Of course it wouldn't just be a week of going to classes, though. Far from it. Seeing as how I'd only been to Atlanta once before in my entire life and had no idea what to expect from spending time downtown, this would be an adventure.
As transportation for this trip I was able to take one of our fleet vehicles, that being a Ford Crown Victoria. There will come a day when motorists see a Crown Vic and don't immediately think "COP!", thus prompting a muscle response in their right foot to perform a covert pressurization of their vehicle's brakes, but that day is not here yet. While this particular Crown Vic wasn't an exact match in terms of color to the cruisers used by law enforcement in the region, it's still a Crown Vic with permanent plates. That's enough visual evidence to give most folks pause while they consider whether or not to pass said potential police cruiser.
I tend to pack heavy when I'm preparing for a trip, be it for business or pleasure. I wind up bringing way too many sets of clothes, and I do this because of my appreciation for redundant mechanisms. (That and the fact that I'm too cheap to do laundry whilst on the road. Laundromats are sometimes hard to come by and in-house laundry services at most hotels are ridiculously overpriced.) The old "I'd rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it" logic, which is perfectly sound in my mind. I can appreciate having 5 extra pairs of underwear because you should never be away from home without plenty of clean underpants.
Other than clothing, I packed the essentials - those being my camera, laptop, tablet, cell phone, and iPod as well as their associated accessories. Some of those I needed to have with me (laptop and phone, for work and communication obviously), while others were there because I need them. Little boys don't stop being little boys just because they get old. We still like to have our toys within arm's reach, they're just significantly more expensive than the baubles we toted around as children.
I hit the road on the afternoon of July 21, 2013 which just happened to be the day after my birthday. My wife and our families had dined the evening before at Cowboy Brazilian Steakhouse in Columbia, SC and I was still reeling from the near meat-coma I'd put myself into (not that it's a difficult thing to do at a restaurant like that). Be that as it was, I loaded up the car, said my goodbyes to Wifey, punched up directions on my GPS app and hit the road.
Driving to Atlanta from our home in Saint Matthews, SC isn't exactly a daunting task - not until you get close to the city, that is. You have the option of going north a ways in order to get to I-20 in Columbia, but I prefer taking highway 178. It's a more scenic route and one that doesn't require you to drive 40 minutes north just to turn around and go back south. It connects to I-20 in a more organic fashion for people in our neck of the woods, I guess you could say.
I hadn't really had anything to eat that day and I began to get a bit hungry as I made my way through Aiken, SC. I stopped at a Hardee's there and had a burger with some fries and a frosty Coca-Cola. Much to my chagrin, this particular Hardee's claimed to no longer be serving curly fries, a favorite of mine. This came as news to me as our local Hardee's in Saint Matthews, to my knowledge, still serves them. I settled for the homestyle fries; this emotional blow was softened by the fact that they had self-serve Heinz ketchup, something our hometown Hardee's removed after the building was renovated recently. I do love ketchup, Heinz in particular, and the opportunity to dip my fries to my heart's content was very welcome.
What wasn't so welcome was the mess that awaited me in the men's restroom. It seems like Walmart bathrooms get recognized as being home to some of the most poorly maintained facilities, but this Hardee's bested any Walmart latrine I've ever seen. It looked as though someone had ransacked the joint; tiles were pulled off the wall, the sink was filthy, the urinal was flooded with waste, but the worst part of it was the gigantic pile of puke clearly visible beside the toilet in the restroom's lone stall. I kid you not, this was a veritable hill of vomit - not projectile or splatter vomit, but a thick, viscous mound of sick. (I'm sorry to have to have forced you into digesting that description, dear reader, but I had to witness it so it seems only fair.) I left without relieving myself (truck stop gas station, for the win), however I did report the issue to a member of staff.
