Ellijay GA—The Misadventures

I love to travel. It makes my soul fly, enhances my consciousness, and allows me to bask in my Sagittarian nature. When I decided that I loved to travel, I was a little kid who often traveled with my mom on long road trips in California. It has taken me until adulthood and my relocation to the southern U.S. to realize that not all travels were created equal. Case in point: Ellijay, GA.


Rather than explaining my stupid reasons for going there and why it was the worst decision that I have made in years, I must note a little something about the journey.

I agree that the journey is as important or more important than the destination. However, when the journey involves seeing a real live chain gang, dressed in black and white striped uniforms like something out of Oh Brother Where Art Thou, I begin to question this dictum
. (Yes this still exists, only 20 minutes away from a posh outlet mall  where I bought a Coach purse).

Just to give you a bit of background. Ellijay is located in Northern GA, in the Appalachian Mountains (click here for sound effects). It is well know for its serene beauty, rambling river, a fertile lands. A perfect place to rent a cabin, or so I thought. 

Upon arriving in Ellijay. My phone reception gives out. I do the good ol’ fashioned stop at the nearest gas station and ask for directions routine. Upon speaking to the person behind the counter and trying to match her directions to my GPS, she explains “GPS don’t work in Elllllijaaay.” My God, what have I gotten my self into?

The cabin I rented was beautiful. Except for one thing. I am a city person. I like wildlife just like the next guy, but mainly when it is surrounded by city: central park, Piedmont Park, Santa Monica beaches, that’s my speed. So what does my dumb ass do? Decide to check out the town.
Here it is: The Piggly Wiggly and Waffle House. Strangely enough, they have a Mexican Restaurant as well. But as I learned the hard way, they don’t sell margaritas on Sundays =(

Everyone in town had just discovered Facebook. This is odd considering that it has been around for years. I guess it just hit in Appalachia. Everywhere I went I heard people talking about faaceboooook (said like I spelled it).

The Piggly Wiggly was like the Twilight Zone meets Deliverance. I was afraid that if I stayed there too long, I would leave with an accent that would make me sound like Boomhower from King Of The Hill.

Ultimately, I went to the most hopping place in town--Waffle House. I overheard women exchanging stories about being romanced by men with banjos (not kidding, its true), and another celebrating her first night out on the town since the birth of her child. She was very dressed up in a pair of pink pajamas.