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With
a three-day weekend on its way and a few
ants in my pants, I made last-minute plans
to take a solo trip to Blowing Rock, N.C.
The destination was suggested to me by a
co-worker and was nestled among fond
childhood memories.
Reservations were a breeze to secure in
the off-season, and Mapquest.com
directions were perfectly on target (not
always the case, I hear). In the week
leading up to my trip, I conducted some
obligatory online research of the
mountain town (www.blowingrock.com) is
helpful), and it was only then that I
realized what a treasure I was about to
explore: Blowing Rock is minutes away
from ski lodges; hiking trails (among
them are those on The Blowing Rock, for
which the town is named, and Grandfather
Mountain); more shopping than I could
ever hope for or afford; Mystery Hill,
where balls roll uphill and you have to
lean backward to keep from falling; and
Tweetsie Railroad, the amusement park my
parents surprised my brother and me with
when we were but wee, wee folk. We
called it "Tootsie Railroad" and still
do. The park opens April 30 this year,
for anyone who wants to make memories
for their family.
As the
trip neared, I made unofficial plans to
climb Grandfather Mountain and take
gorgeous pictures; also to shop for a
trinket or two as keepsakes and take in
at least one fantastically expensive, if
not good, meal.
 Plans,
of course, unravel.
I made
reservations for the last Thursday and
Friday nights in February, dates that
directly coincided with the area's
biggest snowfall of the season. This was
great news for ski- and
snowboard-bunnies; I am neither.
Fortunately, I reserved my nights at
The Homestead Inn. Not only is it one of the
more affordable of the dozens of inns in
town, but the family-run business is
only a block-and-a-half away from Main
Street Blowing Rock.
What had
been plans to hike and enjoy mountain
greenery quickly changed to hiking and
enjoying Main Street scenery.
When I
arrived in town, innkeeper Caroline
Valet offered me hot cider or tea and
handed me a map, naming the restaurants
she recommended. Some of the stores
might be open, she said.
And
indeed, despite snowy-white roads, a few
stores welcomed me in Thursday, and many
more reopened Friday and Saturday as the
streets cleared.
The town
is a cozy spot for a lone traveler. I
reveled in window-shopping for antiques,
gazing at books and in tourist trinket
shops; I browsed a yarn shop and French
import store and salivated over the
fudge and ice cream shop; I sat in Six
Pence Pub (highly recommended to and by
me) where I contemplated solo travel and
the beauty of small communities and
their talkative residents.
In Six
Pence - dolled up to resemble pubs
overseas, with tartan wallpaper and
Brit-style beer art - I chatted with a
few locals, including a lovely man who
was impeccably dressed in riding habit
and boots.
It was
easy to spend an afternoon at the pub,
writing, talking, staring out the
window. And I eventually ordered dinner
there: fish and chips for $10. The
kitchen took a clever middle ground in
the great transcontinental "chip"
debate: The cook fried up fat slices of
potato, cut in the shape of our crispy
chips. The meal was delicious.
 Interesting tidbit: Blowing Rock is the
basis for author Jan Karon's "The
Mitford Years," a series of books
centered on Father Tim and the
characters around him.
Karon is a
North Carolina native who lives and
writes in the town she uses for
inspiration. I came across her books in
an antique shop on Main Street that
dedicated a shelf to her work.
Most of
each day, I found myself walking in and
out of such shops, and I put my palate
to work daily trying fare from different
restaurants.
The
French-import store, de Provence et
d'ailleurs, I mentioned earlier was
darling, if a little pricey. As the
owner explained to me in her French
accent, she gets everything from France,
"because I'm never buying from China,"
and the cost to ship bumps up prices.
Much of
the charm in this shop is its owner, who
has been in the states for 37 years and
has run the store with her husband for
eight.
She was
happy to help me pass time with a
friendly chat. Turns out she lived for
almost 30 years in Greensboro, N.C., the
town where I grew up. The day I left
Blowing Rock to visit my family, I
popped into her shop to get directions.
For more
good food, seek the Mellow Mushroom, a
pizza joint whose decor resembles a tame
Macado's. It wasn't the easiest place to
eat alone (the tables were big enough to
seat eight; I sat at one by myself), but
the food was just right.
Above all,
take breakfast at Sonny's. Going solo at
this Main Street diner wasn't hard at
all. I sat at a bar, opened up a local
newspaper and chomped on a biscuit
sandwich overflowing with bacon, egg and
cheese.
Then the
wait staff persuaded me (quite easily,
I'll admit) to try a slice of their
mystery cake freshly baked. They said
something about almonds and coconuts and
cream cheese icing. I said, "Mmmmmmmmmmm."
Turns out
the town can just as easily be a
relaxing retreat for a lone adventurer
as it can be a springboard for active
travelers.
Next time,
though
I already
plan to return to the town this summer,
when my only weather troubles will mean
sweating and sunburns.
I'll call
up Caroline and make reservations, and
she'll likely tell me some more hot
spots and offer a cool summer drink.
I will
hike Grandfather Mountain and The
Blowing Rock. And "Tootsie" Railroad'll
be right around the corner.
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Stalking
the elusive photo
