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The Southern Coterie is an exciting collaborative effort celebrating the people, places and things that make the South special. If you can’t come to the South, the South will come to you!

~ Tuesday, February 7 ~
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Cities: Car Odyssey to North Georgia By Boyd Martin When a client offers to trade cold hard cash for a few nights in their peculiar B&B, you tred with vigilant trepidation. And not peculiar in a good way. Peculiar like it was decorated with the worst rejects from Antiques Road Show. But it is Christmas vacation, and the pattering of little feet that were at times charming, are now dancing on your nerve endings like Fred Astaire just found Andre Agassi’s Crystal Meth. What do you have to lose? Parents are on board. Wife is beside herself. And what’s not to find attractive about a road trip? Ahhhhhh. A road trip. Things have changed since those halcyon days of youthful indiscretions. For one thing, there are is no tape deck. In its place, a white metal vessel that houses your entire catalog spanning your first purchase of Led Zeppelin IV, meandering through that weird Smiths phase you lest forgot, and ending with last week’s iTunes download of My Morning Jacket’s entire collection. It’s on! Isn’t it funny, however, that getting lost on the way there is far more romantic that the trek home. Oh, look. A pecan orchard. How charming. OMG! Are those muscadine vines? Maybe we cab stop and buy some wine from an old couple who have been brewing the juice for 1000 years. It will be just like a Anthropologie catalog. The only thing remotely bringing you down is that occasional Coldplay song your wife keeps broadcasting. But, hey, it’s her sojourn as much as yours, and deep down you really don’t mind Shiver. In fact, you really like it and you know it despite your brooding otherwise over the years. Eight hours later, you finally arrive in Dahlonega - a six hour trip if you were judicial about it at all. The B&B is everything you anticipated. Staring you down like a Flash Mob turned Occupy Wallstreet mob are a gaggle of porcelain figurines in any number of demure moods. It  doesn’t matter. You unpack your things and hike into the hamlet of Dahlonega with a hefty appetite for food, drink … and the unknown. What becomes crystal clear is this: There is no dark underbelly to Dahlonega. Sure, it’s a college town - a military college town, that is. OK, it’s in the foothills of the Appalachians, a  hallmark of many mercurial spots like Ashville and Athens - spots that distinguish with the announcement  of every G8 meeting, but provide enough character for those who wish to peek under the hood. But you’re older now, and like Neil Young says, isn’t it better to burn out than fade away? After an Irish bar called Shenanigans and a promising haunt called The Crimson Moon that turns out to be Snoozeville, you call it quits and head to your Alpine bivouce hoping for more when you awaken the next day. Irrespective of a day trip to Helen (WTF?), we decide to done our best Sideways banter and hit the Wine Highway that is home to many of the North Georgia wineries that are sprouting up in the mountainous, minerally hills. After trips to Frogtown and Blackstock wineries where some 16 wines are tasted in velvety sips, things are looking up. Friends are met. Horizons broadened. Dusk washes over and you head into Dahlonega looking for something more. Smoke fills the air as it so often does in these parts. You have 12 miles into town and are tired of playing DJ, so you leave it to the shuffle Gods, hoping in their divine wisdom that they will bestow upon you an anthem befit a King and Queen. What will it be? Widespread Panic’s Driving Song? Blueridge Mountains by Fleet Foxes? Who could blame them for either selection? Instead divine spirits spin Decomposing Trees by Galaxy 500. How sublime! Mythical. Perfect. The reverb dances off the bark of these ghostly pines like a celestial rave. How can three people make so much beautiful noise with merely a lead, bass and three piece drum set.  It is your soundtrack for the 12 miles back into town. Much like the three galiant musicians in Galaxy 500, the two of you head into town hoping to make sounds larger than yourselves. Your opening track - The Corkscrew Cafe. A tiny gastronomical venture that you have yet to hear anything but accolades about. A simple spinach salad with boiled egg and warm bacon vinaigrette. Unctuous! Pasta Bolognese almost as good as that as the one you had on your honeymoon in Tuscany. Surprise! You order the same bottle of Sangiovese you purchased for a mere hour ago in the shadows of its grapes for twice the price. No worries. It’s getting late, and you know from your first encounter with Dahlonega that you are not going to miss anything by retiring early. You walk by the General Store on your way back to the car and realize it’s merely a glorified t-shirt store, and not, as you originally suspect, the very spot where you will find the Rosetta Stone. As you speed towards home on the callous lanes of I95 you quickly realize that the fast lane is for amateurs.

