We count only Subarus*

*Now with photos!

The Modern Beau and I rocked the mini-vacation like it was our job. We ate well, we drank well and we relaxed well. We held several discussions analyzing the finer qualities that make a hippie a hippie and anxiously awaiting incensed diatribes from Bela Karolyi.

Asheville, N.C., is a bit of an anomaly in that it is a liberal mecca in the middle of the redneck conservative South. In most Southern places, I'd be considered borderline hippie. In Asheville, I might as well be listening to Rush Limbaugh and wearing a "W" sticker on my back.

When I was on my trip around D.C. earlier this summer, I counted Priuses each day for kicks and giggles. In Asheville, I decided it would be more fun to count Subarus, since they seem to be the vehicle of choice there. I lost track within five minutes after seeing about two dozen of them. Then I turned to reading bumper sticker out loud, because there is no shortage of bumper stickers on the back of those Subarus. I wish I could say I found some creative ones, but most of them were your run-of-the-mill Obama, Local Food or Coexist stickers. The jackpot though was seeing Obama and Local Food stickers on the back of a Lexus SUV.

There are lots of really cool restaurants and stores in downtown Asheville, and we certainly ate and drank well. The MB thinks that my calling is to start a coffee shop like this one somewhere else in the country:

We stayed at a really cute, historic boutique hotel, where each room is a suite with a living room, kitchenette and bedroom and different from the one next to it. They leave biscotti in your kitchen and truffles in your bedroom. They serve you free fancy breakfasts and free wine and hors d'oerves in the afternoon. But the best thing about it? The clawfoot tub in the bathroom:

The main attraction in Asheville is the Biltmore, the outlandishly large home by today's standards that was built over a century ago by the son of railroad and shipping tycoon Cornelius Vanderbilt. The house is 175,000 square feet and sits on a property of 8,000 acres that include a winery, stables, farm, inn and lots and lots of open space.

Because I unwittingly bought outrageously expensive two-day tickets to the Biltmore (for the price of one day, go me!), the MB and I visited Biltmore's winery Friday while waiting for Mr. and Mrs. BFF to make it into town. Here's a tip: when you're visiting what's described as "America's most visited winery" it is best to visit on a weekday rather than a weekend. We got twice the number of tastings and twice the buzz on Friday than when we took Mr. and Mrs. BFF there on Saturday (as in 10 splashes of wine compared to five).

There's a farm there where they have a woodworking shop and someone churning butter and a blacksmith, who said there have been at least two master blacksmiths in his family at any given time in the past 400 years. I wish I hadn't had to think that hard about what my life's work would be.

They also have animals there:

Because they won't let you take pictures inside the actual Biltmore, I took pictures of flowers. And more flowers. And more flowers.

At the edge of the Biltmore Estate grounds is what was described as the world's fanciest McDonalds by some show on the Travel Channel. It looks fancy from the outside, but that's pretty much where it ends. Oh, except for the grand piano inside.
The rest of the time was spent eating. Like I said, we ate really well. Except for the one meal where Mr. BFF, who has never been known for his palate, chose a typical hole-in-the-wall bar for dinner. The food there "excelled at being mediocre," said the MB, as I tried to pick bones out of my chicken finger sandwich.

We also managed to play the longest game of Spades I've ever been involved in. It lasted longer than the women's Olympic marathon but was still shorter than the men's 1500m freestyle swim.