I may have to cut Arkansas from the top ten states. My decision has something to do with an aging resort hotel crammed with “Grottoes”, an obscure sect of silver-haired Masons who are all a minimum of 50 pounds overweight and wearing suits and ridiculous golden fez-type hats that only Mr. Cunningham would wear on his way to grand poobah meetings. (If you were born after 1980 please, for the love of god, search happy days on imdb or you tube. and remember… Joanie loves Chachi).
The banner above the Arlington Hotel lobby reads, and I quote:
Supreme Council Session
GROTTOES OF NORTH AMERICA
Mystic order veiled prophets of the enchanted realm
Um… if its so freaking mystical and enchanted and veiled, why the banner and public display of goofy hats? The only thing veiled about these guys are their abs. which is part of the reason the elevators at this massive, charming but seriously aging hotel that recalls The Shining are either overcrowded or overloaded. More than once the doors wouldn’t close and the elevator kept beeping because the Grottoes are so big. All it took was one of the “big old boys” (as another observer called them) stepping out of the elevator and we would rise.
Suffice it to say, I am slightly annoyed. And to think, earlier today I boldly proclaimed to my friend, Dan, that I was gonna sneak my newly beloved AR into the 9 or 10 spot. That launched a furious debate. Dan dismisses anything in what he terms, “the flyover” – aka anything between NYC and LA. He even said his native Pennsylvania should rank above Arkansas – a state he has never and will never visit. This was blasphemy to me… a new convert to this overtly beautiful, funky, poor, and quite religious state, but one that also feels pretty damn free and has plenty of pristine nature, space, and warmth to spare.
But, even before I got here… to the Arlington hotel in hot springs, where even the non-smoking rooms still stink like your octogenarian uncle’s smoking chair, and the lobby bar is serenaded by a jazz band in white dinner jackets straight out of the Catskills, and there are far too many grown men in shorts (please, if you are male, over the age of 25, and can legally rent a car, and are not exercising in public at the time, please keep your bare legs to yourself. okay? treat them like orthodox Jewish women treat their hair. cover it. show it only to your wife and kids. please. don’t make this hard)… even before this… I knew I may have been giving Arkansas too much credit. But at the time I meant it. Those first few days, my first stops in the state were that good.
This seems like a good time to discuss the aforementioned state-ranking criteria… in the discussion are the following categories, in no particular order: nature, food, weather, activities/nightlife, hotness of chicks (or dudes, if you must), freedom (of choice, of thought, or unlimited parking without retribution, or religion, or behavior, or of the right to dig chicks and/or dudes publicly even if you’re a chick and/or dude), and, of course, the asshole quotient.
Now… to make it into the top ten, your state must excel in at least three categories, or show tremendous balance among all the categories. Given these categories it is no surprise that California and New York have always and will always run 1 and 2.
California has nature (amazing mountains, beaches, deserts and rivers up and down the state), plenty of gender-neutral hotness, insane weather, phenomenal food, tons of things to do, sweet weather (perhaps the best in the world) and tremendous freedom of thought and behavior. Yes, the asshole quotient in Beverly Hills, Hollywood and throughout the elitist, lily-white living rooms of the bay area is high, and the parking rules are historically absurd, but the goods outweigh the bad here. New York city has such high quality hotness (some dudes, but, really, mostly women), food, and activities/nightlife, plus some damn fine freedom of thought and behavior and a surprisingly low asshole quotient, that it carries the entire state into the top 2 every time. As for the rest of the top ten… I’ll leave that to you. The real question here is… will Arkansas make the cut?
Let’s just say, that when the Grottoes entered my life the jury was definitely still out.
But then, I kept flashing on my Arkansas highlight. The obscenely gorgeous North Buffalo Wilderness in the Ozark Mountains tucked into a hyper-religious quadrant of counties in Northwest Arkansas. These are dry counties, so if you travel here – and you should – remember to bring your own booze. I didn’t. Of course, I had no idea that we even had dry counties in the US, so, there’s that. But… we do. Lots of them.
I should have known just by looking at the sheer number of churches on the side of the highway that morality is supreme here. There were all kinds –massive ones built like an arena surrounded by soccer fields and decorated with a neon cross, dignified wooden ones white washed with lovely slender steeples, modern evangelical ones held in modular homes, stodgier Methodist brick house churches… new ones, old ones, Spanish language ones… some are falling apart others are gleaming with newness. Suffice it to say, the people of Arkansas praise Jesus in all his forms. And part of me was wondering what Footloose-era Kevin Bacon would do for a good time in a place like this? Is dancing even allowed here?
