ALTITUDE AFFECTS ATTITUDE

mountaincolor

Just back from a week in the North Carolina mountains enjoying the fall foliage colors. We stayed at the North Lodge, a great bed and breakfast located in the heart of Asheville, the Paris of the South. More on that later.

The foliage was at peak colors, with vibrant reds and yellows of the maples, oaks, and poplars contrasting with the dark greens of the firs and pines. The weather was warm with occasional showers of glistening jewels to crown the brilliant colors.

We spend one entire day touring the residence and the grounds of the Biltmore Estate. The flood damage from the summer hurricanes was still being cleaned up, but it didn't take away from the incredible beauty of the estate. Josie's gardening juices were stirred by the remarkable landscaping and plantings, particularly the massive rose gardens. My former builder passions were rekindled by the amazing structures scattered around the remaining 8,000 acres (Vanderbilt originally owned 125,000 acres, the bulk of which was given to create Piscah National Forest.)

The atmosphere of the city of Asheville is remarkably European, if not exactly as Left Bank, as some would like to pretend. Lots of bohemian artsifartsi tattooed pierced dayglo-haired poseurs vamping around. There was a knot of sign-carrying Kerry koolaid drinkers performing for the tourists (honk if you love peace!) The freaks on the street were only outnumbered by the tourists and the panhandling homeless, several riding in style on their government-issued Hoverrounds.

Twenty-five years ago Josie and I would have been indistinguishable from the motley crew, but the W04 sticker in my pickup jarring exposed us as a right-wing religious fanatics. I made sure our rambling walk through town circled by our truck regularly to check on possible vandalism by some peace-loving anarchist. As we wandered by the ubiquitous organic vegetarian tofu entreed bistros I suddenly had the epiphany that my true inner being was desperately longing for the endless buffet of a Golden Corral restaurant. We eventually shared a delightfully spicy Mexican meal on a terrace in the more subdued atmosphere of the old Biltmore Village.

Another highlight was lunch on the Sunset Terrace of the Grove Park Inn. Built before WWI by an excentric snake-oil tycoon, the Grove Park Inn is a massive stone and timber heirloom nestled on the side of Sunset Mountain in a quiet residential community. The sun broke through the clouds just as we settled into lunch overlooking the surrounding Blue Ridge peaks and valleys. I grabbed my cell phone and called the neighbor back home who had insisted we include that experience. Thanks, Mike, you were right. It was magical.

The most amazing part (to my wife) was that I cranked up my laptop only once, the first night in our suite at the lodge, just to see if I could find a wi-fi network. I did but couldn't log on for some reason and packed my Dell away for the rest of the trip. Back home last night I logged on to discover over 500 emails, none of which were desperately urgent. I was a bit disappointed that I could disappear for 5 days from the blogoshere and no one called the national guard. ;-}