The Eagles have landed.....

Greeting all!  Yes, we have arrived at Rolling Hills Resort!  We touched down on Saturday evening around 7pm on our nostalgia fest.  James drove us into the resort and although it was 41 years since he had been here he said that it felt that driving down the driveway into the resort itself was almost the same.  Now I feel I should clarify something here for my european readers.  Resort make it sound like we have gone to the sunny Costa Bomb or somewhere exotic.  In fact it is really a caravan site next to a very large lake on one side and a very large pond on the other.  Interspersed in between the caravans/mobile homes (more english/american translation) are six cabins.  We were destined for cabin #6.....we had originally booked cabin #1, the same one that James had stayed in as a nipper, but that had been reassigned as a whole season rental so we we got "upgraded".....to one that was larger and more modern (ahem....)

Once we had parked the car, we took a quick walk around the resort during wich James was rather quiet.  Then he spoke up.  "It's really different with all these caravans here" (see, now he speaks english....).  And then he went quiet again.  We had previously had a talk about what we were likely to encounter 41 years later...well, I had talked about celebrating the differences, not expecting it be the same, reflections of a childs life through an adult's eyes, etc etc and James had just sat their stony faced as he always does when he knows I am right, but I sensed that this was a lot different from that which he had been expecting.  Still, it was a first night and with my usual tact and subtlety I.....stayed quiet.

Returning to the door of the cabin, we entered.  In this instance not a lot had changed.  It was like stepping back into your grandma's kitchen and house.  Formica everywhere, nothing matching, two recliners, a suspect sofa (minus antimacassars) and a dubious looking carpet.  The bedrooms were dark panelled (read budget MDF) with a double bed in each.  In between the bedrooms was a makeshift shower with a large hot water tank in the middle of the floor.  A toilet filled with brown water loomed ignominously in the corner like an empty throne waiting for its next hapless regent.  Our journey, it seemed, was just beginning.

I could sense that James was a little crestfallen, so I cheerfully suggested that we drag our bags in from the car.  So in a matter of minutes were were firmly inside and ready to make the best of it.  It was clean, tidy, hideously unmatching, but fine.  We had not anticipated coming to a luxury pad with a maid and fluffy slippers but had come on a journey back in time.  I suspect that James had not thought that the journey back in time would extend all the way to the bed linen and the vinyl floors.  Still, there we were and that was that.

I could sense that both of us needed a drink.  You know, dear readers, that my mind is never far from the next meal, so I cheerfully (and perhaps a little too brightly) asked what he wanted to do for dinner.  The answer was quick.  " Blue Goose for dinner" said James.  I nodded, subserviently, havening never seen a goose that was blue, nor having had one for dinner either.  It quickly became apparent that this was the local bar/restaurant/diner in the town of Garrison just a short drive away.  So back into the car and off down the drive we went.  To the Blue Goose......

When we arrived we noticed that that Blue Goose had a liquor store next to it for off sales.  Great news in that we could pick up some wine for our new home! So we scurried off into the bar for dinner.  As soon as we entered I realised that this was not the place that I was going to be able to ask for a martini.  In a scene somewhat reminiscent of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, where they arrive and go for a stroll around Broken Hill and everyone stares (except we were wearing shorts, t-shirts, and sneakers, having wisely left our man-bags in the car) we entered the bar and looked around.  Lots of people looked back.  Then they carried on with their business and returned to chatting, about what I have no idea.  But I was glad that it wasn't about us.  James and I slid into a table in the corner and I wondered what my chances were of ordering a cosmopolitan (just kidding).  Shortly a bubbly young blonde waitress with a perky chest appeared at our table.  We were later to find out that her name was Sherry, due to overhearing a conversation in the parking lot where some men were talking admiringly about her chest as though it were the twin cams on a new truck ("wow they are big and powerful, certainly a handful")

Sherry dutifully dispensed menus to us and informed us that she would tell us what beers they had on tap if we asked.  Sensing that this was a leading question, I obligingly asked "what beers do you have on tap?"  To which she gleefully responded "Budweiser, Bud light, Miller light, Coors Light and Amber Bock".  Sucker punch.  Feeling the need to assert my individuality against the large perms and rippling plaid shirts that were all around me, I responded that I would have the Amber Bock.  She turned to James who said "Gin and tonic".  Traitor.  So who is the nellie one now, dear readers?

Once Sherry had taken herself and her chest back to whence it/she came from, James and I began to peruse the menu.  After deciding on Walleye sandwiches (check out the picture on James' Facebook Profile) we sat back to enjoy the surroundings.  James would occasionally come here in his youth with his mother and father for dinner.  He couldn't really remember much about the interior so I can't comment on whether or not it had changed much.  But we did spend a very nice evening there, enjoying our surroundings and the people around us.  Sherry was delightful, and her chest was really quite the star of the evening, even if wasted on us.  The men at the other tables though were certainly most appreciative.  The little 6 month old baby at the table next door certainly thought it was Christmas (and time for Christmas Dinner) everytime she came back to the table, judging by his smile, grabbing hands, and eyes like frisbees.

Having left the restaurant we descided that we wanted to pick up a bottle of wine from the liquor store.  Walking past a group of plaid shirt and wifer beater clad gentlemen, who were the ones discussing Sherry's appendages, we entered the Blue Goose Liquor Store.  Choice was fairly limited, but seeing something that we liked we paid the burly gentleman at the counter and headed on our way back to the cabin.  Will we return to the Blue Goose?  Perhaps for a drink later in the week methinks.  I feel a need to see if Sherry's boobs last the week, or whether she uses a handpump each day for top-ups.

Returning to the cabin we took another stroll around the resort.  James was still quiet about the whole experience but seemed content.  Places change and things come and go.  But as we walked around I asked if it was stirring any memories for him.  His answer, in his usual way, was succinct.  "This place holds many ghosts" he said.  And we will leave it at that.

And thus it was time for bed.  We turned out the lights, brushed our teeth, and hit the sack...well the double bed anyway.  We slept the sleep of the travel weary.  One of us because he had been sitting gazing out of the passenger window all day, and the other because of time travel, which brings the sleep of memories so vividly to life once more.

Big love to all!

D&J