Return to the North Carolina Mountains

A haunted hotel, a rainy week, a tall mountain, puppies, sweet wine, an old Southern manor, an artsy town and a whole bunch of hot-as-the-blue-blazes watering holes can pretty much summarize our Independence Day Weekend. But if you want details, you can keep reading.

I used to drive to Blowing Rock for the day during my first habitation in North Carolina. Of course, from Greensboro, it was slightly closer. It’s my favorite getaway spot, the silhouettes of the mountains, the quiet artful shops, the fresh trout, the smiling faces of mountain people in coffee shops - they all bring me to a place where my heart is whole and peaceful.

Blowing Rock has gotten more cosmopolitan over the years I have been gone. So did Boone. Lots more options to eat vegan, or gluten free, or …what have you … It accommodates just about every appetite and preference. It’s always been good Southern cooking at its best, but now it’s more varied. I loved to see that it’s growing still. Some part of me still wants to see it remain a small, off the beaten path area, but it’s good to see that it’s doing well, too … Parking is the worst, especially on a busy weekend, as July 4^th. But parking far and walking across the downtown is good for the city, good for your health and it makes for great people watching and window shopping. Stopping for a cup-a-joe, some fried pickles, a cold brew, or some Kilwins ice-cream ain’t so bad either.

We had a few days to spare there, so we visited some of the adjacent areas, too. We went up Grandfather Mountain, to cross the mile high swinging (if you ask my husband, not so swinging if you ask me) bridge. Last time we tried to see it (https://wander-world.blogspot.com/2007/11/asheville-trip-thankful-trails.html) we were not so successful – pretty much a white-out in November made for an adventuresome day where we could see no peak and no bridge and the wind almost blew us off the mountain. This time, it was clear as far as you can see, with only some poufy clouds to make the pictures more interesting. It was almost like our Grandfather Mountain curse, or something, was following us, because about 15 minutes after we climbed off the peak, they closed it because thunder clouds were gathering and the bridge was no longer safe to cross. Lucky ducks, us.

We tasted wines at two wineries in the area – I am always surprised how easily you can find sweet wine pretty much anywhere in North Carolina. It is definitely not as prevalent in California and it is hard to find in restaurants. I know, ‘cause that’s how I take my wine and it’s not easy to find. They had some great sweet glasses at Grandfather Vineyard and some smooth middle-of-the-road ones, still tasty at Banner Elk Winery, too. Grandfather Vineyard was our most favorite hang-out spot on July 4^th: so festive, everyone in their red-white-and-blue best, wine glass in hand, sitting on the large covered porch or in Adirondack chairs by the river, listening to a cover band and people watching while their puppies were pooped with heat, laying lazily at their feet. It was an intimate and yet lively joint – a big surprise to find and it already beckons us back. I wish all wineries around us were that good and varied and welcoming …

One day, we visited the Moses H. Cone Flat Top Manor outside Blowing Rock (https://www.blueridgeheritage.com/destinations/moses-cone-manor/). We drove partly on the Blue Ridge Parkway to get there, which was framed by white and pink splendor: the rhododendron was in bloom right about then, and it looked as if the mountains were having a wedding.

The manor is a beautiful place, full of history and the grounds are amazing – they reminded me of the Biltmore grounds: there is something peaceful, pristine, lush and mellow about The Smokies. The soft curves of mountain tops, flowing onto one another like elegant ripples, the steam from all the vegetation gathering up in thick, low clouds, lingering onto their slopes, as if haunted, there is a mystery and wonder about them like no other mountains. The place now belongs to the National Park Service, and it’s free to visit. But the lack of funds unfortunately shows in the lack of care to maintain it. While the grounds were almost perfectly manicured, the house was in a sad state of disrepair.

The house was not open to visit, except for the first floor. There was a movie playing in what seemed to be the former drawing room telling the story of the Cone family and of the house. There was an artist turning wood on a lathe, and there were many artful projects already finished from various media in the gift shop – all locally made. There were things of beauty in there, and the people were incredibly kind and welcoming yet again. I know, I should stop repeating myself: we’re in The South and we should expect this, but having been everywhere across the land, I never take this for granted. I am glad Southern gallantry is still at home here.

Back to food: I had read in one local magazine (could have been Our State, but it could have been something different, too, I cannot remember) a review about The Ridgeline Restaurant in Blowing Rock. Since it was pretty much across the street from our hotel, we wanted to check it out. Although the promised “best restaurant view in Blowing Rock” absolutely delivered times a hundred, the atmosphere was kinda blah – lots of jaded, morose drunks hanging off the bar, and too many kids for our taste (I know, weird combo, right?!) and the food was solid, but not exceptional. I still much prefer my absolute favorite, my first and still biggest Blowing Rock love – The Speckled Trout. I was as giddy as a five year old on Christmas morning to find that it’s still there, beautifully renovated and still delicious and still locally stocked. We also much preferred the atmosphere at The Town Tavern in downtown Blowing Rock – another old timey (for me) joint.

