James Rafferty Blog

American Versailles: The Biltmore Estate

What if a gentlemen with unlimited resources joined forces with a world famous architect and the genius who designed Central Park and built an estate over hundreds of acres in the mountains.   George Vanderbilt did exactly that when he initiated The Biltmore over one hundred years ago in the hills of western North Carolina on the edges of the city Asheville.  

I've seen the Vanderbilt summer cottage in Newport, known as The Breakers, but the Biltmore estate was much more ambitious.  Like The Breakers, the huge mansion is heavily influenced by then current trends in Italian and French architecture, but the piece de resistance is the remarkable estate surrounding this home and the scale on which the estate was envisioned.  

I drove into the Biltmore and went at least 2 miles before we even got close to the main Biltmore House.  When designing the landscape, Frederick Olmstead deliberately built the long winding roads that pass by lush forests and local rivers, so that guests would realize they were passing into a different kind of experience.  Suffice to say, it works.  On this day, crews were out with chainsaws repairing the damages from a storm the prior evening, but the many trees and plants along the edges of the roads still enchanted, bringing a calming effect as the drive continued.    

Today, the estate has been preserved by the Vanderbilt family, so it is a hugely popular tourist spot that needs the satellite parking lots about a quarter of mile away from the main house.   I joined my fellow tourists on the shuttle bus and we were dropped off by the front door.  But on this way in, here is the view of the main Biltmore House:  

 

I took the walking tour on my visit. Inside, each of the major rooms is distinct.  Sitting rooms often have art from world renowned artists of the day including Whistler, John Stewart Sargent and Renoir.  

Looking out, you can see the views which Olmstead sought, where the house stands above the fields below, but also looks on to the Smoky mountains in the distance. 

 

This is the kind of place where even the nooks and crannies are special.  The exterior of the main house brought to mind another famous French building -- Notre Dame in Paris.  Like Notre Dame, the exterior of the house had a variety of carefully sculpted gargoyles who did double duty in serving as water spouts to drain water away from the house in the event of rain.  No sign of such rain this day; the temperatures pushed 90 degrees even in the morning.  

The interior rooms for the family members were huge.  Each room had a different style, though variations of double posted beds were common.  Here again, I saw the influence of Versailles in the attention to detail, be it in special wallpapers, imported furniture and, in one case, a fireplace taken from Europe and reconstructed here.  

Tying the house together is the Grand Staircase which winds upward in a style much like the one featured in Gone With the Wind.  Here is a glimpse of the staircase looking down from the top floor. 

 

As distinctive as the interior of the house is, the exterior grounds designed by Olmstead offer an even more colorful and varied set of views.  

On the left of the main house, the collection of carefully tended gardens begin.   Looking forward from the Libary Terrace is the Italian Garden.  Here, a combination of leafy green plants, ivory statues and stone bordered pools create an oasis of beauty which contrasts with the wilder appearance of the forests soaring skyward behind it.   

 

Next, I began the walk downhill toward the conservatory and was immediately distracted by magnificent hanging gardens.  On a cooler day, I can imagine sitting under the vineyard style trestles and reading for hours.  

On this day, the scorching heat made me think it was time to find water and lunch, not necessarily in that order.  But first, a quick walk down to the walled gardens seemed essential.  Which looked like this: 

 

And putting the garden against its backdrop, revealed this pastiche:  

 

The walk through these gardens provided a feast for my eyes, but the heat from the sun was unrelenting, so I bid adieu to the gardens and returned to the main house of the estate.   I circled back to the other side of the house and checked in at the front desk of the stable cafe.  The place was very busy, but I was able to get a seat almost immediately.   A waiter quickly came by and brought me a large lemonade and ice water, which I began to drink to get rehydrated.  Looking around, I noticed that the tables were set in the former horse stalls and built of polished hardwood and wrought iron.   Like everything else I experienced at the Biltmore, the drinks were excellent and gave me a chance to scope out the menu.  The variety of choices left me with a tough decision, but I opted for Lamb Sliders based on the description provided by my attentive waiter.  Shortly afer this, he came by with hot cornbread.  Perfect to whet my appetite. 

I wrote up a few postcards and then tended to the food when it arrived.  The sliders were excellent, silver dollar sized slices of lamb on a small toasted bun with a horseradish sauce.  I added a taste of catsup and the blended taste was outrageous.  

So ended my trip to the Biltmore.  I had an appointment after this, so with great reluctance, I returned to my car and followed the 4 mile loop through more forest and past the Biltmore winery, finally exiting the estate.  I got my money's worth on a discounted ticket and definitely want to go back again with my wife and family to share this amazing treasure built into the hills on the outskirts of Asheville.  

Writer's Notebook: Downtown After Dark

I'm fresh back from a trip to Asheville, North Carolina.  We found it to be a remarkable cultural center that is conducive to producing art at the highest level.  

Friday night was all about music.  Three groups played on an impromptu stage set up under the I-240 overpass on Lexington Avenue -- all powered by a massive solar panel.  The series is called Downtown After Five. 

