The town of Gatlinburg, Tennesssee may be the standard-bearer for all pull-no-punches tourist traps. From souvenirs manufactured in Taiwan to bumper-to-bumper traffic, you'll find all that is slap-dash, air-brushed, and guaranteed to produce nail-biting anxiety for the neon-intolerant. Yet it also produces wonder. How did the serene Blue Ridge mountains give birth to this noisy, unapologetic eco-tourist's nightmare? The chair lifts, the Ripley's Believe it Or Not, the wedding services available in your 'Swiss' chalet...it's all quintessentially American, and in spite of myself, I was fascinated. The depressed economy of many mountain towns until mass-tourism was discovered offers some explanation. But I suspect there's something deeper going on--an eternal, elusive component of the American psyche that draws us to the vaudevillian tawdriness of a town like Gatlinburg no matter how much we know we'd be better off rhapsodizing over rhododendrons on a hiking trail. Do as your conscience dictates. Mine allowed me to do a drive through with a stop at the Mysterious Mansion and walk along the main strip. But know that you have become part of this madness as soon as you slurp your first slush-puppy, ironic distance nonwithstanding.
Quick Tips:
I understand that if you want to say your vows in Gatlinburg, you can obtain a marriage license for 36 bucks and you don't have to be from Tennessee. 'The Best Skiing in the South' is advertised at the Ober Gatlinburg resort, but I can tell you from similar experiences this means slippery slopes that feel like concrete when you inevitably lose it. Best Way To Get Around:
Park as soon as possible, walk around for thirty minutes, then Fly, Fly, Fly!!!