Visiting national parks in winter can become a daunting ordeal with unfavourable weather; additionally, an ill-timed federal government shutdown can seemingly doom the situation to catastrophic proportions. However, our visit to the Great Smoky Mountains during Christmas break amidst a government shutdown was just smooth sailing fun! I harbour a deep-rooted respect for the persevering park rangers and national park conservationists for keeping the facilities open and in order, especially during the holiday season. A half-amused, half-relieved ranger at the visitor center explained to our puzzled faces that, thanks to the Smoky’s books and souvenir store, they will be keeping the visitor center open for another week despite the shutdown.

We arrived in Nashville at 6 pm in the evening on the 24th of December, and waves of realization that no restaurant was going to be open, washed over us, exposing our sheer idiocy. Notwithstanding the disastrous oversight of traveling on Christmas eve, (hunger abated as we bought some supplies at a Walgreens that was about to close) we drove excitedly to the towns of Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg, nestled in the Smoky Mountains and advertised as Winter wonderlands. Glittering decorations and strikingly colorful Christmas displays greeted our eyes. The bustling and hackneyed urban glamour of Times Square that I am used to, felt somehow remarkably different from the glitzy tawdriness of Gatlinburg’s Space Needle or the quirkiness of Pigeon Forge’s Wonderland with its upside-down exterior, set in the backdrop of the mountains. That Dolly Parton is a revered, celebrated figure becomes immediately clear, with variants of her name applied to myriad attractions in the town, not including the Dollywood themepark (the one she actually owns). Over the next three days, we trudged along hills to discover the exhilarating sound of cascading waters by day, and indulged in Christmas culture by night (played fantasy-land mini-golf). With the town’s festive country music, chocolate and candy stores, Christmas themed gaming arcades, inviting inns, brightly-colored advertisements with radiant,rotating letters, for theme parks with rides, roller-coasters and all-you-can-eat waffles, and shimmering, dancing lights illuminating the town , I couldn’t imagine anything missing from a particularly imaginative child’s wildest wish list (or my husband’s). The Christmas village in particular caught our attention, with the most exquisitely decorated green-and-white Christmas trees, and other Christmas-themed exhibits with tiny, detailed figurines arranged on overflowing shelves with the precision of a whimsical perfectionist.

In my opinion, there isn’t anything spectacular about the Smoky’s, having been to Denali, Yellowstone, Zion and so on. Nevertheless, walking on icy foot bridges during the hike up the snowy cliffs of the Alum Bluffs, offered plenty to satisfy my sense of daring. Nashville, on the other hand turned out to be an interesting city sans museums. We walked down the hallowed aisles of the Ryman auditorium, with its old wooden benches and the grand stage that saw the birth of bluegrass, where “a soul can find redemption, a crumbling building can find salvation and unknown kids with guitars can find their name in lights”. Melodic notes wafted in Nashville’s music city, building into glorious crescendos as we strolled by, a medley of the slow, soulful sevenths of Blues, the rhythmic marches of honky tonk, and the strumming, shredding and swirling of rock-n-roll, and both the foot-tapping street musicians and the bands in the bars lured us into watching them transfixed with their prodigious skill and magical music, making a comparison with the French Quarter in New Orleans seem irresistible at this point.