Gorgeous Georgia Part 1 - Suwanee/Chattahoochee River/Rabun Bald, GA

In the morning I went to visit the clinic that Jessie's mother ran. Dr Dode Washington was the fifth in a line of Danish medics and had co-founded an OB/GYN clinic. Dode radiated a pure and joyful aura the likes of which one rarely encountered. It had a much more genuine feel to it than many people here here and you really knew that it came from a place deep from within.

In an effort to educate her staff on world geography she had put up a world map in the office. One nurse had apparently asked her where the UK was and she'd frankly had enough. When they found out I was from London a particularly bouncy girl saluted me and said "top o' the morning to ya!"
I politely explained that Ireland was not in the UK and she seemed a bit confused.

"But y'all so close you must be practically the same country."
"Oh yes, we're best of friends."
"That's what I heard. Also, aint' Milton Keynes where them hipsters are from?"
"Yes. All of them." I said, with a slightly impish smile.

Incidentally I found out from Jessie the first use of the word 'hipster' is originally a word used to describe trendy black jazz musicians of the 40s. The word may even be a derivative of a West African word 'hipi' meaning to open one's eyes.

Another, jelly roll shaped nurse saw that I was (with a deep sense of irony) wearing a cap with an American Eagle spread above a slogan saying 'God, Guns and Guts -, Let's keep all three'. She jovially confided that she owned 32 handguns and a number of assault rifles.

I asked her what on earth she could possibly do with that many weapons and she, without a hint of irony, cited the Zombie Apocalypse as her excuse. It speaks volumes about a country that people can genuinely believe this and be still considered to be an acceptable and mentally balanced member of society.

I suppose it made sense to have all those guns. There was no chance in hell of her outrunning a zombie, or a glacier for that matter. In any case I felt America could do with a dose of Apocalypse and the opportunity to shoot something that wasn't a fellow human being. It might be what this place needs. Given how close Trump is to the presidency, this doesn't seem like an impossibility.

On my way west to Georgia I decided to stop in a town called Camden for no reason in particular except that I was hungry and it looked of a size that may support one half-decent restaurant (perhaps even one without a laminated menu).

Camden turned out to be an unexpectedly pleasant little town and one steeped in history. In fact it was the oldest inland city in South Carolina. I parked myself at the bar of the Old Armoury Steakhouse and Seafood. It didn't take long before I had a new friend called Henry.

"Y'all from Camden?"
"No, just passing through to Georgia. Anything worth looking at in Camden?"
"Na. There ain't shit to do here."
I politely acknowledge this and return to the menu.

"y'all like Pokemon?"
It seemed Henry was keen for some conversation.
"Pokemon Go? No, Not really."
"Aw, thats a shame. Camden the best Pokemon catchin' spot in South Carolina. Maybe the whole South."
I paused for a moment to digest this.
"Is that why there's a sign saying no guns on the door?"
"Naw, that's for black people." Came a shout from one of the white waiters.

Henry was, as you can see, black but seemed to take this quite well. I only hoped they were really friends. Henry and I got along just fine and he kindly bought me an endless parade of bourbon shots. He kept asking me to stay for the evening so we could watch the opening Tigers game together. It was a sweet gesture but I had a schedule to keep.

Stumbling a little through the baking hot streets of Camden, I decided that I needed a bit of history to sober me up. Thankfully I had passed the Historic Camden Revolutionary War Site on the edge of town and made my way over there (very slowly).

At the entrance there was a sign saying welcoming trainers to the site of Historic Camden. It turns out Henry wasn't as many sandwiches short of a full picnic as I'd thought.

The receptionist had absolutely no clue about the site itself and simply provided me with a 'self guided' A4 sheet of paper that was packed with information about Historic Camden. Unfortunately the information on it was dull beyond measure. In any case, Historic Camden really consisted of a few locked 18th Century replica wooden houses scattered around a car park. They looked much like any other American house, just a little older, smaller and a emptier.

