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 4th.
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 4th: 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
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