A "camp" getaway

My vacations used to include things like sailing on the Mekong river, climbing temples in Bangkok, building shelters in eastern Europe, riding horses on a dude ranch, and hiking in Wales. I used to be able to go on vacation and come back feeling educated, culturally uplifted and physically restored. Preparations for my vacations used to include learning phrases like “please” and “thank you” in a foreign language, reading up on a country’s history and culture, and buying odd supplies, such as impregnated mosquito nets, a supply of malaria medication, riding chaps, work gloves, and super-strong bug spray.

Now, a husband and two children later, just about everything about going on vacation has changed. Apart from purchasing bulk-size bottles of bug spray, of course. Right now, for instance, we are planning a vacation to, well, Tennessee. You may think, well, Tennessee is not so bad, is it? It’s got Memphis, Nashville, and let’s not forget the Great Smokey mountains. Well, yes. But we’re not going there, we’re going to Pigeon Forge. Yes, we are headed to what brochures describe as “The perfect family vacation”, but what to me, to be honest, sounds like the capital of “camp”, i.e., a place that can only be considered appealing if you revel in its perfect ability to commercialize and simplify any cultural, historical, or natural appeal it may have had. It apparently is the largest strip mall town in the US (“complete with countless factory outlet malls!”), and has unforgettable attractions such as the Ripley’s believe it or not museum, the Dixie Stampede dinner show, and of course, Dollywood. And yes, we will have planned on going to all those attractions.

Although just yesterday I asked my husband what had happened that we had gone from visiting far-away places in Southeast Asia to deciding between Dollywood’s Splash Country and the Elvis museum, I have to admit that I’m actually looking forward to my “camp" getaway. And this is not only because I know the kids will love it, it’s also because a part of me loves vacations like this. That would be the part that also adores Lifetime movies, Abba, and that will shed a tear at sappy patriotic songs like “God Bless the USA”. How that works when you consider the critical person I am on a daily basis, I am not entirely sure. All I know is that when I looked at the Dixie Stampede website, I got all excited, and immediately announced I had to have a t-shirt. After a brief moment of introspection, I think that there are two things going on. First, I love all these things because they allow me a perfect opportunity to play anthropologist. To observe people I would have otherwise never met, in their natural habitat, so to speak (and write about it in my blog). And moreover, I have the uncanny ability to love something just because it’s horrible. I will buy Eurosong music because it’s horrible and great at the same time; I love sappy Hallmark movies because I know they’re unrealistic; I own t-shirts with air force signs on them that are really too much; I can love all these things because I know they’re really “not done” from an academic critical/cultural studies point of view. It’s as though I’m not expected to do these things, and therefore I love doing them. It’s like I’m a secret cultural rebel. Now that sounds more like me. I don’t have to go to demonstrations or sign petitions to be a rebel, that’s who I am. Apparently, in order to be a rebel, I need to go to Dollywood. So should anyone ask why I’m going to Pigeon Forge, I’ll just tell them it’s to be a rebel.