Lonely Planet says that Dolly Parton, Eastern Tennessee's most famous resident, made a career out of singing about girls who leave behind their woodland homes and discover the glitz of the city. (They always end up sorry.)
But I'm not sorry for exploring the Appalachians - the windshield view of six states of 'em, at least. And I look forward to returning and hiking them...
See, my goal is to work on a travel guide for every major U.S. city (16 so far). When that's done I'll focus on the state guides, which deal more with national parks and other bucolic attractions.
But all my life I've had an urge to check out what lay next to the Eastern Seaboard, and I'm happy to report that while there's not too much going on there, there are good eats and disarmingly friendly people.
And so it was, from the palmetto plains of Georgia, through Kentucky's horse country, then into the mountains of West Virginia, where coal mines belch smoke, even on a Friday night.
We needed winter coats and gloves by the time we circled the top of the hill to the Charleston Residence Inn. George ran across the frosted grass to keep his paws warm. I think he smelled a fox. What a contrast from Florida! Was it only a week since we had left?
Lovely D, the best travel buddy of all time, discovered Bluegrass Kitchen, right by the Italianate state capital. Like other rust belt cities, downtown Charleston was pretty forlorn. It wasn't always this way - at the start of the Civil War, Virginia seceded, but the Union held tight to the western part of the state, because Northern steel businesses needed coal from its mines. (That's how West Virginia became a state.) During WWI, it was chlorine, made from West Virginia's salt brines, that made it important. A huge construction boom followed.
Then came depression, and while there was still enough business to build a new airport and a convention center, after the Charleston Town Center Mall opened, lots of shops and restaurants relocated there, making the downtown a ghost town. It's staging a comeback, especially with hipster joints like the Bluegrass, but that doesn't make walking past the uninhabited 1920s buildings any less creepy.
Meet Dan the bartender, a British stay-at-home Dad with a wicked sense of humor.
For two hours he regaled us with his stories. He fed us Polish sausages in pasta shells and pizza with balsamic vinegar and salad. He and D really hit it off - he was charming, she was beautiful, the wine was cold, what more did they need? I was planning my goodbyes when he revealed he had a wife.
Boo I say.