JUST A HIPPIE GYPSY

OUT WITH THE OLD IN WITH THE NEW

We headed towards Gatlinburg Wednesday afternoon. It is about 45 minutes from K-town and on a bright sunny day it was a joy to head towards the Smoky Mountains. We had been in Gatlinburg in 2001 and had a wonderful time. One of the places we visited was a bar that was situated behind the main drag of stores. Zorro and I stumbled upon it on our last visit. We were intrigued by the bartender, a randy looking dude, a dead ringer for George Carlin. His charm was his crustiness and his surly manner. There was the air that it was an honor to have him wait on us. He treated us with playful disdain. We drank a beer, Zorro discovering the value of a bach beer...ShinerBach to be exact. We watched tv as 911 had just occurred. That is the reason Zorro and I were in the Smokies, having cancelled our trip to Florida due to the planes being grounded.

We left the bar and wandered around Gatlinburg. Have I mentioned that it is the biggest tourist trap in the South? Unbelievable, but fun. I love the salt water taffy and the Mountain Winery. Zorro loves the outlet shopping and the Smoky Mountain Brewery!

Not finding another bar (since anyone who reads Alphawoman knows that Zorro and I always do the pub tour!) we headed back into the small hidden bar. Walking through the door into the dark comfort of the pub the bartender greeted us with a, "Oh no!! Not you two again!" We loved it! We knew we were accepted!

So this trip to Gatlinburg we searched for the tucked away pub, not remembering the name but looking forward to being insulted by George Carlin. I saw beer signs glowing the alluring temptation to come inside. Thinking we had found it, I poked my head in.

"Come on in!" A gentleman coaxed me.

"I'm looking for a bar."

"This is a bar."

I looked around the restaurant, which was empty save for the couple in a booth against the wall, and a young long haired kid reading a magazine behind them, the small grouping of tables in the middle of the room, every inch of the walls covered by artwork and I replied.

"This place had a bartender."

"I have a bartender." He said waving his hand towards the gentleman reading the magazine who then looked up, becoming interested in the conversation.

"This place was called Smilies or something like that."

"My bartender can smile." At this point the "bartender" stood up and began to smile. I was one upped on that retort and the bartender was very cute. Zorro began to push me inside the dark and comfortable hole in the wall.

The couple in the booth began to add to the conversation. "You are talking about Cactus Petes, he closed several years ago." Oh heck!

Duffy was entertaining enough and talked nonstop the entire time we were in there. When I go to a bar, I want a bar to lean up against, I want liquor bottles to reflected my mood, I want to feel like I have entered the hallowed halls of booze. Duffy's was not this. It is something else entirely. After I finished pouting about the demise of Cactus Petes, I enjoyed myself.

But, I would rather be insulted. Such is life, nothing ever waits for you, does it?