For breakfast, we had lots of options and all good. Village Café in Blowing Rock has a unique setting, in a dark alley at the end of a thick garden in an old-as-the-hill one room house and amazing Argentinian bread with fresh preserves, but Melanie’s Food Fantasy in Boone was my favorite – their vegan “potato madness” plate was invented just for a potato lover like me.

One thing all these places had in common, though: they don’t believe much in air conditioning in this town. We were under fans but dripping sweat the whole time. They think that it  gets “cooler up here in the elevations”, but 80F and 90% humidity with the sun baking your skull is still darn hot … Took us forever to find an off-the-Marriott-trail-and-speaking-a-more-local-accent hotel with a/c for this trip, and even this one had an old, rusty window unit, and yes, another fan above the bed.

And now, about the hotel …

That would be the Green Park Inn. Well, the long and short of it is: it is haunted. If you’re into heavy antiques, sleeping in old, musty wood beds that rock and creak, finding the lop-sided bedside furniture piece “charming” and the rusty mirror frame “full of character”, then this is for you … It has “character”, all right. Especially at 1 minutes past 12 AM when a bright red shadow watches you sleep from the side of your bed and then it disappears into thin air when you try to wake your husband and ask him what the heck … No, seriously – look it up: this place is haunted. I do believe it now, although it did not occur to us to look that up before we booked … Even before I saw this, there is a feeling as you walk towards your room, on uneven, noisy floors, that there is someone behind you, following you. The silence in it is surreal. The red shadow vision happened on our first night, so after this, we tried to make the most of the town and what was around it rather than spend any time in that room … I guess it was a great incentive to get out more and make memories … or maybe the town’s evil plan?!

The hotel is built on top of the Eastern Continental Divide and maybe that’s a space full of energy or something, I don’t know … The name of the hotel bar is The Divide, to honor that. It is the first hotel ever built in Blowing Rock (1880) and it hosted the only Post Office in the town when it was first built. Furniture from that establishment still exists on premises. One night, we had the world’s most hilarious waitress at this bar: a middle-aged woman with her curly dirty blonde hair in a knot held together by a pencil, laughing the most incredulous laugh there ever was uttered … Her name was Roxanne, but it could have been a stage name, too. She jumped between stories about her daughter and her two year old granddaughter, houses blowing up somewhere, and her life in Ohio, Florida and Charlotte where she has lived before – she puts down roots for 2-3 years then she moves right on, she said – she laughed herself to tears after every sentence she finished with an eerie laugh that resembled a “lamb’s voice”, my husband figured. He was not totally wrong … We laughed more at the laugh than the stories.

She kept reminding us that although she loves for us to stay as long as we want, the management team will make her close the bar “soon” (it was around 9 PM which seemed early for a vacationing crowd, but …). She never did close, but with that kind of invite, no one wanted to really stay. We did, though, because her stories were funny. So much free entertainment, you know?!

She was so scatter-headed that she served a customer a burger with no meat on the bun. The plate looked nice and well-put-together, except the bread was opened, one side - lettuce, tomatoes, and onions, and the other side, naked. When her manager brought it to her to show, in front of all of us, she laughed her usual laugh and didn’t seem to mind a bit. After all, we all agreed, it was fairly hilarious. Appropriateness of things, or reality herself did not seem to faze her …

I wondered after some time if she was real or maybe she is the ghost?! I never want to know, really. Although we will be back to Blowing Rock and probably soon, we won’t be staying at The Inn.

See, I didn’t even tell you about he fact that it rained almost the entire time we were there, because that was irrelevant. We did so much, saw so much, ate and drank till we could not breath anymore, looked at people, puppies, art, and the great Smokies that we will not remember the weather part … The ghost part we will. Always. The weather part – ephemeral as it always is – will drop in the deep blackness our forgetfulness …

I still hear Roxanne saying as she did the dishes ('cause yeah, she did do them in the creaky, shaking dishwasher right under our noses, 'cause she was about to close, you know): “I don’t believe in death and taxes. I believe in dishes and laundry … (bw)hahahahahaha … We do, too, Roxanne, we do, too … 

Click the rhododendron to see the photographic journey of our adventures

Tata la 67 de ani

M-am gandit ca nici o zi nu e mai buna sau mai sigura ca ziua de azi, si, fara intarziere aditionala, azi inaugurez o serie de bloguri pe care le voi numi simplu “Zile de nastere”, sau “birthdays”. In ultimii doi ani, am ajuns la concluzia facila (asa sunt eu, mai inceata, ce sa spun?!) ca singurele entitati prentru care merita sa ne “consumam” sunt cei apropiati, mai ales cei care ne iubesc si pe care ii iubim. 

