Last Day Blues

How was our Tybee Island experience you might wonder? Well, the first accomplishment of the day was getting out of bed to cancel our car. So much of yesterday had been wasted, then we discovered the Tybee lighthouse was closed on Tuesdays, and today was... Tuesday, and would it all be worth it or just some tacky beach resort?

Our new plan was to visit the Flannery O'Connor childhood home, but a quick online search revealed this did not open until 1 PM. Let's wander round the second floor art galleries of the market area...... Oh, they don't open until ten or ten-thirty. So we left our bags at the hotel and wandered a bit aimlessly until the town woke up. The galleries of local artists located on the second floors of the city market opened. Some interesting pieces but nothing tempted us to pull out a Visa card and take it home. After walking through a few squares and taking more photos we ended up at an English pub, complete with a red phone box, for lunch.

Exactly at one we entered the Flannery O'Connor House as the first and only guests for a private tour. It was our only opportunity to see a home that would truly be classified as middle class. It was lovely with large, uncluttered rooms flooded with light. The guide seemed very happy to have visitors and extended the tour of a small house into nearly an hour event.

Back to the hotel we intended to head off for the frequent cheapo 'every 30 minutes' airport bus shuttle that the Visitor Center had told us about yesterday. Not so fast was the message from the elderly info lady at our hotel, who informed us the shuttle only ran a few times each day. Despite saying she would phone to check for us, she spent 10 minutes doodling around on a laptop before finding the phone number she needed in a desk drawer. By the time she discovered it to be an hourly service on the hour, we had missed the 2 o'clock shuttle we could easily have made. Since the 3 o'clock would be cutting things too fine, a cheapo shuttle therefore became a $40 cab ride.

Surprised again to find ourselves approved for pre-approved TSA whizz-thru check-in, this time on United rather than JetBlue, we found ourselves once more at our departure gate way ahead of time. This time though, the screen showed our flight and several others as 'delayed', with no explanation, and of course no staff member or info desk to talk to. After a lengthy wait with no update in status, and CNN screens around us announcing hurricane horror stories with 35 or so deaths so far, Mike went back out through the security area to talk to the United check-in desk. Unsurprisingly, the news was that if our planned Chicago flight did in fact leave Savannah at any time this evening, and there was still no current news on where the incoming plane for our flight might be, there would certainly not be any possibility of flying on from Chicago before midday tomorrow. A temporary hold was offered on the last two seats of a Houston bound alternative leaving at 6:30 tomorrow morning, so Mike went back through TSA again to rejoin Jan, still 'pre-approved although this time with belt removal and full body scan. After quick discussion, Mike went back out through security to confirm the Houston flights, and to fail completely in convincing United that they should cover the cost of a hotel for the night. Airport help desk staff directed me to a wall display of airport hotels and told me to request 'distressed passenger rate' for my chosen chain. It took a mere eight "no vacancy" calls to eventually find a "last room I have, but it's next to the elevator" at a bargain $180. Then it was back through TSA a third time to collect Jan and our stuff for the hotel shuttle. Or so I thought. The TSA people recognized me on my third loop through their system, but wouldn't let me through with my new boarding card for tomorrow morning. "Where is your boarding card for today?" I failed to impress them with the news that United had ripped all our original papers into little pieces before handing me new ones; I wasn't going any further without going back to United's check-in desk a fourth time. Furthermore, they wouldn't let me just walk back through the empty TSA area, or sidestep their barriers to the exit, until I had phoned Jan to give her the good news she needed to haul both rolling suitcases, my backpack, my jacket, her shoulder bag and her camera from where she was to where I was before I could move anywhere. To much TSA amusement, ("whatever they've been up to, we have it on video"), Jan eventually came into view accompanied by a younger man, a fellow Portlander stranded in Savannah, pulling my suitcase and carrying my backpack. I was released from TSA custody to reclaim my stuff and head out of the airport.

After hotel checkin I inquired about dinner possibilities and was assured there was a local restaurant. But when I asked if it was walking distance, a local and the clerk looked horror struck and a shuttle was called. Fed and relaxed we walked the quarter mile back to our room.

