We arrived in Georgia last night. The airport was massive and the concourses sat independently from each other, connected by a train, which ran a full mile, the length of the terminal. As usual, it took longer than expected to reclaim our luggage and secure our car rental. Finally, we were on our way, in a metallic gray Nissan Versa. We tore north, out of Atlanta, heading toward South Carolina. The city was spread out and surrounded us in a way Minneapolis never could, though it didn't seem necessarily big; nothing compared to Manhattan or LA.
Our hotel along the South Carolina interstate was exactly what you'd expect: small, with a lumpy bed, and a bathroom with a ceiling vent that pumped in the smell of stale cigarette smoke. Each room had its own seperate entrance from the outside of the building, like a motel, and I got that creepy feeling. In psychological thrillers, the murders are always committed at motels. Your anonymity is stripped from you, as your car is parked directly in front of your room and, somehow, no one ever notices the shadowy figure sliding down the passageway.
But the night passed without incident, and we were up sometime between too-late-for-continental-breakfast and before-checkout-time. Andrew took a shower, so I had the remote control to myself for a while. Sadly, the only thing broadcast was a Roy Orbison concert from 1985. So I dressed to "Pretty Woman."
The rest of the day has been a blur of tall trees, tall signs (honestly, they stick all their advertising signs way up in the sky...maybe they're for airplanes, too!!), and fast food (yuck!). First real road trip since we've been married, and I'm quickly learning that we have different ideas as to what makes "tripping" enjoyable. He takes more potty breaks than me, and is always up for a burger or some onion rings. I, on the other hand, will puke if I smell one more bag of fast food today. I hate interstates! There is never so much as a deli for a fresh sandwich, let alone any natural food stops. Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia have been carbon copies of each other: BP station, McDonald's, Wendy's, Exxon, Starbucks. I wish we had time to take the windy back roads, so I could actually see some of the countryside! Art told me that there are all kinds of interesting historical sites along this route, but I haven't seen a single sign. My only photographs have been of fellow cars, traveling side-by-side, state after state, along a never-ending strip of pavement.
The best thing we did today was stop at a peach stand. I call it a "stand," but it was actually an indoor store, offering every kind of peach concoction you could imagine. There was peach jam, peach preserves, peach salsa, peach cider, and, of course, peaches. I worked my way down the sample table, and finally settled on something called "Chow-chow." It's spicy, but the heat dissapates as soon as you swallow it. The guy was telling me how you can put it on beans, hot dogs, and a whole list of other things I'd never dream of eating. I had to stop myself from laughing, between his culinary suggestions and his accent! Andrew made sure to tell me that he was not from South Carolina, and that the peach stand was nothing close to what Tennessee is like! :)
Our hotel along the South Carolina interstate was exactly what you'd expect: small, with a lumpy bed, and a bathroom with a ceiling vent that pumped in the smell of stale cigarette smoke. Each room had its own seperate entrance from the outside of the building, like a motel, and I got that creepy feeling. In psychological thrillers, the murders are always committed at motels. Your anonymity is stripped from you, as your car is parked directly in front of your room and, somehow, no one ever notices the shadowy figure sliding down the passageway.
But the night passed without incident, and we were up sometime between too-late-for-continental-breakfast and before-checkout-time. Andrew took a shower, so I had the remote control to myself for a while. Sadly, the only thing broadcast was a Roy Orbison concert from 1985. So I dressed to "Pretty Woman."
The rest of the day has been a blur of tall trees, tall signs (honestly, they stick all their advertising signs way up in the sky...maybe they're for airplanes, too!!), and fast food (yuck!). First real road trip since we've been married, and I'm quickly learning that we have different ideas as to what makes "tripping" enjoyable. He takes more potty breaks than me, and is always up for a burger or some onion rings. I, on the other hand, will puke if I smell one more bag of fast food today. I hate interstates! There is never so much as a deli for a fresh sandwich, let alone any natural food stops. Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia have been carbon copies of each other: BP station, McDonald's, Wendy's, Exxon, Starbucks. I wish we had time to take the windy back roads, so I could actually see some of the countryside! Art told me that there are all kinds of interesting historical sites along this route, but I haven't seen a single sign. My only photographs have been of fellow cars, traveling side-by-side, state after state, along a never-ending strip of pavement.
The best thing we did today was stop at a peach stand. I call it a "stand," but it was actually an indoor store, offering every kind of peach concoction you could imagine. There was peach jam, peach preserves, peach salsa, peach cider, and, of course, peaches. I worked my way down the sample table, and finally settled on something called "Chow-chow." It's spicy, but the heat dissapates as soon as you swallow it. The guy was telling me how you can put it on beans, hot dogs, and a whole list of other things I'd never dream of eating. I had to stop myself from laughing, between his culinary suggestions and his accent! Andrew made sure to tell me that he was not from South Carolina, and that the peach stand was nothing close to what Tennessee is like! :)
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