My son and I arrived around six thirty and the events were already in full swing, led by a group called Brushfire Stankgrass, which included electric banjo and guitar in their instruments.  The first impression was of a bluegrass group, but they quickly went beyond direction into an electric fusion more reminiscent of Bela Fleck and the Flecktones.  The mix in the audience also surprised me -- ranging in age from the young people you'd expect to see at an outdoor concert to many people in my own fiftyish baby boomer age group ... and beyond.  

 

Here is a shot of Brushfire Stankgrass in action.  

 

The banjo player and lead guitarist were both fine musicians and drove the band and the audience to very high energy levels.   They built songs step by step, increasing intensity until the solos reached a crescendo with a flurry of notes, before returning to the basics of melody and swinging rhythm.  

They ended around eight and we started thinking about dinner, but one group remained.   Twenty minutes later, an Australian guitarist, Geoff Achison took the stage and played two acoustic blues numbers.  Geoff can belt out a blues effectively, with a vocal approach reminiscent of Eric Clapton, but his guitar playing offered more flash than substance on these first two songs.  He then strapped on his electric guitar and his drummer and bassist joined to complete a power trio.  The trio sound kicked up the energy level, but Achison still played erratically and his body weaved around the stage as if he were hoping to get inspired by the movement.  

Another element was needed and arrived a few minutes later in the person of musical virtuouso Randall Bramblett.  Bramblett normally leads his own band, but tonight he played the role of sideman on soprano and tenor sax.   Achison said, "We're just jammin", but Bramblett's sax fills and solos gave the music much needed depth.  Song after song, Randall continued to elevate the music and really got the crowd dancing in the streets.   His energy pulled up the rest of the band and Achison had fine moments himself when he and Bramblett traded licks on material crossing the gamut from funky blues to shuffles to boogie and even reggae.  The quartet put on a great show and kept us boogying in the streets until darkness fell.  

Here is a shot of the band with Achison on guitars and vocal, and Bramblett on soprano sax.  

 

I wouldn't mind seeing Achison again; I sensed he's better than he showed this night and we got glimpse of that during his crossfire exchanges with Bramblett.  As for Bramblett, I'd love to see him again and see what his band is doing these days.  He played with soul and clarity.  This guy is a major musical talent.   He's touring across the South this summer.     

We had two other encounters with brilliant artists the next day in Asheville.  I'll write about that in another post. 

Return to Asheville

My son and I have returned to Asheville, North Carolina as he prepares for enrollment at a local school in the fall.  We walked the city center in the late afternoon and delighted in its many contrasts.  Asheville is packed with galleries and work of local artists, so the local art association was our first stop.  The woman supervising the gallery gave us a quick rundown of the local art scene, which is not only downtown but in an arts district by the river.   The artist whose work was on display, Gerald Jonas, had a panopoly of canvas on display which explore the world in brilliant colors and with elements of texture.   And a great sign: "It's okay to touch."  

Down the road, we walked past an open air farmer's market, featuring station wagon's and truckloads of local produce, and then onto a food coop, which featured a cornupcopia of fresh foods and much more.  

The streets here remind me of San Francisco; lots of undulating blocks where you turn a corner and the next amazing art deco building shows it face.  The town's building look mostly unchanged from years

past, as evidenced by ads painted on brick on many sidewalls, advertising products from -- I'd guess -- the post-WWII era.   There are newer buildings, but the percentage of older ones is much higher than in a city like Boston.  

We worked up an appetite, then returned to a French restaurant called Bouchon, which promised French comfort food.  Exactement.  I recommended my son try the Steak au Poivre and I had a scintillating boulliabaise, with a glass of Alsatian Hugel on the side.  It reminded me of restaurants I'd been to in Paris and my son drew the comparison with our trip to Quebec City last year. 

Our outdoor dinner was mildly interrupted by a flash.  People at the table next to us quickly asked if anyone had been using a flash camera.  Nope.  Bowling ball thunder rattled the tables a moment later.  We reconnoitered indoors and continued our dinner there. 

Afterwards, we walked a few blocks back to our hotel.  The black night and wet streets offered striking views en route, made more so when lightning flashed overhead.  My son and I both agreed that the word for this city, especially at night, is dramatic.  

This evening, I took another walk in the city and the weather was more cooperative.  Smoke rose up from the base of the mountains overlooking downtown.  To our west, the sky tinted red at sunset, signaling what I hope will be a sunny day tomorrow.  

I'll close with a few photos from the walk about town. 

 

Inside Grove Arcade

 

Flowers by the public theater entrance

 

Call letters for the local public radio station

 

James pets a local cat

Seeking Inspiration? Try a Change of Venue

This post is about writing, but it could apply to any work, especially when it involves creativity.  

I just finished editing my first novel, Growing Up Single, and there were plenty of times when I got stalled.   Here are some thoughts about how to get through that block.  

We've all been there   You are working on a story and it has come to a dead end.   The characters seem to have lost the spring in their step.  The dialogue is wilting.   It's time for a change of venue.   

 

Perhaps your characters will come alive again if you put them in a different place, maybe even a different country.  What happens when the steady mother of two ends up in Vegas?   Does love feel the same in Paris, Texas as it does in that better known Paris in France?   

