While planning our trip Bill came across the web site of the Bessie Smith Cultural Center in Chattanooga. The city's name has a pleasing ring to it, made famous in the Chattanooga Choo Choo song. Bill is very fond of jazz so he knows the song well. The Cultural Center looked to be a good place to gain an insight on to the history of African Americans.
Chattanooga isn't a vast conurbation, but we still elected to avoid driving in the city centre. The Walmart in Signal Hill was handy to the city and getting there did not require us to drive in very heavy traffic. The store happily gave us permission to occupy their parking lot for up to 24 hours. Thank you once more, Walmart.
Friday, 26 October 2018 was chilly and wet in Chattanooga. Uber took us to the back of the Cultural Center for some reason, but it isn't a large building to walk around. The inside of the Center was a little disappointing. There were many stories of African Americans who had risen to importance in their field; school principals, local politicians, successful businessmen, entertainers, etc. We decided that we felt let down because there was very little about the days of slavery, segregation and Jim Crow laws. Maybe our expectations were unreasonable, since most visitors would presumably already have known about these abuses.
There was a very good display about the transatlantic slave trade. We had had no idea how many people had been transported. We had known that it was not uncommon for slaves to die on the way, but the mortality statistics were truly shocking.
Another little frustration was that the audio system was broken and we were denied the usual samples of black Chattanoogans' music. Bessie Smith, of course, was a local singer who achieved international fame, but she was by no means the only African American in the region to make good music.
Our Uber driver back to Signal Hill was not wearing his seat belt. We didn't like to say, but we both theorised that it was not long enough to fit round him. He was a huge man. Isn't it terrible that the first thing we noticed was his size? He was cheerful and made good conversation all the way back to our vehicle. His main job was driving a truck at night and driving for Uber was a secondary occupation. He must be one of those unusual people who do not need much sleep because he was perfectly alert and drove well. He had relatives in Panama City, which had recently been hit by a hurricane and was planning to drive down that night with his wife, his children and supplies for the stricken. “It's only a 7 hour drive.”
For us there was a 2 hour drive to Murphy NC and another Walmart parking lot.
The next day we were expected by John and Susan Mycroft in Asheville. The quickest route would have taken only half the day to drive, so we determined to seek out a more interesting option.
The most direct route was attractive as well as rapid. The highway goes through the Nantahala National Forest, and much of it is beside the Nantahala River.
The River
Autumn leaves in North Carolina
More seasonal colours.
Fall foliage across the river.
At Cherokee township we turned left and drove into the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. We found a picnic area at a convenient time for lunch, but did not use the picnic tables provided. It was sufficiently cold and wet to make the interior of the vehicle more appealing. One hardy couple did sit in the drizzle, though.
Driving into the Great Smokies.
Mist in the mountains.
The Blue Ridge Parkway starts just outside the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and passes very close to John and Susan's home in Asheville. A parkway will be slower but more scenic. Great. Except that there are a few short tunnels along the parkway. We made it through the first two, but the headroom in the third made it a very doubtful proposition. So we turned around. The cars behind us had a good view and were able to pull up gently in good time. No vehicles emerged from the tunnel as we made our hurried 5-point turn, so no emergency stops were required of anyone.
In Cherokee township we had noticed a Museum of the Cherokee Indian. “Let's learn about the Cherokees” we decided. It is an excellent museum. The visitor is first of all regaled with a couple of traditional stories. The exhibits then take you through the way of life of the pre-European Cherokees, contact with the Europeans (initially as traders) and finally to the forced relocation of the tribe from their ancestral home to a reservation in Oklahoma, known as the Trail of Tears. A very few families managed to stay in the Appalachians and their descendants still live in and around Cherokee.
Many tribes were similarly relocated. You can read the Wikipedia article about it here.
The Museum of the Cherokee Indian
We still fetched up at John and Susan's house at a reasonable hour and were spoilt rotten for the next few days. They are friends of Bill's from his days in Auckland. After a while, though, American-born Susan wanted to return to the USA and UK-born John was granted residence. Their home is well away from the Asheville CBD, on what we would call a bush section. The birds are encouraged into sight by the offerings from two feeders, one of which has been re-modelled by a bear, which pulled it down to get at the peanuts. The feeders are now taken in each night. We did not see any bears.
Carolina Chickadees on the feeder and in the air.
A Tufted Titmouse.
Another Tufted Titmouse. As has been mentioned elsewhere, the naming of birds and animals should not be left to an ignorant general public. This is clearly a bird and not a mouse. ;-)
In between our hosts' work; Susan in an accountant's office and John at a polling station for the mid-term elections; they showed us a lot of Asheville, including Biltmore Village, French Broad River and some of the Blue Ridge Mountains on the other side of the too-small tunnel.
Walnut Cove
From an overlook on the parkway. Buck Springs Gap, we think.
Autumn colours along the Blue Ridge Parkway.
In the days before arriving in Asheville our motor home's house batteries had been running out of power during the night, which they should not do. The headlights still hadn't been fixed after the hair-raising journey near Washington. We researched Ford servicing in Asheville and drew a blank. They were booked up for weeks ahead. Finally we found an independent mechanic not too far away who works only on RVs and who agreed to have a look.
Before we departed John and Susan invited us to return and spend Thanksgiving with them. This is an important holiday in America, and the traditional time for families to get together. It was therefore a particularly kind invitation.
We bid them goodbye and set off to see the RV mechanic.
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