Some
places are so absurd, you just have to shake your head and laugh. The
first time I went to Las Vegas, I had that reaction. It is just
ridiculous. Pigeon Forge beats Vegas cold. Dollywood and Dolly
Parton's Stampede Dinner theater with rodeo shows every night, I
expected. Nigfhtly LumberJack and Hatfield and McCoy Feuds, ditto 
It was the giant buildings in weird shapes: an upside-down
mansion with upended plaster palm trees; shops that featuring
entrances like enormous shark's maws; a crime museum shaped like
Alcatraz; A replica of the Titanic crashed into a concrete iceberg!
You enter through the iceberg, by the way. Miami mansions, San
Francisco prisons and British ships with North Atlantic ice floes,
seem a bit out of place in the Tennessee mountains! Why are there live sharks in the mountains? Just observing
these establishments was entertainment enough for me.
Our
RV park was quite the opposite aesthetic, a lovely secluded campsite
along a creek. Just across the creek was the Pigeon Forge High
School. The marching band was practicing every afternoon and we had
the added benefit of a free concert. The creek itself was quite
scenic. With mossy trees and the occasional wading bird. The contrast
between our quiet bucolic spot and the hectic traffic surging through
town was extreme, yet were only a few blocks from the main drag. Like
they say, location, location, location.
One
redeeming feature of Pigeon Forge was good food. We chanced upon a
local family owned chain to try their well-touted smoke house Bar Be
Que. The Johnson family of restaurants covered all the bases from
fried chicken to ice cream to pizza. My heart and stomach were set on
smoked meat. The restaurant had all the usual pulled pork and
brisket, plus an ingenious adaptation of the drumstick concept. They
smoked and served the pig trotters as drumstick size portions. Leaner
than the usual shoulder or ribs, they were a perfect non-greasy
portion. Even Francis found them hard to resist. The ample buffet of
side dishes, were predictably heavy on dressings but never the less
excellent.
Down
the road from Pigeon Forge, Gatlinburg is nestled in the foothills of
the Smokies. In contrast to the crazy commerce gone wild, Gatlingburg
was subdued and tasteful. Every hotel and cafe was appropriately
rustic and the touristic promotion is a drive through the mountain
roads to visit small hand craft shops. Most of the draft shops were
fairly predictable, heavy rustic pottery and wooden tourist
souvenirs, but some were distinctly local and quite representation of
the mountain culture. Hand-tooled leather belts and bags would be a
perfect and perfectly appropriate carry home. A couple of shops
featured hand worked glass decorative objects. At Sparky's
Glassblowing, the convivial owner made custom light catchers and
Holiday ornaments while you waited.
My
interest was particularly piqued by the traditional musical
instruments. At Smokey Mountain Dulcimers, not only were the
instruments beautiful but also had additional features to facilitate
learning to play. Mark Edelman,the owner and artisan, had originated
a marked fretboard, with designated finger placements and a music
tutorial of common folk songs. He gave us a wonderful concert,
demonstrating the varied tonalities of the different dulcimer types.
While I yearned to make a purchase, Francis being a woodworker
himself, insisted he will create his own. Another nearby shop had
banjos and ukes, with the shop owners providing an impromptu concert
for any passer-byes.
The
next day we continued our drive through the Smokey Mountains to the
Cherokee Homeland in North Carolina. We had a reservation at an RV
park in the Homeland. Not, as I learned, a reservation on a
reservation. This was the original homeland of the Cherokee tribes.
The details of their history, I would soon learn about at the Museum.
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