Or maybe you need the change of place, scene and time.  Think how inspired you'd be if you pitched a beach umbrella along Waikiki and were able to look up at Diamond Head.  

Picture palm trees in the twilight! 

So, think about it.  What do you do to break the ice and free up your creative juices?   Do you try for a change in your life or a new writing space?   Is it time to head off down to Baja for that writing vacation?    Are your characters yearning for a latitude change?  

 
Spill the beans.  What do you or your characters do to get inspired?   

 

Walking in Asheville

We arrived at Asheville, North Carolina about mid-day yesterday.   Our Hertz GPS was totally baffled by the instruction to go to Woodfin Road and dropped us on a country mountain road.  Nope, no sign of our hotel there.  We re-synched and headed back to on HWY 541 until we got to Rt 25 (aka Biltmore).  We went about a mile to find the Athena cafe.  They had a variety of Greek items on the menu, plus things like pizza for the less adventurous.  Three of us ordered variations on the Gyro platter.  My version came with thin slices of cooked lamb on strips of gyro bread, bracketed by a healthy-sized Greek salad.  Yum.  My youngest ordered pizza, which he demolished with a little bit of help.  Hungers sated, we were ready to explore the town. 

It turned out our hotel was on the other Woodfin Road, not far from Biltmore, so we decided to park at the hotel and avoid any extra parking charges.  We settled in at the hotel and immediately felt comfortable.  The view from the 10th floor looked like this: 

The weather had turned cool and windy, so we dressed warmly for our walk around the downtown.  Our guidebook talked about the Urban Trail, so we decided to follow that. The man at the front desk at our hotel was very helpful, suggesting we go to the Art Museum to get a map of the trail.   Nice idea, but when we got to the monument in front of the museum, we discovered it was closed on Mondays.   We were told that the trail was marked on the sidewalks, but must have looked confused, since a group of college age kids came up and asked if they could help us.  One girl in particular was very helpful, giving us tips on which streets to follow and suggesting we find our way to Grove Plaza.  

We began walking from our start at Pack Square and soon found pink stones embedded in the sidewalk marking the walking trail.  We also discovered that the city's reputation for having very well preserved Art Deco architecture was quite accurate.  We also saw other unfamiliar sites, such as a Five and Dime store.  One building after another had stunning architecture, so we didn't mind the cold weather so much.   We turned a corner and then found a red and gold sign for F. W. Woolworth.  We stepped into the erstwhile department store and found an old style soda fountain, meticulously restored, adjacent to a series of booths housing work of local artists.  The art was phenomenal and much of it had clear connections to the remarkable cityscape and the surruounding mountains of Asheville.  My oldest son loves art, so he just reveled in the many different types of art available for viewing.   We also discovered that there had been a water main break downtown, so the soda fountain was closed, along with my of the nearby restaurants.   

We resumed our walk and found more of the pink stone markers, which led us to a pedestrian walkway known as Wall Street.  It looks like this:  

We were impressed by a very new building we saw at the end of that block, but our street markers had vanished, so we decided to start looping back.  Turning the corner, we encountered the recently refurbished Grove Plaza:  

   

This spectacular example of Art Deco at it best was built in 1927, but had languished for many years when the building had been taken over by the Federal government for its National Weather Center.   The current version of the building re-opened in 2002 and now houses a variety of intriguing shops.  We strolled into a combination high end grocery and wine store and couldn't resist buying some fruit snacks and other items for the rest of our trip.   Beyond that store, we walked through an inner atrium which simply amazed us with its intricacy of design, clean lines and remarkable use of light. 

We took advantage of the respite from the chills of the outdoors and a woman proprietor told us about the history of the building and how it nearly had been torn down, before being rescue re-furbished in its current form.  She was very friendly and gave tips on places we should consider visiting in light of our son's interest in art.  

We continued the tour outside and soon encountered an amazing Basilica, featuring what is reputed to be the largest domed roof of its kind in North America.   Nearby, we walked into the civic center, which has bronze statues of musicians in full stride in front.  We walked and walked, finding more trendy restaurants of many different cuisines (while making mental notes for later) and finally got to the part of the tour where the symbol was a red angel.   Yes, we were about to encounter the footsteps of a famous native son, Thomas Wolfe, whose novel Look Homeward, Angel, borrowed much about Asheville for that novel.  There were imprints of his footprints, proving that Wolfe was a large man, and not only for the amount of words that he could spew on a page.  We'd reached the end of the walking tour -- a yellow boarding house that had served as the backdrop for Wolfe's novel.  Since it was Monday, it too was closed.     

That night, we circled back to Walnut Street, walked up a steep hill and stepped into Zambra, a restaurant featuring Spanish cuisine, in the style of a Tapas bar.  With the help of our waitress, we ordered small plates:  a delightful salad of pears and local greens, a second grassier set of greens, curry flavored albondigas -- a kind of meatball -- and two larger dishes of Paella and trout.   The food challenged our palettes, but was well worth the effort.  So ended our night in Asheville.