershot's on the outskirts of town where we watched a night of good tuneage of the alt-country/bluegrass/roots rock kind, no twang, unpretentious vibe, a former converted gas station-turned-unpretentious swank hangout that I wanted to teleport back north. We drove back and it was so dark that we could see the meteors flying every which way even in the car so we hung out in the yard beneath the multitude of stars unseeable in the city and watched the streaks that hardly felt real they were so clear.
Hung out in the general vicinity the next day on sundry domestic errands, watched MST3K that night. Walked to the home-built campmeeting house buried in the woods, we had dinner at the local barbecue place that was good even though I'm not a big carnivore. Was amused by the "Keep Christ in Christmas" signs that were everywhere despite the manger scene in every small-town square. Despite my own love of The Jesus, I kind of wanted to write KEEP SATURN IN SATURNALIA somewhere but figured that wouldn't go over too well. Coming from ex-Catholic Clevelandia, it's a little strange to see so many little white Baptist churches
everywhere with descriptors like "Primitive" "King James" "Deliverance" "Fundamental," and wondering what it's like to grow up skeptical in such a climate.
The next morning we drove to the Georgia Guidestones, erected by some unknown Rosicrucian out of the local granite, with sundry languages chiseled in the sides and astronomical instructions. The other spectator of such straungenesse was a lady with rainbow dreads and Maori facial tattoos who was seeking spiritual insight around the American landscape. I suggested Paradise Gardens (which we didn't get to) but it's possible that might be too close to organized-religion despite its affiliations with David Byrne and copious flying saucer imagery.
From there we headed up to the mountains, as the terrain got steeper, the signs got weirder, "Soft Touch Ministries" eliciting twelve-year-old giggles. Blue mountains appearing in the distance, and we pulled into a state park with a gorge that was hikable and holy crap I think I need more pine forests, crags, and waterfalls in my life. The scenery was so vast and epic, and reminded me of Lord of the Rings or something. Something so cathartic and elemental leaving me so euphoric, even the pain in my woefully underused legs walking up the hundreds of steps back up didn't hurt at all.
From there we got our kitsch on in Helen, known by some as the Redneck Alps for its faux-Bavarian shtick that reminded me of some southern lovechild of Amish Country and Geneva-on-the-Lake. I wonder what Flannery O'Connor would make of this display of crackerdom. I think my mind was pretty much blown at this point with the magic railroad of Charlemagne, the random housebunnies hopping around, the sounds of Sublime wafting past the gables and shops selling redneck wear and delft china.
We had dinner in Dahlonega, and by this time my camera's battery died, but it was a much cuter town, with Christmas lights everywhere, I picked up some agate bookends for sundry Christmas gifts which were super heavy to carry back on the plane but hopefully worth it for the lucky receivers. Went to church and felt a little out of place but people were nice enough, and then the long bus ride to the big crazy airport and home. Ate some late-night cereal, gave my mom the quick lowdown and drove back through familiar streets feeling glad to be back in my rusty city, and already plotting the next escape to parts with deep woods and tall mountains.
