The billboard signs alone were enough to make us realize that we were not in the Bay Area... a bright orange Billboard in the middle of nowhere (I mean nowhere... Tom had me imagining Confederate forces marching through those thick green forests and I was worried for them). It read: ORIENTAL SPA. That was it. ORIENTAL SPA. What the hell is that? Am I supposed to be offended? As in a foreign country, I was not here to be judgemental, I was here to experience. Even if I grew up in the South, I was here to experience it as a person who has happily acclimated to the bubble of the San Francisco Bay Area.
ORIENTAL SPA. Should we stop there and see what it is? It was that kind of trip. It was spontaenous. We hired the car into which we could all fit that morning. We packed for an overnight, but had no place to stay. We were winging it... wild, free, reckless...Well, except we had kids with us (aged 2,3,4). Our own in fact. And a grandmother. Not your ordinary grandmother, though. She parties longer , harder and more happily than either Tom or I. Even so, we had to run back into the house many times prior to our spontaneous departure. We forgot directions, sunscreen, orange bear, shoes, diapers, more diapers, sippy cups filled adequately, bags to dispose horribly stinky diapers in... and so on...
We wanted to be spontaneous, but, alas, parents of toddlers can rarely be (especially when there are 3 of them). And, franky, I was afraid of what we would find in that ORIENTAL SPA. We were open to experiences (as long as there was a changing table involved). But we skipped the spa.
It was lunch where we would show our true zanyness. We'd eat real Southern food. No McDonalds... MacDonalds...MacDonald... "Oh Honey, There's a Chili's." Great.
Luckily, we saw the Lizard Thicket restaurant sign just in the nick of time... Yes, luckily. "Iced tea please." I was thinking I was being naughty because I shouldn't drink too much caffeine these days. The waitress wrote as she talked, "one sweetened tea." Sweetened? Oh god, no. I forgot. I forgot. "Unsweetened." I said somewhat calmly. "Unsweetened?" She looked me in the eye as she spoke. "You want some sweetener with that?" It was in question form, though with no real question inflections. She almost got me. "No. NO."
My kids had their first green beans with ham hock and their first creamed corn and candied yams. The first two did not go over well, but the yams and the black eyed peas were a hit (though George did keep looking closely at the black-eyed peas). A man in full camoflauge gear and a very funny, way-too small camo bill cap walked by smirking. The hat perched on top of his long pony-tailed hair like an Audrey Hepburn pill box hat and his beard was so mangy I was wondering what it was camoflauging (though truthfully I didn't really want to know... those creamed corns had a lot of kernals). He laughed through the side of his mouth (I think the other was paralyzed) as he was forced to dart around Adeline (2) and Cole (3). "I have four grandkids. It doesn't bother me none." "Was he a soldier?" George asked. "I don't know. I think he was a hunter." said Tom. "He was nice," I thought.
The next remarkable billboard was "The World Grits Festival." A girl stood covered in grits. Ewww. It disturbed Tom. Obviously, he's not Southern.
We finally reached our destination. Two and half hours had turned into 4 or 5. We were finally in Lancaster County, South Carolina: the birthplace of Andrew Jackson, our eighth President. Or one of the birth places anyway. It's a sweet park with a museum and a Jackson schoolhouse replica. There's a statue of him on a horse and costumes for the kids to put on. Cole had to take off his Spiderman bike helmet, Power Ranger knee pads and elbow bands in order to accommodate his soldier coat (a super hero must be prepared for anything, no?). Of course, our kids were the ones to pull off the antique British soldier mohawk hat (Cole). George and Cole together managed to break the spinning wheel while Adeline screamed because I wouldn't let her put her lips on the plexiglass covering the loom.
We then went to Andrew Jackon's other birthplace. Everyone should have two birthplaces, it's quite the trend. This one was in North Carolina. As soon as we crossed the border there was a plaque telling us that THIS was Jackson's birth town. I do have to admit that his town, Waxhaw, was way cuter. Personally, I'd choose this one. Jackson, however (somewhat inconveniently for Waxhaw), claimed it was Lancaster. But there's a museum in both. Unfortunately, the museum in cute Waxhaw was closed. It's only open on weekends. Points off for Waxhaw (but it's still way cuter, so it still wins).
We found a recreated village and wandered around and up to its fake grave site. It was quite eery, but not for the obvious reason. The grave stones looked old but seemed fake. Faux. I've always been disturbed by the refrigerators and stoves that have wood siding, cabinet covers. It bothered me like that. It just wasn't right.
The eeriness prepared us for our next stop. The cafe of The City of Light. I felt as if this was my ORIENTAL SPA stop without the "spa." It was an evangelical city, with a doorman and spikes for tires that reverse inappropriately. It was pristine and big and ugly (looked a lot like the Phoenix University building that we passed). There were weird lakes and reflecting pools on cheap, but marble what-seemed-like office buildings. There were warrior angels and prayer Avenues. Plaques and portraits, words of wisdom, sculptures to the heavens and lots of really-really-really nice people. George got a fever and we got the hell out of there...
We also got back to Charleston and not to Andrew Johnson's library in Raleigh (part of the possible spontaneous plan). We did pass a 434-BRAIN billboard on the way. "GAMMA RAY for your brain!" I felt like it had already happened to me. Perhaps it was the kool-aid at the City of Light.
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