The former garrison town of Camden was marked on the map and promisingly surrounded by large Woden fortifications that I could see 100 yards away. Sadly a closer inspection revealed that the old town was still concealed under several feet of earth. Permission was never granted to excavate it, for reasons I can't quite fathom, and so you are politely invited by a sign to imagine it. 'I didn't pay five of my hard earned dollars to use my sodding imagination', I grumped.

A little crestfallen and slowly poaching myself in Georgia's intense August heat, I remembered that Henry said the house where they made the (historically dubious) film The Patriot was in Camden. There was no mention of it on my Historic Camden PhD sheet but a 15 second walk quickly revealed it at the top of the hill overlooking Historic Camden.

The Kershaw Cornwallis house was built in 1758 by the town founder Joseph Kershaw (Mel Gibson), a native of Yorkshire, England. It was then seized by the notoriously brutal Lord Charles Cornwallis in 1780 during the Revolutionary War. I say notoriously brutal but I'm just basing that on his portrayal in the film. It's worth remembering that 75% of Mel Gibson's historical epics are just plain wrong and the remaining 25% IS dubious at best. After Cornwallis' tenure the house was later turned into a orphanage. During the Civil War, The Unionists, always keen to leave a good impression, burnt it to the ground, along with the rest of Camden.

The rather fetching Kershaw-Cornwallis House

Thanks to the efforts of a band of dedicated restorers, the house was completely rebuilt in the 1970s. Unfortunately there are no pictures of the interior so they just sort of guessed that bit. Which wasn't an issue as it was (no surprises here) locked anyway. Despite being a replica, it was still a very fine and handsome house and worth the sweaty slog to admire.

Whilst feverishly mopping my brow I realised that, aside from the receptionist, I hadn't seen another soul at this place in the hour or so I'd been here. Although this wasn't a huge shock given the quality of the offering.

I then noticed a car driving very slowly towards the house and concluded it must be some overweight sightseers that we sensible enough to avoid the heat.

Closer inspection revealed four greasy teenagers, each diligently glued to their phone screens. I then noticed a sign on the steps of the house welcoming Pokemon Go players to the Kershaw Cornwallis House. If it gets the little bastards interested in history then why the fuck not? I thought, quietly jealous that I wasn't playing Pokemon Go in an air conditioned car.

Once the bourbon was well rid of me, I made my way to Suwannee (A town in the suburbs of Atlanta) where I would stay with my old friend Sunny whose fiancée's family had very kindly offered to put me up. Sunny was my old university housemate and a friend who, like Jessie and Sebastian, I loved dearly and saw all too rarely.

He was a delightfully wild soul, a teetotaller vegetarian since birth and one of the most courageous and restlessly determined people I've ever met. He had a boundless curiosity to make sense of the world around him but was sometimes capable of moments that were were of singularly awe inspiring absentmindedness. On one occasion he managed to lose his wallet, passport, phone and access to his bank accounts in a single day. That's impressive, even by my standards.

He'd somehow ended up getting engaged to a thunderously attractive girl called Natalie from Suwanee and was trying to break his way into the film industry here. From what I gathered there was still some more breaking to do but I had no doubt he would succeed in one form or another.

Her family lived in a suburb of Atlanta that was, I feel a tad ambitiously, called Edinburgh. It was a heavily gated community replete with swimming pools, tennis courts and other pleasantly diverting things that rich folk do in their free time. I was immediately reminded of the kind of houses that I used to create on The Sims after shamelessly entering a cheat code to enrich myself. Much to the sudden ire of my new found Sim neighbours.

In the afternoon I drove with Sunny to a Hindu Mandir (temple) that I'd read about while researching things to do Georgia. Sunny was a deeply spiritual person (I do my best but am frankly rubbish at religion) and I felt that he would appreciate it. The Mandir is actually the largest outside of India and reminded me that America never ceases to be able to delight and surprise in equal measure.

It turned out to not only one of the most beautiful religious sites I'd ever seen but also on of the best curated self guided tours. They had spared no expense. Built in 2007 from Italian and Turkish marble and Indian pink sandstone, it took only 17 months to complete. Given that 1.3 million (mostly volunteer) man hours were required to build it, it's an extraordinary feat of what human beings can accomplish when they stop bickering sort their shit out.