Addendum

Up at 4:00am to get to our flight out of Savannah. Arrived on time in Houston only to find that there had been a small fire on our plane while at the gate. Delay, new gate, new plane, and now we are being tossed around the skies of Colorado.

 

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Frustrating Morning, Enjoyable Afternoon

Escape to Tybee Island; Discover the Atlantic Ocean, discover yourself! So that was our plan and we set off for the Visitor Center to get the first shuttle bus of the day. Arriving well before 10 o'clock in case there might be a crowd, we were informed the the service was due to start running every day, but was currently only operating Fridays to Sundays. A helpful volunteer lady telephoned the shuttle people and obviously had a confusing conversation before advising us that there would be no service today "It's an island thing, they go their own way". How about a taxi we asked; "Oh Lordy, that would be thirty dollars or more each way". She suggested we'd be better renting a car, so Mike phoned, it rang and rang, but he got no answer. Back to the info counter and they called; it would be over an hour before they could bring a car to us, we would have to go to them. We sat and discussed whether we wanted to do that, or what else we should do, then went to a third helpful man at the info desk. He knew someone at another car rental place, called, and was informed it would be even later before they could get a car to us. We decided to walk to the first place, which is where we had dropped off our Charleston car.

Seething chaos is probably a reasonable summary of the Enterprise office. Two guys on multiple phones, their tiny office full of people trying to get cars to replace vehicles of their own which had just been dropped off at two adjacent repair places, and other people outside who couldn't get into the office yet. We heard multiple repeats of the same conversation "My insurance company told me to come get a car right now", answered by "But we don't have you coming in for two more days, this happens all the time". In the middle of this we had a snatched conversation, only to be told Enterprise had no cars to offer us. Asked why they had not told us that during three separate phone conversations from the Visitor Center, the shrugged response seemed to be that it was a fluid situation that had changed since 20 minutes earlier, plus the unarguable fact that "It was Monday". Nevertheless Mike did argue, and was told that he "Wasn't helping his case". In among the continuing repeats of their insurance company script, including one guy whose car had been stolen and he need to get to work, we kept being told to wait whilst they waded through the chaos, and kept trying to ascertain how long 'waiting' might actually mean. No answer seemed forthcoming, other than the only car we would be likely to get today would be a premium car at almost double the charge Mike had been given on the phone. Having left the hotel for our island trip at 9:15, the time was rapidly approaching midday and we decided to abandon our plan. Once again between other conversations, we enquired about a car for 9 o'clock tomorrow morning. Amazingly, the answer was "No problem". We will see.

Back outside, away from the chaos, the day had warmed up to the most humid of our trip so far. How should we spend the rest of our unplanned day? On the way back to the Visitor Center, Jan suggested we could investigate the adjacent Railroad Museum. One of the friendly people we had spoken to earlier talked to us for a while and convinced us it was worth a visit (well, he was also the guy selling the admission tickets!), but in this case he was absolutely correct. After a quick lunch, we wandered around what remains of the original 38-bay steam engine roundhouse before joining three separate 30 minute guided tours, led by the one guide. The first tour took us behind the scenes, in and around the various engines they own and operate. We then moved on to walk around and through the two luxury Pullman-type passenger cars they own, both of which featured showers in the cabins, and one of which featured a basic air-conditioning system using air being passed across four enormous ice blocks slung in containers between the wheel frames under the carriage. The third tour took us through the historic workshops and the steam-powered plant that provided power for all the metal working and wood working machines used in the various shops.

 

One of the first things that was very apparent from the moment we arrived in Savannah was that the city had an alcohol open container law, meaning in this case, unlike some others, permitted rather than banned. This evening we learned tonight a completely bizarre legal twist on that theme. Unable to get a dinner reservation at the hugely popular Olde Pink House, we had been advised to try our luck at their bar, which doesn't take reservations but serves the same menu. Walking up to put our names on the list at just after 7 PM, we were completely amazed to be actually sitting at an outside table by 7:15. The bottle of wine we ordered was brought out whilst we went through the elaborate menu, and our waitress explained that by Savannah law she was required to cover the label for any kerbside bottle, even for something like Coca Cola. Our server quickly decided that she was our best friend hanging around our table to chat as the crowd thinner and she seemed to have free time. When our meal was finished she gave us a guided tour of the house, a definite perk of listening to her life story, ending in the cellar where live music was provided by a woman of advanced years bedecked with jewels, more than ample makeup, and clothes and a hat to stop traffic in any city.

