If you

haven't been in Chattanooga in 10 years or so, you

haven't been in Chattanooga.

So say the locals,

gesturing proudly at the Tennessee Aquarium amid its

quirky city landscaping - a far cry from the

abandoned factories and warehouses that formerly crowded

the riverfront.

I didn't plan on enjoying

the aquarium, and was surprised by my enthusiasm as we

gazed into a dozen or more watery habitats collected from

all but the frozen continents.

Oddly, the one that

captivated me most was that of the Mississippi Delta.

I stood at the edge of the

"river," as a pair of wood ducks - the

most colorful North American native - glided past

within inches of my nose.

No glass separated us, and

only great self-control (and fear of authority) kept me

from reaching out to touch those perfect feathers.

A new baseball stadium is

going up next door to the aquarium. This summer saw the

opening of Coolidge Park at the north end of the Walnut

Street Bridge, billed as the world's longest pedestrian

bridge. The park centers on a bright blue-roofed carousel

and from the bridge you see overlapping circles in

paving, paths, plantings and fountains.

Huge sculpted lions and

turtles and rabbits, giggling children astride, echo the

shapes of the carousel steeds. Young lovers walk with

arms entwined. Teens skim frisbees. Parents spoon ice

cream into tots. Old folks drowse on sunny benches.

We spent three days

admiring downtown, with its Art District and unusual

architecture, an amphitheater tucked under a highway

overpass, and river walks to please the most discerning.

We skipped the outlet

warehouses - worth three days themselves - but

ate out often. Gawked through hotel lobbies. Marveled at

a church tower left behind when the Methodists moved on,

apparently taking the rest of the building with them.

The wonder of this charming

city, however, is its people. A lucky traveler may come

home with a story or two of unexpected hospitality, but

we found a generosity of spirit in Chattanooga unlike any

place we've ever visited.

A savvy boater several days

earlier told us to disregard warning signs at the city

dock on Chattanooga's riverfront; we could tie up

overnight, free, she assured us. She was right. Along

with a half-dozen other cruisers, we spent three nights

there, and when the security guys came by, it was simply

to admire the boat and wish us a pleasant stay.

Dave's watch stopped and,

on foot in a strange town, we didn't have the option of

buying and installing a battery at a discount store. We

stepped into a jeweler's. While he found the right

battery - and put it in - we chatted about the

Braves to mask our nervousness about how much this would

cost.

The jeweler handed it back,

and refused to let Dave pay him a cent. He knew we were

out-of-towners, unlikely ever to set foot in his shop

again, but he brushed it off, saying he wanted us to have

good memories of Chattanooga.

Low on groceries, we bought

only what our microscopic refrigerator would hold, and

asked the store manager if he'd sell us just a half-dozen

eggs. Absolutely not, he almost shouted; the health

department would close him down if he broke a box of

eggs. But before we could slink away, mortified to have

suggested such an atrocity, he said in a lower voice,

"I can't SELL you half a dozen eggs, but I can GIVE

them to you from a box with a broken egg in it," and

explained that laws forbid reboxing the remaining eggs.

We were welcome to them at no charge, in a paper bag.

Chattanooga has a free

electric shuttle bus running from the docks to the

Chattanooga Choo-Choo, now the centerpiece of a Holiday

Inn. You can ride the 20 or so blocks, getting on or off

anywhere you wish in the downtown area. The shuttle

drivers were, without exception, the friendliest, most

helpful public servants we've ever encountered, eager to

answer questions and make suggestions about points of

interest.

The weather had turned

cool, and between that and the fact that we were at a

very public mooring, we relied for hygiene on sponge

baths. Longing for a shower, we took a chance and stepped

into a fitness center, asking if we could pay for the use

of a shower. Again, no way. As guests of the manager,

however, we could use a shower free.

Hot water and lavish

shampoo have never felt so good!

Southern hospitality was by

no means confined to Chattanooga. On the way upriver, we

walked to a restaurant in Jasper, Ala., about two miles

away from the marina. As we ate, it began to drizzle, and

the restaurant manager offered to drive us back.

The fellow who runs

Guntersville Marina, near where we put the boat into the

river, tossed us his car keys to go get groceries, and,

when we wanted to buy a book of river charts, insisted we

borrow the only copy he had. We used it for two weeks,

and returned it carefully.

(He was rewarded. He topped

off our fuel tank with a mere four gallons of gas, when

an 80-foot luxury cruiser pulled in for a fill-up of

several hundred gallons.)

The operator of a sailing

center where we stopped to ask about a boat ramp told us

where we could find a free one at a county park,

insisting we leave our car and trailer at his place for

safe-keeping. He refused compensation and our offer of

dinner. Said he learned about hospitality while traveling

in Sweden as a young man, and was merely passing it on.

The kindness of strangers

- hospitality at its most gracious.

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