Helen, Georgia

So we started out this morning in Albany, Georgia and it was just fine as I said and we walked across the street to the Ray Charles Plaza and I took some pictures and we danced, Mr. Moon and I at eleven o'clock in the hot sunlit morning to Ray singing through time and space and weather-proofed speakers. It was great.

Then we made the mistake of conjuring a destination. We would go to Helen, GA.
Let me just say this about that:
No.
It was a lovely drive here, mostly up Highway 19 through the country-est of country, cows and old buildings and tiny towns with Dollar Stores and Mexican Grocery Stores and Hardees and all of that crap which America is made of these days and a few things that still make it interesting. We had to get in the Atlanta by-pass shit which was stressful and anxiety-producing and then we got back into the country and everything was fine and we got to Helen, Georgia and why, why, WHY?
Okay. I have heard they have nice cabins to stay in and that there was a river and it was in the foothills of the mountains and all of that sounded great and I had also heard that they had a sort of Bavarian theme going on here and well, I guess I sort of chose to ignore that fact but let me tell you- don't ignore that fact. It's true.
Fake Bavarian theme. Yes. It's the Little Olde Bavarian Village here, folks and honestly, it is the most random place I have ever been in my entire life and that includes Disney World. Gift shops selling crap that no one in their right mind would want and restaurants serving crap that no one in their right mind should eat.
The place right next to where we're staying serves a pork LEG (really? yes) with sauerkraut and potato salad for $29.95. Sadly for us, by the time we walked there the restaurant was closed so I didn't get the chance NOT TO ORDER THE PORK LEG.
I don't even want to talk about what we did eat at the Olde Troll House or whatever the name of the place we ate was except to say as I did to the waitress when she asked how everything was, "Well. It's food."
She nodded sadly and said, "I know."

So. The place we're staying in is a motel called Hofbrauhaus Riverfront Hotel. Here is the view from the terrace in back of the room:

Not bad, right, with the flowing creek and the rocks and the trees? Not bad at all. In fact, nice enough for me not to pay that much attention to the room itself which, it turns out, has orange walls.
Orange. Walls.
The bathroom is sort of funky and fun and the toilet was Sanitized For Your Protection.
Proof:



But when I opened the drawer in the bedside table, this is what I found:


There is so much to love about this picture that I don't know where to begin. Torn open condom packet on top of the Holy Bible.
Check.
Size of the condom? Extra Large.
Check.
And so forth.
This is the picture we shall show the manager tomorrow when we tell her that we'll NOT be staying another night, thank-you and please, give us that portion of our money back.
I know. It's shameful that we're even staying one night but hell, it was already nine o'clock at night when we checked in and the restaurants were all closing and we were tired and hungry.

And there is that view out the back.

I don't know. Some things are just not right.
Take a beautiful little town in North Georgia in the beginnings of the mountains with a gorgeous little river flowing through it and turn the entire place into a faux-German village and they will come. Because yes, they do. The town is packed with tourists.
I gotta get out of here.

Honestly, on a scale of one to ten of horrible things that can happen, this isn't even a one. It's just mildly amusing and slightly scary and terrifically weird.
But that doesn't mean we have to stay here.
Oh no, it does not.

I think we shall eat our breakfast tomorrow at Ye Olde German Huddle House. Unless we want to go to the nice German bakery down the road where I feel certain we could get a good apple strudel or a schnitzel or a pork leg.

And then, if I have my way, we are OUT OF HERE! To where, I do not know and frankly, don't really care.
Just...god. Not Helen, Georgia.

Poor Helen. Whoever she was, I imagine she's rolling in her grave. Unless she really loved sauerkraut and very ugly glass figurines and Christmas stores open in July with plastic Santas out front.

Night-night, y'all. Or should I say, Gute Nacht?
Or, perhaps, more to the point: GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!

Love...Ms. Moon