 

 

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Flowerless Savannah

Mike and I are having a wonderful sunny vacation but I was disappointed to not see any flowers in Charleston. Of course the weather took the blame. Locals said the hot, cold, hot, cold changes in the spring weather killed the blooms. Now we are in Savannah and the only flowers are on postcards and calendars..... or on the streets and gardens in Portland.

 

Today is Sunday and tourist attractions in Savannah are not open in the morning. Visiting a cemetery might not be the first thing that leaps into people's minds whilst on vacation, but that didn't stop us. We ordered a taxi and rode out to Bonaventure Cemetery; a truly lovely, peaceful, tranquil place covering something like 600 acres. The combination of elaborate statues, vast monuments, ancient live oaks, Spanish moss, sunlight streaming through the treescape, birds twittering overhead, and the Wilmington River bordering part of the perimeter create a unique environment. The only thing to spoil the tranquility the people who chose to drive from grave to grave; predominantly huge people in huge cars, who even when they emerged from their vehicles could not summon up the energy to turn engines off. For nearly two hours we wandered reading headstones, and photographing a place that could only exist here in the South; statues silhouetted by Spanish moss, obelisks rising into the branches of huge oak trees.

 

Ready to return to the city, we called a taxi, waited, and then called again. A cab arrived and a smiling driver welcomed us as we climbed in, only to realize we were not the customers he had come for. Out we climbed, and got back on the phone again. After thirty minutes of standing on a curb at the entrance, a couple stopped to let us cross the road and I informed them that we were waiting for a taxi. We quickly accepted their offer of a ride into the city. Chatting as we drove, they told us they were on a trip celebrating their first wedding anniversary. During the "where are you from?" introductions, the wife revealed she had just moved from Portland, was a native of Forest Grove, and that both of them were familiar with various areas of the city. Back in the center of Savannah, we went our separate ways for lunch.

 

For all ice cream lovers forget Molly Moon and Salt and Straw. It is a long trip, but Leopolds in Savannah is the place. The soup and the sandwich were very good, but the long line for ice cream stretches out the door all day and into the night. After our first taste it is obvious why.

 

Now fortified with a generous dose of sugar and cream we walked a short distance to the Isaiah Davenport for our first house tour of the day. Mr. Davenport was a master builder and intended to use his house to showcase his skills. Build in 1820 it was occupied by him, his wife, and five children until his early death from yellow fever in 1827. Seven Savannah women saved it from conversion into a parking lot in 1955 and a decade later it was refurbished and opened to the public. Much of the furniture and art work are listed in an 1820's inventory of Mr Davenport's possessions. In all of the houses we have visited nothing is done that cannot be scientifically supported as historically accurate. When we looked at the selection of wallpapers it was hard to believe. The entry and hallways were a brick pattern that would not look real even in the dimmest candlelight. The parlor was garish yellow and orange, intended to replicate French wall draperies. The other hard to believe fact involved the dining room furniture. After every meal the table and all of the chairs were moved against the wall. Only a family with slaves would move the furniture out and back three times a day every day!

 

A short stroll around the corner and down a block we entered the Owens-Thomas House. This was a large step up the social ladder. No expense was spared, beginning with the hire by Mr. Richardson of William Jay of Bath as the architect. Mr. Richardson's name does not grace the house because he monetarily overextended, a recession hit, and the bank foreclosed before he family moved in. Echoes of a recent modern housing crisis.