I knew from having driven this route previously (see blog entry "The Truesdales Went Down to Georgia") that when I reached Covington, GA I had less than an hour to go before I'd be in Atlanta. It's around this same point that traffic begins to devolve into a ridiculous display of impatience and rudeness. I prepared myself mentally to face the coming storm but it seemed as though my technology was failing me. I noticed that my phone began to blink its indicator light a combination of amber and green, a signal that the device is overheating. I can only assume that the issue was a result of the phone's resources being overloaded in conjunction with sitting in the cradle I'd positioned on the Crown Vic's dashboard that was more or less in full-sun. This was bad seeing as how I was using it as my GPS for this trip; if it went down, I would have had no way of knowing where I was going. I took the phone out of the cradle, unplugged the charging adapter and began holding the phone in front of one of the air conditioning vents. Fortunately, this seemed to work rather well although it became something of a juggling act - suffice to say juggling isn't something you want to do in these conditions.
My phone got me into the vicinity of my hotel, the Westin Peachtree Plaza, but what these GPS units and apps often lack is good intel on where parking garage entrances happen to be located. I wound up circling the area twice before I found where the garage was located, a result of the fact that there was construction in the area limiting access to it. PRO-TIP: While traveling in Atlanta, be mindful of the fact that many streets are, in fact, one way only.
Once I was in the valet area, I dropped off my keys to the attendant and grabbed my bags. I don't know how best to describe what - well, who, more specifically - I saw next other than to just start at the top and work my way down. She looked to be in her 20s. She was tall, made more so by her high-heel shoes, had bleached blond hair, and wore a pink tube top with what was either a mini-skirt or hot pants. Her makeup was overdone but her massive fake eyelashes were even worse (she appeared to have fakies somewhere else on her anatomy, too). I'm assuming she was a hooker, either that or she chose to dress provocatively for the sake of it.
5 minutes in Atlanta and I've already seen an escort. I spent a week in Las Vegas several years ago and while I saw plenty of ads for call girls I can honestly say I never saw one in person.
I do enjoy staying at higher-end hotels, mainly because the level of service you receive is typically on par with what you'd expect. The Westin was no different; the associate who checked me in was helpful and courteous, as were all the other members of their staff I'd encounter throughout the rest of my stay.
Something I learned about highrise buildings in Atlanta starting with my hotel is the fact that not all elevators go to all floors. Case in point, I was staying on the 43rd floor; one bank of elevators went from the lobby to 45, whereas another set went from the lobby to 70-something. (The Westin has a restaurant on several of the top floors; I was unable to see it because of renovations being in progress during my stay. Apparently it has its own elevator independent of the others.) I lost track of how many times I wound up getting into the wrong lift, not only in my hotel but in the building where I'd be taking classes as well. Pure rookie errors on my part.
I went to my room and I have to say this was one of the nicer rooms I've ever stayed in, although it presented some oddities in terms of a general lack of storage space. This was intended to be a room suitable for business travelers, as was evidenced by the desk dominating one whole corner. There was a closet but very little else in the way of drawers. I know not everyone unpacks when they arrive at a hotel, however I do - I may be living out of a suitcase but I don't necessarily want to have to leave everything in my suitcase. Fortunately, there were plenty of hangers to accommodate my shirts and pants, and my overstuffed bag wound up holding just enough to occupy what drawers were present in the room.
Having moved in, I wandered down to the bar in the lobby for dinner. The restaurant was closed, I assume for refurbishment, but their menu was still available. This first evening I dined on fish and chips accompanied by a tasty Samuel Adams - hard to go wrong with fried cod and a great American brew.
I retired to my room once I was finished but my stay at the bar wasn't without entertainment of the human kind. A couple from Europe had been sitting next to me (I am guessing here but they sounded to be from somewhere out of either the United Kingdom or Great Britain), and the lady had been drinking a glass of white wine. She wound up leaving a fair amount in her glass when they departed. Within moments, two women came to the bar and assumed the same seats that the couple had occupied. They ordered drinks and when the bartender went to fill their order one of the women grabbed the wine glass and knocked back the entire thing in one gulp before the bartender had returned.
Two things...
1) Ew.
2) Is finishing up someone else's drink an acceptable "fumble recovery", as it were? I guess it depends on your level of chemical dependance and desperation for libation.
