Dollywood - at last

Pigeon Forge. What a wonderful name for a town. We’re here to visit Dollywood. I am utterly unashamed of the fact that I have long wanted to visit Dollywood and that I think Dolly Parton is just a, well, a Dolly. I’ve loved the very idea of Dollywood albeit I was never quite sure how it manifested itself. So, we have traversed the glorious Blue Ridge Mountains into sweet Tennessee’s Smoky Mountains to find out. It has been a fascinating drive.

Until the traffic jams. It takes a tedious forever to get a mile through the town to our hotel. Jam, gridlock, backup, impasse, whatever. It is all of them. In this little Tennessee town. It is the Labor Day long weekend. It is one of the biggest family holiday weekends on the US calendar. And we have come to one of the most popular US family holiday locations on this weekend. It was not quite in our plans.

We are crawling past a mile of crass commercial kitsch: theme hotels, family entertainment enterprises and donut joints when my Google Maps speaks up. Out of the blue, in a sweet Aussie voice, she tells us that there is a way to beat the traffic. If we just turn off here and follow these winding back roads… We do as she suggests. It is a wonderful backstreet drive. And suddenly we are at our hotel. We love you Google Siri.

The Clarion Inn is just full of families. Oh, my. All of Pigeon Forge is packed. We load our mountainous luggage onto a hotel trolly. Bruce just loves these things. He now has his own litany of hotel likes and dislikes. Dislikes: valets, porters, offsite parking, paid WiFi. Likes: Being in control, easy parking, free breakfasts, fast internet.

The Clarion Inn is set in the middle of a great big carpark. Pretty it ain’t.

But fun it is. The view from our little balcony is of the madness of Pigeon Forge. For instance, there is a huge ferris wheel which, by night is a delight of ever-changing coloured lights and foreground to a nightly fireworks display. There are the illuminated carriages which live in our carpark and great grey horses, Sir Charles and Lady Diana, who come out at dusk to pull them through the streets giving people a romantic heritage carriage ride though the, um, traffic. We get to know a bit about this carriage business, chatting to the boss lady, Peggy. She’s from Georgia with one of those full Southern drawls. Don’t I remind you of Paula Deane, she laughs. Oh, the TV chef with all the butter. Yes.

Peggy has all the gossip. Yes, Dolly comes to town regularly. She has all these wonderful accommodations for tourists but she has never slept in any of them. She’s got a mansion in Brentwood. You always know when she is at Dollywood because her big, black SUV has a special park out the front. She doesn’t own it now, you know. She has only 10 per cent. But that brings in a million a week. Not bad, eh. She does own the water park.

We decide that, traffic being what it is, we will walk wherever we can. Firstly, it is to the supermarket to get drink supplies and pain killers. I have acquired a wicked neck ache. We’ve been scoping out restaurants in the area and I am not thrilled by the chains around us, so to speak. But there, just one street behind the hotel and tucked in a particularly nondescript row of offices, is Fusion Cafe Asian Grill. Bless. What’s more, this quaint little family business in its long room, darkened by wooden venetians to disguise the glorious carpark view outside, offers Malaysian fare as well as Chinese and Japanese. It has been so long. This becomes “our” restaurant in Pigeon Forge.

No one could say that Pigeon Forge is beautiful. It is set amid the spectacular Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, some of the most sumptuously glorious mountains in the world, but it is really just one big, dusty, garish family playground which has built up rapaciously around the enterprises of Dolly Parton. She has a hand in a few of the attractions, according to the billboards. There is a Dolly waterpark as well as Dollywood. And there are lots of wild-west and country-music dinner shows. There's even a Biblical Times dinner show.

We skipped it.

Dolly’s love of funfairs has spawned mini copy cats which enable families go on fun-park crawls up and down the main drag. They can ride zip-lines and mini rollercoasters, dodgems and mini drag cars. The can be lifted aloft on tethered hot air balloons. They can play mini golf and arcade games. And they can eat waffles, donuts, fried chicken, and ice-cream from a thousand outlets. Our fellow hotel guests with a squillion excited kids in tow, are here to do it all, especially the eating. There are some prodigious people here.

Our hotel receptionist tips Bruce off about the locals’ way to get to Dollywood so, when we whisk off it is with absolute ease right to the gate. We booked our tickets for Dollywood online, selecting Preferred Parking as an add-on. Anyone who ever intends to go there should follow suit. It makes a significant difference in the amount of hoofing and waiting. Instead of depending on shuttles from distant and massive carparks, one gets to park right by the main gate and stroll on in. The day is hot, hot, hot, so we are deliriously glad of our good choice of the parking option.

There’s a thorough security check at the gate. Bags scrupulously examined by good-natured guards. The first thing one notices in Dollywood

is how nice everyone is. They are all downright Tennessee friendly. A lot of the staff seems to have come from central casting - handsome, silver-haired gentlemen and weathered mountain grannies. The second thing you notice in Dollywood is all the images of Dolly Parton. She beams from all over the place. Music is piped. The atmosphere is set. Bright, warm, convivial, cheery - Dolly.

We’ve been told that if there is only one thing one does in Dollywood, it must be to eat a the cinnamon bread. One can smell the cinnamon in the air as soon as one enters the park.