Ca sa ii pretuiesc pe cei dragi mie si sa ii imortalizez pentru cei care vor veni dupa noi, voi scrie cateva randuri aici, in semn de “la multi ani”, atunci cand le celebram ziua de nastere si intreaga existenta. Deci azi incep aceasta serie cu ziua tatei. 

Astazi tata are 67 de ani, cu ajutorul lui Dumnezeu. In ultimele cateva zile ma gandesc mult la “excursia” lui prin viata - el iti va spune ca e “mic, nacajit, si nu il ia nimeni in seama.” Desigur, pentru mine, ca de altfel pentru toti cei care il cunosc, nu e deloc asa. Pentru noi e o mare prezenta si un mare spirit care ne umple viata si zilele de cand ne stim! Un opinionat, indrumator, vorbaret nevoie mare (si-a mostenit mama in ale graiului), un spiritualist si putin cinic. Cu siguranta nu o persoana care nu e bagata in seama. 

Pentru ca si el o face in orice ceas aniversar de “privit in urma”, ma gandesc astazi la toate lucrurile pe care le-a realizat in viata asta desi cateodata nu isi da singur laudele de rigoare. Cateva din ele: o familie frumoasa care il respecta si iubeste; o cariera diversa; relatii si cunostinte mai mult decat ii incap in orice agenda de nume; calatorii prin lume: a vazut orizonturile Romaniei si nu numai - si ale Europei de Vest, de Sud, Americii si Canadei; o cultura generala de invidiat - el e lumina mea calauzitoare in ale muzicii “de calitate”, cum o numeste el; si nu il ultimul rand: desi 67 nu e o varsta inaintata, e o reusita imensa in familia noastra - tatal lui s-a stins la doar 62 de ani. As putea continua cu realizarile dar va dati cam seama care sunt, mai ales daca il cunoasteti.

Pentru mine, ca prima lui fiica, cel mai important e faptul ca are o inima imensa. Nu conteaza ce spune si cat de certaret este, la sfarsitul oricari conversatii, mai mult sau mai putin aprinse, ii transpare inima lui buna, blanda, plina de compatimire si generozitate. 

Cand era mai tanar era un fumator agresiv - mama spunea ca isi aprindea o tigara de la tigara precedenta, si ca avea cate o tigara aprinsa in fiecare camera din casa. Cand aveam vreo 14 ani s-a lasat de fumat dintrodata. Nu asa cum auzi pe altii ca “o raresc intai” si apoi se lasa de tot. Nu, el s-a lasat brusc! Si cand ne spune motivul, este acesta: pentru ca i-am cerut bani sa ma duc la film cu prietenii mei (aveam 14 ani si incepusem si eu sa mai ies de sub aripa lor) si a zis ca nu are de unde sa-mi dea. Si in momentul ala si-a dat seama ca el “arde banii” pe tigari si nu are bani sa ii dea copilului sau pentru “cultura” si pentru a-si face un grup de prieteni. Pentru mine episodul asta dovedeste dragostea lui pentru cei de langa el si mai ales pentru cei care depind de el: nu s-a lasat de fumat pentru sanatatea lui; s-a lasat si de fumat din dorinta de a se imparti si de a-si imparti banii cu cei apropiati si care poate aveau mai multa nevoie decat el. 

Sutele de cunostinte pe care le are si prietenii care i-au fost loiali toata viata stiu ca niciodata nu spune “nu” nimanui. Mereu vrea sa ajute, de unde si cum poate, si niciodata nu inchide usa nimanui. Nici cand isi pereclita propria siguranta si securitate nu se dadea inapoi din a ajuta pe altii ... 

O alta caracteristica de neuitat care il defineste este un umor debordant. Azi, cand l-am sunat sa ii transmit urarile de rigoare a vorbit din gluma in gluma printre propozitiile mele. De la pilda la banc m-a purtat, razand ghidus. Va ramane mereu in minte tuturor ca cea mai buna gazda pentru orice fel de petrecere, pentru doua lucruri: mancare delicioasa pe care o pregateste cu o pasiune impetuoasa si sincera, si un umor copios. 

Tata e un om pe care il intalnesti odata si nu il uiti. Are un dar de a se face memorabil mai mult decat orice alta fiinta umana pe care am cunoscut-o vreodata. Cand scriu aceste randuri simt o mandrie aproape perversa, nerusinata ca suntem din acelasi calapod! Din pacate nu am mostenit decat o molecula din altruismul lui neconditionat. 

Ii doresc multi ani sanatosi, puternici si rabdatori. Acum cand corpul poate il ajuta mai putin, si rabdarea se tine de un fir de par, acum cand distantele i se par poate mai mari pentru ca nu le mai poate ajunge, ii doresc rabdare si sa se uite mereu in interior, sa isi priveasca mereu inima dogoritor de calda, ca o zi de iulie, care il ajuta inca sa fie fericit si sa ne faca si pe noi toti la fel. Inca o mai are, inca il mai poarta spre cel de al 68-lea an, si mai departe ... 

La multi ani, tata!