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Here are some observations from my first week in Georgia:
- The word “Georgia” has no “r” in it; at least, not if you’re from Georgia.
- If you eat out and you order “iced tea,” they don’t even bat an eye, just bring you sweet tea, as if there were no other kind.
- If you order pancakes and there is no syrup on the table, the sweet tea is a fine substitute.
- There are no one-syllable words in Georgia, and every word has an invisible “ey” or “ay” in it. Georgians have a lovely sing-song cadence to their dialogue.
- The beds in Georgia are the rough equivalent of slabs of concrete in Texas. (Well, I have only slept in two: the first was in a cheap motel on night one, and I was thankful I did not have to shoot my way out the next morning; the second is in this somewhat aged hotel in the small burg of Rockmart, where the manager is a sweet, if slightly off-center, eccentric, old lady who routinely misses her upper lip by a quarter inch when she applies her lipstick.)
- Southern hospitality is alive and well in Georgia.
- Georgia home builders should be flogged for building the houses a mile off the ground and then putting a pitch on the roof that appears to be the most direct line they could draw to God’s heaven.
- I haven’t seen a single peach. If I do, I plan to eat it.
In closing, a general observation about solo travel (especially if it is for work): Adventuring is less adventuresome when you are by your lonesome, but going it alone awhile does, I think, make you more keenly aware of the goings on around you. In other words, it turns you into a snoop when you go out to eat. You quickly tire of the conversations in your own head and begin to “overhear” the conversations of diners nearby…or even across the room.
Back to work.
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