by contributor Wendy Gordon
Did Hollywood on the Potomac go to Dollywood? You betcha!
Some of the best ideas are often random. So when we heard one of our colleagues muse about an impending birthday and a planned trip to (of all things) Dollywood, there was only one reaction to have: “ROADRTRIP!!” This would mean about 8 plus hours of driving and, with three women in the vehicle, packing in our steamer trunks (because you never know how many sweaters, cotton t-shirts, boots and shoes one will need for a couple days in the Smokey Mountains) and heading off at some ungodly hour on a Saturday morning with visions of big platinum hair, sparkle beyond belief and boobs dancing in our heads. Who would turn down the potential opportunity for kitsch beyond the limits of the imagination? Seriously?
Let’s start with the drive, shall we? Country music to set the mood. Lyrics that included copious amounts of steel pedal guitar, flatbeds, heartbreak, tattoos and checking one’s significant other for ticks. Seriously.
First stop: coffee. Second, a random gas station somewhere in central Virginia. It was the sign “Omelet Shoppe” that was the draw. Not that we were hungry, we just liked the idea of an “Omelet Shoppe.” What we encountered was a cacophony of gun brand camouflage baseball caps, Henley shirts in sizes that ranged from XXL to XXXL, commemorative plates, the “Hillbilly” wall calendar and shot glasses. Our very favorite, however, were the salt & pepper shakers that included a skull with a shaker in each eye and a diversity of ceramic wildlife festooned with the little glass containers. Love. Who doesn’t need these? But let’s not dilly-dally over needless retail products—Dolly awaits!
On to the Tennessee border and Chik-Fil-A. But first thing to catch our eyes was “Liberty Insurance,” an industrial looking pre-fab office with what we think was a paper mache Statue of Liberty complete with torch. Of course the iconic original in the New York Harbor doesn’t include a sign reading “cash for gold.” This one did. Bonus! “Give us your tired, your poor…” your pawnshops…and one meal of chicken and biscuits. (photo above)
Just when we thought it was safe to get back in the car, the “Fireworks Supermarket” loomed. A must! Seeking some sparklers to make our pal’s birthday a little brighter, we also garnered those and other necessities like a paper chicken complete with flaming ‘eggs’ emitted from the fowl’s derriere. Nothing if not classy. Of course we didn’t need major firepower, so we eschewed the “artillery shells” about which we queried the store attendant. “We only get two or three people in this time of year,” he explained. We imagine he is still speaking of us. Kindly, we hope. Doubtful.
A few short and laughter-filled hours later, we arrive at our immediate destination—accommodations at Elk Springs Resort, located somewhere on the edge of the Great Smokey Mountain National Park somewhere, we’re still not quite sure, in the hills of Gatlinburg, just miles from the Bush’s Baked Beans and Ball glassware plants.
For those that have never been t that area, it’s, in a word, breathtaking. Forget the ‘Honey Boo-Boo’ homes surrounding the area. They are set back in the outskirts. This place boasts some gorgeous McMansions set in the hills along with secluded cabins among the picturesque mountains and streams. Ours was way up in the mountains, near, well, not much of anything, give or take a bear or two.
Nestled in a ‘historic arts & crafts community’ on 68 wooded acres, the Elk Springs Resort is about 40 minutes from Pigeon Forge, home of Dollywood. There are a variety of cabins that sleep anywhere from two to ten and more, in differing styles of log cabin. Ours was a Swiss Chalet-like elegantly rustic cottage complete with full kitchen, pool and foosball tables, porch swings, gliders and rocking chairs on the wrap around deck, fireplaces, gas grill, whirlpool bath and hot tub overlooking the woodsy backdrop. Roughing it? Oh yes….our way. There was no room service. Quel dommage! But all our needs were seen too immediately, by the staff who were more than Southern Hospitality heroes. Even our shocking lack of a corkscrew was seen to immediately.
The evening’s entertainment would be the Dixie Stampede, part of the Dollywood monopoly. This extravaganza includes a preshow of live Bluegrass and Country, followed by a performance that includes a ‘contest’ of feats that sets (surprise) the North against the South in a series of shows of derring do on horseback, with Bison, and other livestock—like chicken chasing, pony and pig races. Indeed. All this and dinner too. It’s like the Confederate “Medieval Times. “ The finale included a tribute to our country, complete with a videoed Dolly Parton, the woman herself, singing patriotic ditties as only she can. Best of all were the red, white and blue lighted suits worn by the performers. Dragtastic! We were proud to be American.
Day two: Dollywood! Oh boy…oh boy…oh boy!! On arrival, we parked in one of the many lots and hopped on the tram to nirvana–the theme park. And there it was. “Dollywood.” The sign with butterfly, her symbol. Angels were singing. After paying the $56 admission, and trying to ignore the type-o on the ticket price sign that read “Dollywod,” off we went, seeking food, fun, thrill rides and perhaps some fake boobs and blonde wigs. We encountered none of the costume goods, much to our disappointment, but we did find one of Dolly’s tour busses on display. A guide ushered us in, offering us anecdotes, a tour of the tour bus and sneak peek into Dolly’s inner sanctum on tires. The bedroom included not only massive amounts of pink and more pink in all shades, but (wait for it) one of her very own wigs. “Shhhhh! Don’t tell anyone Dolly wears wigs,” the guide admonished. Oooooo! She wears wigs!!! HUGE surprise!
We stop in an on site bakery. The offerings are like pastries on steroids. Everything is about five times usual size. The apple pie is 25 lbs. The slices are a pound each. One of these portions could have fed a family of five. Apparently when Dolly is concerned, EVERYTHING is bigger.
We meander on, past the metal workers’ crafts, the numerous souvenir kiosks, the “Beatified” spiritual gift store, the wood workers’ workroom (everything is available for sale, customized or ready made), a bunch of eateries featuring fried stuff, junk food and smelling rather heavenly, a Bald Eagle display (yes, live ones) and onto the first ride: Blazing Fury. This featuring a coaster-esque tour through darkened rooms displaying everything from bars to mountain cabins and people—the theme being a city on fire and the heroic acts of the firefighters. Life-like? Ummmm……maybe not so much. But the wait for the ride is made bearable by the operator who speaks to us…through her microphone…and a birthday shout out for our friend. From there it’s a trek through the winding walkways with stops at every coaster including the new “Wild Eagle,” a thrill ride perched 21 stories above Dollywood, with ‘wings,’ that leaves the rider in a free fall hanging in the sky. Barferific!
After getting soaked on the water rafts and drying off in the life-sized ‘drying station ($3),’ we split into groups, some taking the coal powered train around the park perimeter, others heading for the Ferris Wheels, Scrambler, Swings, Tea Cups and more classic park rides.
We call it a day at the 6 p.m. park closing. All exit through the “Emporium,” the last gift shop stop on the way out. Never miss an opportunity. In yet another demonstration of our aristocracy, we pick up the requisite hot pink cowboy hats with rhinestone band, Dolly coffee mugs personalized with our names and maybe a few t-shirts in varying shades of glitter and pink. We may be in the next edition of Glamour magazine, with the black bar over our faces.
Dollywood is a family destination. We note that Dollywood has a noticeable lack of Dolly. We only heard her songs once or twice, and there are no photos or even cardboard cut outs of the entertainer. The only vestige is her tour bus, a reproduction of the two-room shack in which she grew up and her presence on most everything in the gift shop.
But let’s face it, she made her little town a tourist destination and provided jobs, a boost to the economy and a good time for all. Good for her. She has managed all this in her little fiefdom—no small feat. Maybe she should run for President. Dolly in 2013, anyone? Anyone?
