North Carolina Pt. 1

I have never landed in an airport where when I got off of my flight, there is less noise than a construction site.

This airport was small and secluded (for an airport) and the the grounds well manicured. My brother flew with me and we both smiled when we saw our grandparents waiting at baggage claim.
(If just hearing about this, then here is why I am currently in North Carolina. My grandparents have a house at a country club in Highlands, near the border of South Carolina and Georgia. The closest flight we could get was at the Greenville/Spartanburg airport in South Carolina, close to the north border. That caused a scare when looking at our boarding passes in Charlotte, finding that our flight was to South Carolina. Our primary reasons for making the trip up there were to do some of my grandpa's favorite things with him: fishing and golfing. I know what a terrible life.)

Not a great picture but I just remembered I had a blog post to write that would look much better if I had pictures.

After a lunch at Panera, there was a two hour trip up to the house. As my brother and I, along with our grandparents, got into the mountains, the beauty of North Carolina began to show itself. They really are called the Smokey Mountains for a reason. After a light shower, mist hung over the trees, slightly blurring the civil war era red brick store fronts, now a cup cake shop, or a hardware store. We were getting closer and once we are almost on top of the entrance, we start seeing signs for other country clubs.  The access roads dotted the thin, wooded road. As we passed through the gate and start driving through a little of the property, the golf course comes into view. 

It's almost too incredible to experience it fully. It's too much for someone who is used to a public course just outside of a small Texas town. It's the kind of experience that you look back on in awe, once the dust from arriving home has settled and marvel that you had the opportunity to go here. 

We hang out at the house for a while, and then around seven thirty, we head off to a dinner (Described to me as just a grill... Ha!)

The view from the balcony is incredible, especially during a thunderstorm which we listened to and watched while reading.

The dinner was an experience to say the least. Right when we walk in, we see a lady from Louisiana talking in an outrageous accent to my grandpa who had gotten there early. Chatting for a minute or two, we leave to be seated and my grandparents ask cracking up, "Do y'all know their names?"
 I find it crazy the social rules here. Someone will act like they have known you for years, then ask your name after the conversation is finished.

Waiters swarm around us, making sure glasses are full and we are comfortable. The "Help" as it was so old fashioned-ly referred to are people from all over the world, hired though a program to give people from other countries an opportunity to learn trade skills and English. It's not bad or racist or anything, it's just different and I'm not used to it. One waiter we had, (it would make more since to call them butlers, they're so attentive, but whatever) was named L.T. He was from South Africa (Guessed by me) and was great. He would listen to our conversation and sometimes comment. As we were leaving my grandpa asked him if he liked BlueBell and he recommended us a flavor that was "to die for". 

Tomorrow we play golf, then the day after that, fly fishing, the some more golf.

It's a crazy experience, but I just smile, be polite and try to enunciate my name as clearly as possible.

"No, Rushton!"