USA Email Series 22: Refrigerating Borneo, inverted houses, big screen entertainment and bleeding stumps‏

(First sent: 16th November 2009)

Greetings,

America... Ahhh. AMERICA. *Trumpet fanfare* AMERICA ooooohhhh yeaaaaahhh, home of the greatest entertainment available to humankind. A place where the neon of the Vegas strip illuminates the sky, where the Hollywood sign glitters on the horizon overlooking the dreams of so many who seek fame and fortune, where platinum and gold line the walls of the Country Music Hall of Fame, like stars in a summer nights sky and since 1989, the home of another premium entertainment resort: DOLLYWOOD.

Yes, by venturing around 3 hours East of Nashville you have two choices - either a visit to the beautiful and remote Smokey Mountain national park or a trip through the town of Pigeon Forge to visit the glamorous and distinctive Dollywood theme park. Yesterday, I chose the latter. Now before I begin my comments on Dollywood itself (and I will, at length) a word about Pigeon Forge should set things up nicely for the trauma that follows.

Pigeon Forge is a town described to me as 'the Vegas of the South' which, given Las Vegas' knack for ensuring no cultural event is untackificated, the idea of it's Southern equivalent gave me enough chills down my spine to refrigerate Borneo. As it happened, driving through it, is to hate it. God awful tourist attractions such as split level go-carting, 24 hour mini-golf and laser quest are surrounded by tat shops and cheap motels that have the local bums rubbing their hands with glee at all the 'outatowners' they can freak out in one single place.

However, so far so normal. I mean, it was hideous and crazy, but not in a new way. If you could only see the things that I have seen, you'd realise that tat and fuzzy neon is nothing new. I was a little bedazzled by the upside-down house that sits just off the freeway. It says something for the people who make it their business to visit a house that has been completely inverted rather than explore the vast miles of unspoilt beauty that the surrounding Smokey Mountains offers. But, as I am one of those morons, I can only say this: at this point my Dollywood based excitement was still riding high and it all felt like a necessary evil.

And so, with a deep sense of trepidation, I will now try to describe how bizarre Dollywood is. I have tried to block it out of my mind, but I am seeing this email as a group therapy session to help me get over it.

The history of the place is noble enough. It started as a regular theme park, called Silver Dollar City Tennessee, but falling attendance and huge losses meant that this small attraction neared closure. Reluctant to let her fellow Tennesseans lose their jobs Dolly Parton stepped in with ready cash and in 1989 the park was renamed 'Dollywood'.

With that type of star power, how could it fail? Mention the name Dolly Parton and you are immediately put in mind of the high camp, high glamour, heavy chested, good time girl of Country and Western. Surely when this glitz is combined with theme park cheese, you would have an entertainment spectacular on your hands. It can't fail to be the Mecca for fun all over the South.... It can't fail... Can it?

Oh. Yes. It. Can.

We began to suspect that we might have been ripped off when, upon entering, we were greeted by the sight of a large plastic potato. Were assured by the accompanying literature that this was a replica of the biggest potato ever grown in Memphis state fair history. Now that's big screen entertainment.

We proceeded and it became clear that the entertainment on offer was a little restricted. Restricted to eating. Despite arriving as the doors opened, as we walked through we were amazed to see three chinned human sofas tucking into breakfast nachos. It was the first damn thing they did. By now I really shouldn't be surprised, but surely they could have just walked around a bit first. Or rented a scooter to do the hard yards for them - it's their choice.

Along with an infinite number of places to refill your arteries, there was also places to empty your wallets and fill your arms with high quality tat. Yes, every item was available... as long as it was made of wood, and made badly. Why not finish off your trip to Dollywood by bringing home your own wooden birdhouse? Or a delightful handmade broom? Or a rocking horse? Why not? Why?

This was all against a backdrop, not of Parton-esq glamour, but of what appeared to be a rather run down Wild Frontier era theme park with the words 'Dollywood' nailed to the majority of non-wood wormed surfaces. Indeed, it was part mall, part food court, but also part zoo? Well, yes, there was an area where you could witness sad looking bald eagles held in captivity under a huge net in the back of the park. Obviously, this is an interesting exhibit for hunters looking to ID their next crosshair pinup, but the link to Dolly Parton? No idea. All this and we hadn't even got to the rides yet. Oh lord, I wish we hadn't.

Wandering over to the first of them we waited, white knuckled, for the fun to really kick in. The first place we hit was 'Fire Truck Indoor Coaster: Take a wild ride on the fire truck through a real fire.' The blurb said this was a 'Medium thrill ride', so surely a good place to start. As we waited we began to question the logic of handing our safety over to the hands of the hunchbacked, knuckle toothed, gurning imbecile who ran the thing. It appeared that his only coherent thought was to yelp 'Fire in tha hold' whenever a new set of thrill seekers set off.