Like I mentioned when I kicked off this entry, the purpose of my being in Atlanta was to attend a series of classes. I'm not going to go into much detail regarding them other than to mention they involved configuration of Cisco network switches and security appliances. I know there are probably a handful of folks out there who would find a recap of those topics tremendously enthralling but the material is a bit too involved to simply start talking about. (This reminds me of my wife's reaction to hearing me "talk shop" with one of our neighbors who is also involved with IT; she no longer tries to follow along, she just tunes it out until the subject has changed.) I will, however, mention a pair of concepts that I learned about, both having to do with IPv6 which is a new internet protocol addressing scheme intended to replace IPv4.
- IPv6 was brought about because of the fact that the world is running out of old IPv4 addresses. Hard to imagine there are that many devices out there with assigned static IP addresses, but it's happened. There are a couple billion IPv4 addresses out there. By comparison, there are 340 UNDECILLION IPv6 addresses.
Yes, undecillion is a word, and yes, it represents a very, very, very large number.
- The concept of IPv6 is mildly terrifying from a security perspective as it will allow for the unique identification of every piece of equipment on the Internet thanks to the way the addresses are formatted. I'll allow your mind to delve into the implications of that considering the fact that nowadays our phones, our TVs, our refrigerators, and even our cars in some cases are connected to a network of some variety. Our instructor for the week referred to this as the Skynet effect, making reference to the artificial intelligence from the Terminator films that became self-aware and deemed humanity unfit to continue running the show. I don't think we're in any immediate danger of being overrun by murderous robots, but it's still a valid area of concern for anyone who doesn't exactly agree with the idea of having your every move captured digitally and broadcast to God only knows who.
Atlanta is a huge city and it's equipped with a number of modern public transit systems, probably the most widely used of those being the MARTA (Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority), a 4-line subway system that runs underneath the city. I'd never so much as seen an actual subway train with my own eyes, so the fact that one of the main MARTA stations (Peachtree Center) was nearby to my hotel meant I had to go exploring. "Exploring" is an appropriate term to use in this context seeing as how that's what I felt like I was doing while riding one of the longest escalators in the world. (Not until later in the week did I realize that there are elevators.) It seemed to go on forever, 120 feet down into the station which itself resembles a cavern thanks to the exposed rock walls lining the subway tubes. I purchased a multi-day pass for the MARTA and I intended to ride the thing, but I will be forthright in admitting that I didn't ride the MARTA for fear that I'd wind up somewhere with no idea of how to get back where I began. It's silly, I know, but I erred on the side of caution seeing as how I was all by my lonesome with no one to rely on for assistance. That experience under my belt, I decided walking or taking a cab would be my best option for the remainder of the week.
I didn't do much sight-seeing while I was in Atlanta. For that matter, I didn't get away from the area around my hotel all that much but quite frankly I didn't need to since there are a lot of eateries and things to do in the blocks surrounding the Westin. I focused on culinary experiences because food is obviously something I enjoy but also because, to me, it's as much a cultural indicator as anything. The foods of a given region are reflections of the people, and seeing as how Atlanta is a genuine melting pot community I knew I'd be in for some great options.
I wound up eating dinner at Meehan's Public House on two separate occasions. Why? Well, it's not often that I get to encounter an honest-to-God Irish pub with an amazing assortment of bottled and draft beers, ciders, and ales that also serves up a great selection of food. Those reasons combined with the fact that it was literally within 50 feet of the Westin made it too good not to patronize.
My first Meehan's experience was their traditional Reuben sandwich with fries. Not exactly the most eclectic selection on my part, but I love a good Reuben and Meehan's was quite tasty. I sampled a brand of cider I'd never had before, that being Strongbow which is produced in England and is kept on tap at Meehan's. I'll always be a beer connoisseur but ciders are some of my absolute most favorite adult beverages. I know it's not manly to drink something that tastes like fruit juice but I contend it's not always wise to drink something that tastes like you're chewing on a rusty drain pipe, which is exactly what some ales come off as.
I went back to Meehan's 2 days later and wound up inadvertently being part of a crowd who were on hand to watch the CONCACAF Gold Cup match featuring USA versus Honduras. Now I can say I've been in an Irish pub while watching soccer - I feel so very European suddenly. I've gotten more into soccer as I've tried to watch the sport in an effort to learn its rules; I equate it to hockey in a lot of ways, except soccer players tend to over-dramatically sell every poke or push as if they'd been hit in the face with a 2x4 whereas in that same scenario hockey players would just drop the gloves and have at it with each other.
