Consultant and Author, D. K. Christi

That's how it's been, year after year, racing through Atlanta after dark on long trips between Michigan and Florida.  I never stopped.  I made sure I had a full tank of gas.  I only glanced at the myriad lights of every color reaching to the very heavens above.  The ribbons of freeways were my focus, where no one followed the speed limit; and everyone seemed to be in the lane I needed.

This time, I saw the I75 sign from the back seat of a taxi from the airport to downtown.  It was the same freeway, but it was daylight and Sunday.  The ride was tame.  The city looked dark and treeless, high skyscrapers blocking the afternoon's disappearing light.  The Westin hotel was impossible to miss, a glass cylinder among the rectangular high rises reflecting the setting sun on its mirrored surface. 

I was assigned the 56th floor and quickly asked for a lower floor, one I could conceive walking down to the ground level.  The lowest sleeping floor was 15; I was given a "much less elegant" room on the 17th.  I was grateful.  I've walked 14 flights in a fire alarm before; seventeen are possible but not perfect.  The other 14 floors were devoted to meeting rooms, exercise rooms, etc.

The hotel grew on me.  Initially it was quite industrial feeling with its cement slab walls, cement slab coffee tables, brown and gray furniture.  Yet, fresh orchids were everywhere, in bowls and dishes.  The staff business cards and all publicity materials were designed with flowers and tropical fishes. The contrast was impossible to miss, an air of femininity in surroundings that were originally representing strength and masculinity.

The Westin staff members were exceptional.  I had one unfortunate incident for which I am awaiting resolution.  Otherwise, the hotel exuded southern graciousness in every respect.  The Friday night entertainment was high class. 

I toured as much as possible by night after grueling days of meetings.  Dinners at Metro Cafe, Azio's, and Ted Turner's first restaurant were tasty and diverse.  Metro Cafe was a fun place, almost feeling like a cruise ship in decor.  Ted Turner's restaurant included bison on the menu (I passed). 

The best however was the Sun Dial at the top of the Westin.  360 degree views of Atlanta, looking across at other skyscrapers well lit in the night sky and risking a moon burn as it shined on the diners lined along the glass.  The elevator zipped to the top with little fanfare.  I missed the original, broken in a tornado, formerly giving a glassed view all the way up.  This ride was, sadly, enclosed.

Going in the opposite direction, Atlanta Underground was a historical peak at streets and shops at a low level before the roads were elevated above the train tracks and took commerce with them.  Now restored, Atlanta Underground is a glimpse of Atlanta in the early 1900's, with places to tie horses and delicious candy shops.  A modern food court sort of ruins the atmosphere; but Jamaican jerk chicken takes the mind in another direction, the diversity of the city. 

The Atlanta Aquarium was a surprise.  It felt a little like Disneyland without the organization.  The engineering of the place was magnificent, fish swimming overhead and everywhere around, giving the feeling of diving or snorkeling to a vivid imagination.  I saw manta rays close and personal as well as huge sharks and graceful beluga whales.  I missed the tour at Coca Cola by a few minutes. 

I have pen and ink drawings of Coca Cola and Stone Mountain.  I've had them for years.  Now, I need to pull them out since I have seen at least a piece of Atlanta.  The drawings were sent to me by the then director of public information for the State of Georgia whom I met at a meeting in Savanna.  I admired the few prints he brought as gifts for the attendees, and he sent me a portfolio of his drawings, one a numbered print in color of a lighthouse.  I wonder if he is still in the same position.  Or did he become famous for his art?  I hope the latter.