By SALLIE SATTERTHWAITE
Lifestyle Columnist

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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