Overall, the experience at Meehan's that evening was very enjoyable. I had several pints of Strongbow (watching soccer makes one quite thirsty) but I dove a bit deeper into the menu this time around as I had their fish tacos as an appetizer and the 101 meatloaf for my main course. I'd never tried fish tacos before but I can say that I'm now a fan; these were fantastic and I would certainly order them again. Likewise, the 101 meatloaf was great (no, I have no idea why there's a "101" in front of the name). It's a combination of beef, bison and sausage making for a succulent meld of flavors. The meatloaf came with mashed potatoes and sauteed green beans, which I'm not certain I enjoyed all that much because I'm rather particular when it comes to my green beans. Even so, I did clean my plate, which is as telling as anything about my thoughts on the meal.
I'd asked friends on my Facebook page to recommend their favorite haunts in Atlanta and I also sought pointers from people in my classes who are locals. One joint kept coming up - that being the Vortex, a truly one of a kind bar and grill with a heavy metal/punk rock attitude. It's a good thing I didn't have access to a place like this when I was in college because I'd have come out of school being a 600 pound alcoholic. They serve Laughing Skull ale as their house beer, which is made locally at Red Brick Brewing. It has the look of a full-bodied ale but is tremendously smooth and easy to drink. What's more, it paired perfectly with my meal which consisted of an appetizer of fried pickle spears (served with an amazing jalapeno ranch dipping sauce) and the Big Blue Buffalo Burger with sweet potato waffle fries. Vortex burgers are unique in that they're made from ground sirloin, and the BBBB is exactly what it sounds like - a big, juicy burger (I had mine cooked to a perfect medium rare) smothered in the Vortex's buffalo wing sauce and covered with a scoop of their blue cheese spread. I am not mincing words here, that was arguably the best burger I've ever had. I can't do it justice here in trying to describe how awesome it was, you just have to go there for yourself and have one.
As a side note to discussing the Vortex, I will add that if you get the sweet potato fries be advised that there will be a cup of sauce on your plate that looks like it could be half a dozen different things, but it's actually frosting. Like the kind of frosting that comes packed with toaster strudels. My waitress didn't tell me what it was and I don't believe it's mentioned on the menu; I feel like I have to make this known because I almost poured it over my burger without tasting it, thinking it was something I had the option of adding on. I'm glad I didn't, needless to say, because it wouldn't have gone as well with the burger as it did with the fries.
I had taken a cab to get to the Vortex but I decided to walk back to my hotel. It wound up being just shy of 2 miles, and it was a good opportunity to get some exercise since the weather was especially pleasant that day (it was most of the week as the temperature never got out of the mid-80s). The only negative aspect to walking around downtown Atlanta is that there is a rather large vagrant population. Having to say no or otherwise ignore their requests for money became a chore; I could imagine that being a woman and walking those same areas would be rather scary.
I don't know if you've noticed or not but I haven't mentioned lunches up until now. Reason for that is that they weren't all that memorable seeing as how I ate in the food court of a mall that's situated underneath the cluster of buildings where I was taking classes. I had a steak wrap and 3 or 4 varieties of Chinese "chicken" (that stuff is so heavily sauced it could be anything) served with various side items up to and including Kraft-style macaroni & cheese. They weren't exactly meals of shame but they weren't anything to write about either, hence why I'm not giving them much attention.
For my final evening in Atlanta, I decided to try a restaurant I'd walked by every day and could no longer resist. Pitty Pat's Porch is located across from the Westin, in what I can only describe as a subterranean level of the building. It's so odd for it to be where it is considering it's interior aesthetic is that of an old, two-story plantation home. The upper floor is essentially a lobby area equipped with a battery of rocking chairs and other seating for guests to use while waiting for a table. The lower floor is the dining room, and to get there you walk down a flight of stairs that takes you directly past an open area of the kitchen where you can see chefs working to prepare various breads, pastries, and deserts.