But straight ahead of us is a music museum so we make it first port of call. It is a shrine to

country and western and gospel stars of the region. There is an animatronic quartet singing a capella; so unnervingly lifelike that one is stopped in one’s tracks on a double-take.

Outside there are merchandise shops and ice-cream shops and people swarming around. It is very colourful and cheerful. There are fewer children than one anticipated but lots of ample olds instead. Some of them are so ample that they move their mighty girths around on gophers, much like the ones

Walmart supplies for its obese clientele. They all seem to clutch large drinks containers. The Dolly souvenir special.

Here’s our first theatre. Come on in, says the granny at the door. The show has just started. It is a concert performance by the Kingdom Heirs. Great name. The auditorium is vast and almost full. We find aisle seats towards the back. People seem in quite a reverie. They are in some ways a tough looking, older crowd, mountain folk maybe, and many of the couples seem very openly and sweetly affectionate towards each other.

Caressing of shoulders, twirling of hair. I’m not used to seeing that as part of audience behaviour - and I’ve seen a lot of audiences. But these are religious people and this is a gospel group. They are country and western gospel rock, I think. They are very good. The vocal harmonies are exquisitely arranged and balanced and the bass singer has the most remarkable deep profundo bass we have ever heard. We sit in pleasure in the cool theatre for quite a long time - until, suddenly, the baritone MC breaks out into a Bible-quoting sermon which shows no sign of stopping. We tiptoe out, back into the hot Dolly day.

It’s time to hunt out the famous cinnamon buns. We follow our noses to an airy cafe where

several of Dolly’s central-casting helpers are serving a queue of people cakes and cookies and, yes, the famous cinnamon buns. Bruce orders us cups of tea and a bun each. Naughty Bruce. They are big buns. They are oven-fresh, their generous layers of icing still soft and delicate. With their deep swirls of cinnamon and light yeastiness, they are out of this world. We are both swooning, gazing at each other in guilty rapture. Looking at the fat

people outside and suddenly understanding how this could happen to them in the land of such sweet indulgences. It’s OK, says Bruce. We never do this. And we haven’t had lunch. This is lunch. It is not too bad. No, it is a definition of bliss. We eschew the six-pack cinnamon bun takeaway specials and the you-can’t-eat-just-one sign and waddle out on a sugar high.

Dollywood is immense. There are signposts and diverging paths. We check out the big display maps but still wander with more laid-back curiosity than purpose. Just letting it happen. There is a stream and a little bridge. There is as much prettiness as there is show and commerce. We come upon the Dolly dress shop where they brag that one can have Dolly clothes but in real

sizes. Dolly, of course, is petite. I cruise around and see if I want to be Dolly. No. Those ruffles and cinch skirts are not for me.

There’s a Dolly Life Story Museum and a 1950s theme cafe complete with period cars and petrol pumps. And there is another theatre. The big show is about to start. Perfect. We’re among the very last in and the smiling usher directs us to the front row - which has been kept for the disabled. What luck.

This is a stage show telling the story of Dolly’s life in music. It has a band on stage and six or so performers who, we’re told, are not blood to Dolly but they are considered family nonetheless. We are all family here in Dollywood

says the compere. So the performers are introduced as cousins and siblings. Dolly appears on a big screen at the back of the stage. This, it turns out, is a multimedia production and the live performers switch, swap and interact with big Dolly on the screen. It is a sophisticated and snappy production. Several of the male performers are in the

Kenny Rogers mould. Handsome. Long plaits, beards. Country-western long coats. Central casting again. The women are mixed. One looks like a gnarled elderly Dolly with a mass of long, blonde hair. Another is immensely ample. They are a terrific crew and they turn on some Dolly classics both in chorus with onscreen Dolly and as individual numbers. It’s a long, slick, thoroughly entertaining, warm-hearted show.

Out into the hot day again, we explore more of the avenues of Dollywood - past the most immense wooden roller coaster, past water flumes and crazy pseudo-rapids boat rides. There’s an old country store, more stages which are setting up for shows, more food areas selling hot dogs and pulled pork, donuts, and shakes. There are dress-up photo spots and zip-lines and more rides and more stages. Young performers are doing a

tribute show. We pause and listen for a while. There’s a craftsman in period gear making cowboy belts. Something new is around every bend.

We are now hot, tired, and thoroughly happy with the Dollywood experience. We have found it charming, innocent, good-natured - very Dolly. We are ready to call it a day. But, oh, where are we? This network of meandering paths and

diverse distractions has us quite lost. We’ve walked for miles. We go in the direction we think is towards the exit but it is not. We hover around the big mill and waterwheel. We are totally bamboozled. Finally I ask the man who looks like he's been here longest. It turns out we have gone in exactly the wrong direction. Go back and under the rail bridge and then fork right after Grandma’s store, he says.

We follow instructions and walk, and walk. There’s the rail bridge. Oh, no, it’s another sort of overpass. Which rail bridge? Keep going. Why didn’t we get a map? My, it’s hot. Aha! That must be a rail bridge. Of course. There’s Grandma.

Now, if we take this branch to the right. Eventually, eventually, back past the giddy perfumes of cinnamon and sugar, we find the exit gate.

It was a lovely day.