Gatlinburg, Tennessee

Six years ago, on our first circumnavigation of these American states, we enjoyed the best shrimp po-boys ever in, of all places, Gatlinburg, Tennessee.  For those unfamiliar with this traditional New Orleans specialty, po-boys are sandwichs consisting of meat or fried seafood, usually with tomatoes, lettuce, and mayonnaise, within sliced New Orleans French bread.  This casual restaurant, the New Orleans Sandwich Shop, is owned by a family from New Orleans which has contracted with a local bakery to produce amazing baguettes as good as or better than those available back home, and that's the most critical component of good po-boys.

Believe it or not, that was our primary reason for returning to Gatlinburg, which does lie on the path to our next destination, the horse farm areas of Kentucky.

Actually, Gatlinburg is a fascinating place - almost unique.  You'd be hard-pressed to find a cornier tourist trap, although nearby Pigeon Forge (home of Dollywood) gives it competition.  The main drag has block after block of shops, restaurants, and carnival-type attractions.

Getting into the spirit of the place, we decided to visit The World of Illusions.  We bought our tickets and stepped inside.  This turned out to be literally the lamest waste of money we've ever experienced, and we've thrown away cash on some doozies through the years.  There were mannikins behind glass that faded in and out, and that was about the extent of it.  A few minutes later, we exited into an alley, making it difficult to complain to the ticket-seller.

We did enjoy visiting the Ole Smoky Moonshine Distillery there.  For five bucks you get about eight or so tiny tastes of the various flavors of their moonshine whiskey, including our favorite, Apple Pie.  Before serving, though, they require that you provide a driver's license to prove that you are over twenty-one.  Unfortunately, Nancy has misplaced hers and has yet to request a replacement from the California DMV.  For a time it seemed that she would be denied the pleasures of sampling their product.  But I swear to you, a supervisor was called over.  Nancy showed her Medicare card, her Costco photo-ID card, and other documentation, and reluctantly that lady gave Nancy her approval.  They sure take age-checking seriously in Gatlinburg.

Outside the distillery a bluegrass band was playing.  Surprisingly, they were awfully good.  The banjo player in particular was spectacular.  It sounded very much like the music from O Brother, Where Art Thou, a wonderful 2000 movie starring George Clooney.

We returned to that New Orleans Sandwich Shop on the main street.   I enjoyed an excellent crawfish etouffee, and we both ordered, once again, the shrimp po-boys.  They were excellent, and the sandwich bread was crusty and amazing - but the magic from six years ago was missing.  Sometimes it's a mistake trying to recreate favorite experiences from the past.

Gatlinburg adjoins the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.  We spent a little while driving through it, but it wasn't at its best, because almost all the trees lost their leaves last fall, and the unusually cold weather this year has postponed their return.

Gatlinburg is less than 100 miles from Asheville, but the differences in the populations of the two towns are significant.  Most of the folks in Asheville we encountered didn't have much of a southern accent - they sounded much as people in California do, except friendlier.  The individuals we talked with in Gatlinburg are also extremely friendly, but they tend to have a decided country twang.  We didn't see too many fat people in Asheville, but as I sat on a bench while Nancy shopped, it seemed that half the folks that walked by, young and old, were obese, many of them morbidly so.  Of course those were mostly tourists from all over the south and elsewhere.  I'm probably slandering the fine citizens of Gatlinburg.