Fear and Loathing in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee
Come for Dollywood, stay for Moon Pies
Over Halloween weekend, my wife and I took a much-needed vacation. We had weighed a few options during the planning session - Maybe a camping trip would be nice? How about a quick trip to New England? What if we just rented a room in the fanciest hotel in Houston and didn’t leave it for an entire weekend?
In the end, we chose Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, mainly because my sister owned a condo there and was willing to let us stay in it for free. And so, on October 30, the two of us departed for the fabled Forge of Pigeons. Maybe it wasn’t Salem on Halloween weekend, but it would be fascinating to see where those winged rats were made.
Pigeon Forge actually gets its name from the Little Pigeon River. The small resort town is nestled on the outskirts of the Great Smoky Mountains and, since the ‘60s, has catered to tourists from around the world, with popular destinations that include Dollywood, and about 150 tourist traps of various shapes and sizes.
The city, a colorful combustion of sights, sounds, and price tags, is like Las Vegas, if it ran on rock candy instead of sin. Everywhere you go, there are places designed to turn children into screeching weasels of desire, absolutely adamant that, unless they are allowed to ride a Mountain Coaster or visit the Alcatraz East Crime Museum, their young lives will be forever ruined.
See below: Frizzle Chicken Cafe, a small, unassuming breakfast cafe with cinnamon roll-flavored pancakes and more than 100 singing animatronic chickens. We don’t have kids, but I acted the part of a child, stamping my feet and throwing a fuss until my wife agreed to go.
The highlight, of course, is Dollywood, the unexpectedly sprawling theme park inspired by the life and vibe of Mrs. Dolly Parton. Created in 1986 (but built on the bones of a series of theme parks that have been operating since the early ‘60s), Dollywood is a massive plot of forested land, in which Ozymandian-like pillars have been placed in celebration of southern hospitality, old-timey traditions, and, most of all, legendary country singer Dolly Parton.
Lucía and I spent our day wandering Dollywood in a state of subdued surrender. The park is so huge, with so many things to do, that trying to have an agenda is pointless. We rode a few rides (I recommend Blazing Fury, a dark ride with astonishingly outdated effects that is somehow still in operation since 1978), we ate a ton of food (the Red Velvet Funnel Cake was quite good, even if it left me covered in powdered sugar and red coloring and looking like a coke fiend with a bloody nose), and we watched a Christmas-themed song and dance show featuring Heidi Parton and a kaiju-sized hologram of her famous aunt.
The attraction I was most looking forward to during my visit to Pigeon Forge was Dolly Parton’s Stampede. Operating since 1988, the show features a feast of a whole chicken, a heaping of sides, and a chance to sip Coke Zero out of a plastic boot.
I first learned about this dinner-and-a-show attraction from the podcast Dolly Parton’s America, which devoted an entire episode to the social reckoning the attraction underwent during the Black Lives Matter movement in the early 2020s. Previously, the show famously reenacted the Civil War while you munched on your mashed potatoes, encouraging audiences to cheer for the North or the South. In an era when the Dixie Chicks could no longer perform under that moniker, Dolly Parton and her business partners knew they needed to change the experience.
I’m not sure what the show is like year-round, but my wife and I were blessed to experience the Christmas edition, which had audiences cheering for two warring elf factions before the show transitioned into a live nativity scene.
Brothers and sisters, you have not lived until you’re gnawing on a drumstick and watching an ice-skating sugar plum fairy signal the birth of Christ and a suspended performer tasked with playing an angel pluck a live dove out of the sky like she was a heavenly Mr. Miyagi dispatching flies.
While I may have gone into the trip with a sense of skepticism, Pigeon Forge won me over by the end. People were friendly, there were Bigfoot-themed souvenirs as far as the eye could see, and the Mountain Coasters - small, rider-propelled contraptions built into the side of hills - left me as excited as a school boy, a small drop of urine on the crotch of my pants born out of fear for my life aide.
The biggest highlight? A whole-ass store that was a combination Moon Pie depository (did you know they make guava-flavored Moon Pies?) and book store.
Throughout the weekend, my wife and I's tongue-in-cheek teasing about dating our next trip to Pigeon Forge began to solidify into something more serious. Will we make annual trips to Tennessee for the privilege of pilgrimaging to Pigeon Forge? Probably not, but we will return someday, if only because I didn’t get to ride the Jurassic Jungle Boat Ride.
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