Wednesday 23 April 2014

Well Hello again -as the singer, Willie Nelson would say.

And welcome to the concluding part of my 2002 stunning visit to the States, which took in the Carolinas and Georgia during our musical tour. I hope you enjoy reading what was for my wife and I, a never-to-be-forgotten experience.

Of course the other side of what I am trying to do in these early posts, is familiarize you with the extent to which tourism is important to me (together with the hospitality industry, which has loomed so large in my life). It is a major theme I mean to pursue in these columns.

So - here we go:

After Clingman's Dome, Maggie's Valley, Spartanburg, North Carolina, came and went; it gave way to
Eureka, Lancaster, Florence, Conway and onwards to Myrtle Beach, where we thought we would rest up for a couple of days beside the sea. This part of America, just passed through, gave the impression of being very fertile, with prosperous looking towns and people; altogether, a very fine area to live in. Myrtle Beach was a beautiful place—and to my delight—overflowing with golf courses and golf shops.

In the ritzy hotel we stopped in, the receptionist left me open-mouthed when she asked if I knew anything about Admiral Lord Cochrane, a Scot famous for a whole list of achievements. Foremost among these was winning sea battles (used by Patrick O'Brien for 'Master and Commander', and brought to life in the film starring Russell Crowe). 

 Cochrane also formed navies for the likes of Chile and Greece; as well as upsetting the high and mighty Lords of the British Admiralty. As you can see, I liked him. Well, this girl was married to a direct descendant; and she was bowled over when I quoted chapter and verse on his great, great, great grandpappy; and I couldn't get over meeting someone like her in Myrtle Beach.

We had set our sights on reaching Savannah, using all the back-roads and missing out Charleston on the way south. On the way, we held a never-ending discussion regarding which part of the coastline 'Blackbeard' the pirate might have beached his ship—perhaps there's gold in 'them thar sand dunes.'

I also think that drive let us experience more of the 'heartland' than any other. Even outside the most tumble-down shack, 'Old Glory' fluttered. Every few miles there was a church of some sort. A station waggon stood outside or alongside most doors. There was little evidence of much money among these poor people.

Savannah was everything we expected: the lovely old squares; learning of the important Scottish presence there in the early eighteenth century; seeing the public building with its golden top; and Forrest Gump's famous bench. 

                                          

Asian Indians with the name 'Patel' were everywhere (the equivalent of 'Smith'). Most of all, the memory of sipping a great big 'Bloody Mary' in a restaurant on the river waterfront, while a mere six feet away, a massive cargo ship silently glided by on her way downriver. It was like a whole tenement slipping past your eyes. 

                                           

Tybee was next. What a beach, what wide open skies. 
A baptism was going on at a spot on the beach below the jetty we watched from. The restaurants had fabulous fish dishes; and we were getting used to seeing Americans at breakfast time making their own pancakes using funny looking machine, then smothering them with maple syrup (the pancakes, I mean). Such sweetness—and first thing in the morning!! On the way back to Savannah, we spotted the house of Johnny Mercer, the great song writer.

Another memory of Tybee (apart from its splendour) centres on the job we had finding spirits to drink. Beer could be had in plenty, from every store, but alcohol in any other form, that was a different matter. After finding the liquor shop—way at the end of the town—we asked the lady why this was so. She had no answer, and agreed it was a real give away to be seen with a package covered in brown paper!

By mistake, I took the road to Atlanta—well, let's face it, 'The Masters' was going on. 

My sub-conscious must have been at work. Correcting my gaffe, via an exciting detour, we next visited a typical plantation; the approach, an avenue of trees, was swathed in purple-coloured 'Spanish Moss'. It was beautiful.

We finally reached Charleston; yet another terrific hotel at ordinary prices. A visit to Sullivan Island was followed by views of Fort Sumpter and of the massive aircraft carrier parked alongside the road!! Then, once a peculiar set of road bridges were negotiated, we found ourselves in the regal setting of mid-town.

               

There, we learned about the fruits and flowers represented on each vehicle's number plate; and saw Jack Vetriano's paintings for sale in the local shops. 'The Singing Butler' was given great prominence. 

To put you in the picture, this man, from Fife, Scotland, sells by the ton, but the hoi-poloi of the local art world will not place his work in the galleries. They are mad; the ordinary man in Scotland is not daft, and neither are Americans.

From there, it was a flight to Washington, and another to Richmond, to our friends in Ashland. The flight to the capital of Virginia was memorable for the sight of the one and only steward, a great big black lad, easily six feet four inches and wide with it, trying to negotiate his way along the narrow passage between the rows of seats. He sweated some, but he didn't give up; and we all received our jollies!

The journey later, from Ashland up to Dulles Airport by car, would be remembered always, because our Virginians had a pamphlet that told you of civil war sites we would come across on that particular route. As we approached the little road signs indicating where an important engagement had taken place, we were able to read of it from this book and tick it off. For some reason the one for 'Second Bull Run' (or Manassas) in Prince William County, sticks in my memory. You can 'figger' that one out yourselves.

Farewell for now.

GK