The indoor roller coaster, would be more accurately described as a slow moving train ride round a dismal waxworks interrupted by a single drop, which increased the pace from 'anemic' to 'slow', before being spewed out the other side and back into the daylight.

There was one good ride and it went suspiciously fast (like it was out of control). In fact it was so good we immediately went on it again. Other than that, there is literally too many odd things to mention here before my fingers turn to bloody stumps bashing them all out (highlights include: the graveyard inside the park, the singing, haunted, waxworks of elderly gospel singers, the ridiculous heap of chips that formed a dinner, the museum of Dolly's life that was basically stuff she'd cleared out of her attic that had been barely arranged behind a bit of rope). That said, I do need to talk, at length, of the floor show.

Dollywood puts on four shows a day at this time of year, called Christmas in the Smokies which is a showcase of Christmas songs and cheer performed by rather sad and hungry looking Broadway cast off's Cheshire catting their way into the hearts and minds of the locked in audience.

The plot was clear enough - it's Christmas. They live in the Smokies. They sing about it. The weirdness begins as the cast sit in a circle and advise the audience that the real meaning of Christmas comes from the scripture. I'm aware that Christmas is a religious festival, but the sight of fourteen grown men and women prancing around the stage like X-Factor cast offs with huge Bibles in their hands, whilst a lady with three inches of stage make-up depicts the Virgin Mary dancing with Gabriel, my eyebrows don't so much raise as rip from my face and hit the ceiling like bleeding caterpillars. The point at which the cast then don some suspiciously Klan like white robes and perform the final number about Christian supremacy, I become aware that despite it's charms: Dollywood? It's time to leave.

And so that was that, and after such a long diatribe on the joys of the Dollywouldn't, I feel it only fair to lead you immediately into my list of some of the other things I've been doing this week. Wont you listen as I tell my tale, a tale that definitely doesn't include any wise men at all.

1. Am becoming increasingly alarmed by Facebook trying to match me up with 'Christian Singles' in my area. Purely because my status is listed as 'single' and I'm on the buckle of the Bible belt, they assume that I'm trying to nail God bothering local hotties.
2. Visited Percy Warner Park in Nashville. Threw a football around in a beautiful park with some locals and travellers, whilst the sun set over rose red trees. We walked, we chatted, we talked about our loves and our fears. Ahhh, the memories.
3. Rode in a big truck. Much better.
4. Wished a slow and painful death on Taylor Swift. I swear that Nashville is sponsored by that Giraffe necked, owl faced Britney Spears of country music.
5. Admired my mate Stephen who was supposed to be travelling the country but has been in Nashville for 6 weeks. He gets a free bed in exchange for painting murals of country stars on the wall of the hostel. He spends the rest of the time quoting movies with me and generally freaking out the other guests.
6. Was forced to listen to some god-awful flirting at 4 in the morning between two recently spit-swapped travellers.
7. Laughed heartily at the quick wit of Nashvillians. As the romantic conclusion of 2012 played out (yes, I went to see it. Yes, it was pish), two of the prettier and racially compatible stereotypes flirted (gotta love Hollywood) as the world went to pot around them. The key romantic line was delivered and just as I was about to push my fingers deeper into my throat, a shout from the audience turned vomit into chuckles;
Stereotype 1: After all this, perhaps we could share dinner sometime?
Stereotype 2: (with a saucy look in her eye) Is there anything else we can share..?
Guy in audience: SPIT AND GAME!!!!
Pleasant to know that the more po-faced Hollywood becomes, the more creative it's hillbilly audience (in a side note, Thandie Newton should consider legally changing her name to Stereotype 2, just so she can be more easily recognised on film credits. Either that or Shrubbery Newton - just to accurately reflect the wood content.)
8. Watched a half decent film about trying to make it in Nashville that starred River Phoenix, brooding his arse off. Jonny Depp would be in serious trouble if he had survived. Can anyone else spell murder? You can? Clever you.
9. This morning's USA Today has a particularly ugly cover star. His face looks like it's been fashioned out of mashed potato with a sledgehammer. The owner of said face? Jamie frigging Oliver. He's here at last to spread his smug cockney charm like herpes across the USA. Suddenly I can't wait to leave.

So that's pretty much all she wrote for this week. Off to the snows of Colorado later, for which I am ill prepared. However, if I invest in some long johns and whiskey, I should make it. If I get into trouble, they probably send those St Bernard's out to get you. Are you supposed to eat them? Yeah...

Until next time...

Byeloveyoubye xx