Of course, I wasn’t here to nitpick at “morality”, I came to paddle the buffalo river, the first ever to be protected by the national park system, and the kind of river that soothes you into an altered state of being. The kind of river that, when it comes to reflecting the divine, will trump any church anytime.
The sinuous river shifts from brown to blue to green and back again depending upon the season and the flow. Thick jade forests lean and crowd along the edges, turtles sun themselves on the rocks. Hawks and vultures soar above the black granite bluffs, which frame the river on and off for the first 20 miles. The shorter bluffs are pocked with birds’ nests and sprout with ferns. The large ones loom 525 feet high and bow out in the middle like a member of the Grottoes, only prettier. It’s a three-dimensional mind-bender of a sight.
I paddled the river for four hours and 10+ miles. At times the surface of the water refracted the sunlight into silver and gold ripples, illuminating eddies and baby rapids that foamed between rocks before smoothing out and licking gravel bars and beaches. Waterfalls streamed down the mountains above. The remains of an old homesteader’s cabin loomed on a small bluff, its majestic fireplace still intact.
But the best moment was when I came upon a regal blue heron standing on the rocks. He sensed me coming and took off ahead. His flight was silent and elegant. Then, five minutes later, I came upon him again and before I could get up alongside him for a good long look, he took off once more. And it went like that, our little game of tag, until finally, he became more comfortable with me, and he allowed me to float next to him. We locked eyes for a few seconds before he took off one last time.
After the paddle I spent time with Mike Mills, the owner of the Buffalo Outdoor Center, the longest tenured canoe outfitter on the Buffalo. This man is not just a skilled oarsman – he’s run first descents of angry, boiling rivers all over the world – always choosing a canoe (over a kayak or raft) as his primary mode of floatation, he’s also a tremendous businessman. How else can you explain a guy who has turned a modest canoe shop (one he still runs from behind the counter) into an estimated $10 million empire? The man owns 1,500 acres of the best real estate in the Buffalo – all of it overlooking and abutting the national park. He also owns 18 log cabins that he built himself. They are immaculate and comfortable. I should know, I stayed in one. And he has his own plane (yes, he’s a pilot), a hot air balloon, a great wine collection, and is on a first name basis with President Clinton. Oh, and his house has a full screen movie projection system and floor to ceiling windows with the best views in Arkansas.
If there’s one reason not to be jealous of this man, it’s the fact that he lives in a dry county. The closest liquor store is 47 miles away. But rumor has it, Ponca, his tiny town of 317, has a bootlegger.
The next day I hiked for 5 miles then drove through the Ozarks to another fantastic town in Northwest AR, called Eureka Springs. If Northwest Arkansas has a groovy liberal heart, it’s in this funky town. The streets wind up and down the hills, which are blanketed with trees and strung with dozens of restored Victorian homes and hotels. The food’s good, the vibe is terrific, the weather rocks – except for January and February, when the town basically shuts down and even the locals flee, and this place ain’t dry. It’s also known to have the only openly gay community in Arkansas.
Isn’t it strange that bible thumpers are scared of gay people, even though gay people (in general) seem to have a much better idea how to make a town fun, more livable and loveable? I’m telling you, Footloose-era Kevin Bacon would fucking LOVE Eureka Springs. There’s definitely some dancing here.
Of course, by the next evening I was in Hot Springs, knee deep in the Grottoes.
Hot Springs does have some interesting history – the springs here – similar to the artesian (read: cold) variety in Eureka Springs, were used by Native Americans and then settlers to heal a variety of muscle and skin problems. And both towns were linked to Chicago by railroad, so a steady stream of gangsters – including Al Capone himself – vacationed in Arkansas. He also made moonshine with the mineral water in Hot Springs, which he loaded onto railcars and distributed to Kansas City and the Windy City.
Throughout the 1920s and 1930s Hot Springs was a haven for gamblers and gangsters. There were bookies, casinos, a great racetrack, and plenty of brothels. And the Mafioso had a pact. There would be no fighting and killing in Hot Springs. They all kept their word.
The gambling era ended in 1967, when Governor Rockefeller went on a reformist rampage. And the Ohio Club – the best casino, and Maxine’s – the most famous brothel, are now bars that attract a local scene. Maxine’s gets Austin bands who are doing the Southern club circuit, and Capone’s (formerly the Ohio Club) is more refined and laid back, with a tremendous bourbon collection. That’s where I spent my time later that night. Sipping a healthy pour of Basil Hayden from a snifter and contemplating the state of Arkansas and its wild rivers, spectacular trails, canoe empires, funky mountain towns, gangster past, and favorite son, William Jefferson Clinton. Three drinks later (of premium booze for just $20 – try that in Cali or NYC), and some good conversation with friendly strangers, and this state was back in the top ten, after all.
