Day two brought us back to Atlanta, but not before a stop at Vulcan Park. Birmingham was (and I suppose, is) an iron and steel town, and to advertise this back
in the day the city created a statue of Vulcan (Roman god of the forge) for the St. Louis world’s fair. It is the largest cast iron statue in the world, and allows me to finally tag my third Giant Things entry. We could have paid extra to climb the statue, visit the Vulcan museum, and possibly play in the Vulcan Playland (with a happy fun slide leading to a tank full of steel arrowheads?), but we went the cheap route, walking and gawking for free.
Then we drove back, passing Talladega Speedway (which I forgot to mention on the way up). We didn’t visit it—because we have zero interest in all things stock car—but Jack regaled us with stories of going there in his twenties. It was a booze-soaked time and totally violent. He actually watched a fight escalate to the point where some guy shot another guy in the head (more of a grazing shot though, and the guy lived, but still!)
Back in Atlanta, we had lunch at The Varsity, which is a legendary fast food joint. Once you enter, there’s a counter that seems about a mile wide, so you can line up in front of one of about thirty cash registers. And then you hear this: “What’ll ya have? What’ll ya have?” Sorry, that doesn’t quite capture it. It’s more like this, “WHAT’LL YA HAVE? WHAT'LL YA HAVE? WHAT’LLYAHAVEWHAT’LLYAHAVEWHAT’LLYAHAVE?” I am not making this shit up. Cool place, once you get over the shouting. The food is good but super-greasy, and the area we sat in was set up like a classroom, where everyone sits in individual writing desks all lined up in rows. Here, the “they came all the way from Canada” line scored us a Varsity paper hat.
Our hotel was the Ritz Carlton, which I can honestly say was the swankiest hotel I’ve ever stayed in. I’ve stayed in as nice rooms before, but as far as the six guys attending us at valet parking, and the four other miscellaneous staff members greeting us on the way in, and the free champagne at check-in—from an overall standpoint it's unmatched.
Sarah was a bit wiped out so Jack and I had a quick nip of Wild Turkey in the room, and then we went for a walk ending up at some bar. I can’t remember the name of it, but the waitresses wore these little orange shorts, and there were owls everywhere. I think it was French. Houte E’res, or something? Anyhow, a short while later we were back at the hotel and Red Steph and her crew arrived. Red Steph was the second person from the cruise who conspired to make this Atlanta meet-up happen, and she drove down from North Carolina with two friends, Elaine and Adam. Red Steph is fun, funny, and loves to dance (at least in my limited cruise-based experience). So I’ve gotta say I was a little afraid that I'd find myself in a club at the end of every night, but thankfully it never happened. Not even once.
Once they were settled, we took MARTA (the Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority – a.k.a. the subway) in the direction of dinner. Jack took us to the Buckhead Diner, which was the best meal—in a series of consistently good meals—we had all trip. The Buckhead takes the layout of a diner, but cranks it upscale. I had a veal and mushroom meatloaf and chocolate chip crème brulée—both awesome. I also remember sampling some great appetizers; the calamari was incredible and so were the potato chips slathered with blue cheese. De and licious.
in the day the city created a statue of Vulcan (Roman god of the forge) for the St. Louis world’s fair. It is the largest cast iron statue in the world, and allows me to finally tag my third Giant Things entry. We could have paid extra to climb the statue, visit the Vulcan museum, and possibly play in the Vulcan Playland (with a happy fun slide leading to a tank full of steel arrowheads?), but we went the cheap route, walking and gawking for free.Then we drove back, passing Talladega Speedway (which I forgot to mention on the way up). We didn’t visit it—because we have zero interest in all things stock car—but Jack regaled us with stories of going there in his twenties. It was a booze-soaked time and totally violent. He actually watched a fight escalate to the point where some guy shot another guy in the head (more of a grazing shot though, and the guy lived, but still!)
Back in Atlanta, we had lunch at The Varsity, which is a legendary fast food joint. Once you enter, there’s a counter that seems about a mile wide, so you can line up in front of one of about thirty cash registers. And then you hear this: “What’ll ya have? What’ll ya have?” Sorry, that doesn’t quite capture it. It’s more like this, “WHAT’LL YA HAVE? WHAT'LL YA HAVE? WHAT’LLYAHAVEWHAT’LLYAHAVEWHAT’LLYAHAVE?” I am not making this shit up. Cool place, once you get over the shouting. The food is good but super-greasy, and the area we sat in was set up like a classroom, where everyone sits in individual writing desks all lined up in rows. Here, the “they came all the way from Canada” line scored us a Varsity paper hat.
Our hotel was the Ritz Carlton, which I can honestly say was the swankiest hotel I’ve ever stayed in. I’ve stayed in as nice rooms before, but as far as the six guys attending us at valet parking, and the four other miscellaneous staff members greeting us on the way in, and the free champagne at check-in—from an overall standpoint it's unmatched.
Sarah was a bit wiped out so Jack and I had a quick nip of Wild Turkey in the room, and then we went for a walk ending up at some bar. I can’t remember the name of it, but the waitresses wore these little orange shorts, and there were owls everywhere. I think it was French. Houte E’res, or something? Anyhow, a short while later we were back at the hotel and Red Steph and her crew arrived. Red Steph was the second person from the cruise who conspired to make this Atlanta meet-up happen, and she drove down from North Carolina with two friends, Elaine and Adam. Red Steph is fun, funny, and loves to dance (at least in my limited cruise-based experience). So I’ve gotta say I was a little afraid that I'd find myself in a club at the end of every night, but thankfully it never happened. Not even once.
Once they were settled, we took MARTA (the Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority – a.k.a. the subway) in the direction of dinner. Jack took us to the Buckhead Diner, which was the best meal—in a series of consistently good meals—we had all trip. The Buckhead takes the layout of a diner, but cranks it upscale. I had a veal and mushroom meatloaf and chocolate chip crème brulée—both awesome. I also remember sampling some great appetizers; the calamari was incredible and so were the potato chips slathered with blue cheese. De and licious.
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