To Nashville, to test the waters for London
Can you believe it? Five hours from home, and I’ve never been to Nashville, Tennessee. It’s always been on my Weekend Destination List — I’m the kind of person who keeps a weekend destination list — but any attempt to get there had always been waylaid.
But this was no normal trip. This was a probation trip.
Earlier this year, my husband and I started secretly planning a trip to London and were so excited to invite my parents as a gift. We had mapped out the flights, hotel, rental car, researched tours and day trips, everything from Cambridge to the house that stands in for Downton Abbey. This was going to be a trip of a lifetime!
My mother was downright giddy. My father nodded along and, at the end of our dynamic and carefully crafted presentation, responded with, “Neat.” But before he boarded some long-winded international flight with us, he wanted to test the waters. “Gotta make sure we can all travel well together. And I’m driving.”
So, mark one locale off the WDL close enough to home that we could all take an easy escape route back to Atlanta if needed. Two birds, one rhinestone.
Take aways from the trip:
Daddy is a cautious driver. So cautious. Loves those brakes. Loves ‘em.
My mother narrates her life. As she moves, eats, rides in the car, shops around, you’re serenaded by her every thought. She reads every sign aloud, repeats jokes that you clearly didn’t hear properly because you made no response, and describes the food being taken to other people’s tables.
I love the Grand Ole Opry! No one told me the whole thing was like a variety show! I love the live commercials and different hosts, the various talent and the wooden circle.
The men in our lives made fun of our outlet mall-level glee until we stopped by the Grand Ole Opry Shop. My husband walked out with four t-shirts, a souvenir spoon, and kept eyeing the Christmas ornament section. My father had no fewer than three trips to the cash register. He is now the proud owner of 10 “obscenely discounted” Opry keychains. Gifts, he says.
The gardens at the Opry Hotel are not to be missed. A giant, 1920s sun-drenched conservatory – you can live out your childhood fantasy of the game Clue! Without the murder.
Cooter’s, the Dukes of Hazzard museum and gift shop was a high point for my husband and father, who both remember the old show with great fondness. It served up a particular low both for me and my mother. Surrounded by florescent camouflage, shot glasses, and six-foot-tall posters of Daisy Duke, all crammed in the smallest space with the most devoted fans possible, my mother and I crouched in a corner and hoped not to draw attention from the natives. Hard to do when you’re both donning ruffles and polka dots and fake eyelashes. Father and husband both walked out with lots of memorabilia.
Food. So much food. We ate something like 14 times in 2 days. And any time food was a little out there, my father ordered a hamburger. He was happier at Cracker Barrel than any other restaurant. Not an adventurous eater. Noted.
All in all, it was a lovely trip, and I’d rate the whole thing a success. But this was two days. Five hours from home. In the South. In their own car with their own cooler full of water bottles they bought from Costco. To a city they’ve been before.
London, you’ve been warned.