Pitty Pat's is a very old restaurant as it opened in 1967 and has been in the same location ever since. Their style of food is traditional southern cuisine, specializing in fried chicken and ribs among other savory items. For my meal, I decided to try their interpretation of a favorite dish of mine, shrimp and grits. Before I would get to the main course, though, I made a trip to their salad bar which features so much more than what you'd expect. My two favorite selections were the tomato salad (ripe tomatoes sliced up and marinated in a balsamic dressing with herbs, red onions and roasted cloves of garlic) and pickled watermelon rind - no, really, it's watermelon rind and I promise it was great!
When I returned to my table I found a plate with a biscuit, a piece of cornbread, and a cheesy muffin (I only ate the cornbread since I didn't want to load up on dough to save room for the rest of my meal) as well as my beverage. Pitty Pat's has a full bar but they craft their own specialty cocktails. I chose what they call the Ankle Breaker, which is described on the menu with this: "General Jackson broke his ankle after half a dozen of them. You might have to get yourself a partner to handle one." It's more or less a mason jar filled with light rum, brandy, and enough grenadine to make it pink. Trust me when I say I wouldn't have drank more than one of them knowing I was going to have to walk out of there under my own power!
The main course arrived and it was accompanied by a bowl that was half black eyed peas and half turnip greens. Pitty Pat's menu labels the shrimp and grits as being from the low country (if you aren't aware, "low country" is a term used to describe the coastal region near the South Carolina/Georgia line), but their interpretation is a bit different than what I'm accustomed to eating - different doesn't equal bad, mind you. Theirs is served with blackened shrimp, sauteed peppers and onions, and a butter sauce. It was a very rich but manageable portion and I had just enough room left over to order desert.
I have eaten a lot of bread pudding in my day. It's one of my favorite deserts as it was something my Grandmother made for me as a boy and I have carried on my love for it ever since. Up to this point in time, just about the best I've ever had came from the House of Blues in Myrtle Beach, SC and it was a banana bread pudding. Sadly, that bread pudding is no longer available as a result of HOB's management deciding it was time to monkey with the menu, thereby removing virtually all my old favorites. That said, there is a new champion in the world of bread pudding and it's Pitty Pat's Porch.
It was absolutely perfect. Firm exterior and a warm, custard-like interior. A raisin or two in every spoonful. Drizzled with a bourbon sauce and topped with a dollop of fresh whipped cream. I am not kidding when I say that I would drive to Atlanta just to eat this again, it's that amazing.
My time in Atlanta drew to a close, and thus began the interesting process of packing my bags. It never fails that what fits in a certain number of bags initially is damn near impossible to get back into the same bags once its been used, worn or what have you. I've gotten to be fairly skilled at the game of Tetris that is bag packing, though, and I managed to get my suitcase together better than I thought I would have - it was at that point I realized I still had about a drawer and a half of clothes to get into that same bag.
Drat.
Much like the check-in process, the check-out process at the Westin was a smooth one. I made sure to request that receipts for my stay be sent to me via email prior to leaving the concierge desk as I'd need to give them to our finance people upon my return to the office. I didn't see the point of getting paper copies at that moment so I then gathered up my bags and made my way down to valet services, which was where the only stumble the folks at the Westin made. I'd paid for my valet at the point of check-out but the people at the valet desk claimed I hadn't yet paid the bill for parking. Instead of attempting to argue my point, I went back up to the desk at which I'd checked out and retrieved a paper copy of my receipt. I showed it to the valet clerk and she admitted the error; apparently the valet and the hotel are on independent systems when it comes to payments. That would seem like a problem to me, but what do I know - I didn't stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night.
The drive home was mostly uneventful, I'm happy to report. I made my way out of Atlanta and stopped only briefly between there and here in order to get a bite to eat and relieve myself. I did see a random piece of law enforcement, though, as I witnessed a patrolman (I don't recall whether it was a state trooper or a local cop) pull over a single car out of a pack, all of which seemed to be going nearly the same speed to me. I couldn't help but wonder why that car? All I can say is on that day it sucked to be that driver.
I did enjoy being in Atlanta but it sure did feel good to see a whole bunch of green trees and fields when I got closer to home. Being around nothing but concrete and steel all week was good for my allergies but not so much for my state of mind. By the end of the week I was missing my house, my dog, and mostly my wife. As God tells us in the Bible, "It is not good that man should be alone so I shall make a companion for him..." I don't know what I'd do without mine.
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