Cities: Car Odyssey to North Georgia

By Boyd Martin

When a client offers to trade cold hard cash for a few nights in their peculiar B&B, you tred with vigilant trepidation. And not peculiar in a good way. Peculiar like it was decorated with the worst rejects from Antiques Road Show. But it is Christmas vacation, and the pattering of little feet that were at times charming, are now dancing on your nerve endings like Fred Astaire just found Andre Agassi’s Crystal Meth.

What do you have to lose? Parents are on board. Wife is beside herself. And what’s not to find attractive about a road trip?

Ahhhhhh. A road trip. Things have changed since those halcyon days of youthful indiscretions. For one thing, there are is no tape deck. In its place, a white metal vessel that houses your entire catalog spanning your first purchase of Led Zeppelin IV, meandering through that weird Smiths phase you lest forgot, and ending with last week’s iTunes download of My Morning Jacket’s entire collection. It’s on!

Isn’t it funny, however, that getting lost on the way there is far more romantic that the trek home. Oh, look. A pecan orchard. How charming. OMG! Are those muscadine vines? Maybe we cab stop and buy some wine from an old couple who have been brewing the juice for 1000 years. It will be just like a Anthropologie catalog.

The only thing remotely bringing you down is that occasional Coldplay song your wife keeps broadcasting. But, hey, it’s her sojourn as much as yours, and deep down you really don’t mind Shiver. In fact, you really like it and you know it despite your brooding otherwise over the years.

Eight hours later, you finally arrive in Dahlonega - a six hour trip if you were judicial about it at all. The B&B is everything you anticipated. Staring you down like a Flash Mob turned Occupy Wallstreet mob are a gaggle of porcelain figurines in any number of demure moods. It  doesn’t matter. You unpack your things and hike into the hamlet of Dahlonega with a hefty appetite for food, drink … and the unknown.

What becomes crystal clear is this: There is no dark underbelly to Dahlonega. Sure, it’s a college town - a military college town, that is. OK, it’s in the foothills of the Appalachians, a  hallmark of many mercurial spots like Ashville and Athens - spots that distinguish with the announcement  of every G8 meeting, but provide enough character for those who wish to peek under the hood. But you’re older now, and like Neil Young says, isn’t it better to burn out than fade away?

After an Irish bar called Shenanigans and a promising haunt called The Crimson Moon that turns out to be Snoozeville, you call it quits and head to your Alpine bivouce hoping for more when you awaken the next day.

Irrespective of a day trip to Helen (WTF?), we decide to done our best Sideways banter and hit the Wine Highway that is home to many of the North Georgia wineries that are sprouting up in the mountainous, minerally hills. After trips to Frogtown and Blackstock wineries where some 16 wines are tasted in velvety sips, things are looking up. Friends are met. Horizons broadened. Dusk washes over and you head into Dahlonega looking for something more.

Smoke fills the air as it so often does in these parts.

You have 12 miles into town and are tired of playing DJ, so you leave it to the shuffle Gods, hoping in their divine wisdom that they will bestow upon you an anthem befit a King and Queen. What will it be? Widespread Panic’s Driving Song? Blueridge Mountains by Fleet Foxes? Who could blame them for either selection?

Instead divine spirits spin Decomposing Trees by Galaxy 500. How sublime! Mythical. Perfect. The reverb dances off the bark of these ghostly pines like a celestial rave. How can three people make so much beautiful noise with merely a lead, bass and three piece drum set.  It is your soundtrack for the 12 miles back into town.

Much like the three galiant musicians in Galaxy 500, the two of you head into town hoping to make sounds larger than yourselves. Your opening track - The Corkscrew Cafe. A tiny gastronomical venture that you have yet to hear anything but accolades about. A simple spinach salad with boiled egg and warm bacon vinaigrette. Unctuous! Pasta Bolognese almost as good as that as the one you had on your honeymoon in Tuscany. Surprise! You order the same bottle of Sangiovese you purchased for a mere hour ago in the shadows of its grapes for twice the price. No worries.

It’s getting late, and you know from your first encounter with Dahlonega that you are not going to miss anything by retiring early. You walk by the General Store on your way back to the car and realize it’s merely a glorified t-shirt store, and not, as you originally suspect, the very spot where you will find the Rosetta Stone.

As you speed towards home on the callous lanes of I95 you quickly realize that the fast lane is for amateurs.

Tags: boyd martin north georgia
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