The construction was done as a giant jupigsaw puzzle consisting of 34,000 individual pieces that all slotted perfectly into place. It was a building of the most unique beauty and felt all the more surreal for being located in the rather dull suburban sprawl of Atlanta.

We spent a serene hour wandering around the enchanting pillared prayer hall, flanked by happy Hindus going about their usual prayer routines. I've done this sort of thing in churches, cathedrals, mosques and Buddhist temples around the world but this was my first hands on experience of the Hindu religion. And what a beautiful religion to discover.

I quietly resolved that India would be the next country on my hit list and we departed as the dying sun kissed the the top of the resplendent ivory towers of the Mandir.

Much like Historic Camden, there had been absolutely no tourists of any description. Perhaps the Mandir should lobby to have it turned into a Pokemon Go gym. It may, at least, bring a few non-hindus here to appreciate the majesty of this place for themselves. Compared to your average American evangelical megachurch this was an accomplishment several orders of magnitude greater and full people who can string a full sentence together.

A night out on the many bars of Atlanta revelead that no one here is aware that the largest Indian Mandir outside India is in Atlanta. But then again, the biggest one in Europe is in London and I've never visited, so the pot is sort of calling the kettle black here.

The next day we had a kayak trip organised with some friends of Natalie and Sunny's. Ben, Ben and Michel were true Southern Gentleman and the five of us got along famously. It was as perfect a day as you could get in Georgia. Clear sky, low humidity and an acceptable temperature. It felt like the most perfect English high summers day.

We met at one of the Ben's apartments that morning. He was every inch the bachelor, having just bought a vintage Mrs Pac Man arcade console. It stood about 6 foot high, with that wonderful fake wooden cladding, the chunky red plastic buttons and joystick thick with dust that had probably been deposited by a sweaty, spotty teenager almost 30 years ago.

In Ben's bedroom I got to play with 16 gauge, pump action, laser guided shotgun. I pointed out that he lived in a gated community and by all logic should be pretty safe.
"People get robbed here all the time."
"But they won't know if you've got a gun, so it's not strictly preventative?" I queried, still slightly bemused and fiddling around with his shotgun.
"You just gotta protect yourself here" said the other Ben, while pulling out a pistol from his person.
"I keep this little baby on me at all times." He said, pulling the magazine out.

Both of these people were by no means rednecks. Ben with the pistol was actually a professional biologist. Unfortunately there's just something of a pervasive paranoia in America, and especially the South that means people here don't feel safe, ever. Which struck me as being a bit non-sensical given that the most dangerous thing around here was actually the guns themselves. They certainly kill more people here than pretty much anything except old age, drink driving and cancer.

Once we were done playing with guns and Mrs Pac Man we set off. The Chattahoochee river was, like every attraction has been to so far, completely deserted. A broad, tree lined body of water that cut right through the heart of Georgia. For seven hours we had the river to ourselves, watched over by the occasional placid Egrit and slightly more energetic fish flinging itself out of the water for reasons that escape me.
We did as many men have done before and got jovially plastered on beer and rum. Occasionally we would attempt to paddle. But mostly we just drifted aimlessly down the gently flowing river and made merry. It was as peaceful a way to spend a Saturday as one could hope for.

My thoughts drifted to the infamous scene in Deliverance where three hillbillies attempt to gang rape a party of city slicker canoeists whilst they rest on the shady banks of a Georgia river. Ben informed me that the film was set only a few miles away from us which really put me at ease. We drifted onwards and I kept one ear finely tuned to anything that sounded like banjo music wandering across the gentle waters.

What you don't want to see on a riverbank in Georgia

Thankfully the day passed without great incident. One of the Bens lost his mobile and Sunny and I both managed to get charred by the intense Georgia sun. But no accidental drownings or gang rapes.

After a restorative dinner at Chick-fil-A (by far the best American fast food has to offer) we said our goodbyes. Tomorrow we were due to hike to the top of Bald Mountain, near the North Carolina border, something I was greatly looking forward to.

The next day Sunny, Natalie and myself rose early to get to the mountains of the Chattahoochee National Park. They had a wedding to get to and I had been informed that there was a nice hiking trail nearby so I tagged along.

The wedding was at the Brasstown Valley Resort & Spa, which I never actually saw so can pass no judgement. I had a hot date with Miller's Trail, a path that blazed a 9 mile loop through the surrounding forest and the mountain in sat on.

The trail was absolutely glorious and once again I found myself completely alone. After a few minutes I couldn't help but feeling like I was being watched. The canopy was so dense that barely a ray of light touched the forest floor. It felt like the trail hadn't been walked for a day or two, a suspicion that was confirmed after accidentally eating several large Spier's webs that had been diligently weaved across the path.

I only found out later that day that the most poisonous spider in America is a native of these forests. The Black Widow spider has a venom is so toxic that a well aimed bite can kill within an hour or so. Had I known this at the time then I probably would have been a little less relaxed as I happily charged like a maniac through seemingly endless sticky barriers of spider's webbing.

During some research about America I had stumbled across some rather jarring crime statistics which were now popping into my head again. 5000 murders a year here go unsolved. There are as many as 100,000 active missing persons at any one time in America. That's one person every 40 seconds or 2,300 a day. That's a shit load missing people!

There are, according to the FBI, on average 50 active serial killers in the US at any one time. Just drifting around, aimlessly or purposefully searching for the next person to bludgeon and gently steam away in a drum of acid. It would be unbelievably easy to hide a body in this country, there's just so much of it to go around.

These cheery thoughts danced though my head as I pushed on through the dense undergrowth. After another hour or so I had become a little more relaxed and began to thoroughly enjoy the hike. The forest had an ambience that was all consuming. A gentle chorus of various insects, birdsong and the occasional falling acorn. The latter nearly giving me a heart attack at one, particularly placed, section of the hike.

Merrily plodded along, I kept catching single strands of spider web with my ankles, like trip wires. I had images of suddenly being whisked away by a Shelob like spider into the canopies and wrapped up in a snug cocoon of webbing and becoming 100,001 on America's missing persons list.

In the event, the walk passed without great incident, save for a mildly diverting wasp sting on my ankle. I think that everyone should be forced to spend a few hours on their own doing this sort of thing every few weeks. Being alone with one's thoughts feels like something of a luxury these days and is probably as improving as any anti-depressant. Except of course, if you are depressed, in which case waking alone anywhere alone isn't strictly advisable.

That evening we had planned to summit Bald Mountain. The three of us drove to a place called Beegum Gap and met with six orhers, including Ben and Ben. They had been drinking all day and were tardy. By the time out party was assembled, the sun was well below the horizon.

A dearth of torchlight and proper equipment meant that we fumbled awkwardly up the steep incline for two miles before we eventually reached the summit in the pitch darkness. When all the torches were off, we could see the glowing eyes of Georgia's many spiders quietly surveying us from the dense undergrowth.

The summit was simply unforgettable. It's the second highest peak in Georgia and we were at the highest point in any direction for around 100 miles. An old fire watch tower had been built there in 1910 and a platform still remained intact at the top. In the far distance, Atlanta glowed gently on the horizon like the dying embers of a fire and the whole of North Carolina was spread to one side of us.

Once camp was set up, the cloud that had been blotting out all the stars decided to put out and gently opened up to a sky so rich and dense with starlight that made you want to weep at the absolute enormity of it all.

One of our merry band had very thoughtfully brought some weed along. It wasn't long before our group were giggling like schoolgirls and merrily holding our gently wheezing frankfurters over an open wood fire. We were the only people up on the peak and we very much felt like the lords of the Manor.

My bed for the night was a hammock strung between two trees on a sheer cliff edge. Above me, the dense, calming glimmer of stars in the night sky and to my left, the gently brooding amber flecks of light in the Georgia countryside. I fell asleep feeling like the luckiest person alive.