 

This English Regency house, built between 1816 and 1819, had flush toilets, running water, and a shower. As an additional way to impress visiting society, the house featured fireplaces throughout. Nothing so special in that, except for the fact that these fireplaces were fueled by coal, which everyone in society would be well aware had to be shipped across the Atlantic from good old England. Symmetry was one of the most important elements of the design so there are false doors and windows to maintain balance. The most unique feature is the second floor bridge built to give access to the back half of the second floor without creating two parallel hallways.

 

By now we were sated with historical houses and walked back to our hotel before dinner on the wharf.

 

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Walking Savannah Streets

Starting a new day in the breakfast room of a chain hotel, with a choice of processed and sweetened selections spread out ready to be carried away on plastic plates with plastic cutlery and coffee in cardboard cups. We spoke to nobody else, and talked about the huge contrast with breakfast routines at good B&Bs like the one we had stayed at in Charleston; how we missed not only the freshly cooked, good quality, hot food served on china plates, but even more so missed the mix of conversation around the communal table or across the room with fellow travellers from other parts of the country or other parts of the world.

 

Post breakfast, we set off to the rendezvous point for yet another walking tour; this one called the Savannah Stroll. Our guide was Jasmine, a short black girl with a very un-svelte figure, highlighted dreadlocks, a huge smile, and a wonderfully expressive voice. Surprisingly, as other guides and groups set off from the same point, our 'group' comprised of only Jasmine and us.

 

It seems impossible to turn any corner in Savannah without seeing the word SCAD on signs, posters, buildings or vehicles. We realized soon after arrival yesterday that this stood for Savannah College of Art & Design, a major big-deal entity in the city in terms of not just arts education, but also purchase and restoration off historic buildings. Jasmine took us into a theatre that SCAD had elaborately refurbished and which is now used as a general performance & presentation space for musicals, live theatre and film. As we left the building, Jasmine's phone rang and she was informed that two latecomers were on their way to join us. Two actually meant three, as the mother had a four-month baby swaddled to her and the father was pushing an enormous empty stroller. They dawdled behind our original trio, lagged even further behind because of trying to negotiate narrow openings, steps and buildings with the stroller, added to which the father was concentrating on the screen of his phone the majority of the time. Part way through the walk the mother abandoned us because the baby needed feeding, and eventually the father plus stroller combo also dropped out.

We found it interesting listening to Jasmine's various descriptions of Savannah history, Revolutionary and Civil War happenings, and religious turmoils, to realize her obvious fascination with the spirit world; not just the spooky possibilities of ghosts of historical figures to amuse or entertain visiting tourists, but it seemed her beliefs in spirits and their spiritual actions were more real.

 

Following another large lunch, we wandered southwards to Forsyth Park for an arts festival put on by, you'll never guess...... SCAD of course! The main component comprised an art competition of pastel work on the hundreds of large (perhaps 2'x3' or 3'x4') flagstones forming the park's pathways. Rows of adjacent pastel works in vivid colors on both sides of every walkway by SCAD students, with a large throng of people slowly oozing through the middle. A big turnout for an annual event, but rather disappointing from our viewpoint. So we headed off to make the final tour of the Mercer House.

 

The focus of the Mercer House tour is to highlight the amazing accomplishments of his life as an art collector and historian and a restorer of the old homes of Savannah, not to discuss murder, trials, and juicy gossip. His resume of owning an antique shop at fifteen, buying his first Savannah home to restore at twenty-one and being instrumental in the restoring of seventy homes is quite impressive. The tour is restricted to the first floor because the rest of the house is still occupied by his sister.

 

Dinner at the Sapphire Grill rivals any of the meals we ate in Charleston. I must quit eating like this soon before I explode.

 

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Meandering to Georgia

Following the tsunami routes, we spent the day exploring between Charleston and Savanna. Beyond suburbia we traveled through miles of absolutely flat and monotonous country. The sky was blue and sunny, there were trees, marshes, and occasionally bodies of water but each mile looked like the last one and the next one.

Our first stop was the small town of Beaufort (with the beau rhyming with mew, as in beautiful). Beaufort is widely touted as "the area's queen belle, with antebellum mansions, sail-dotted bays and fashionable boutiques". With our newly acquired tourist map in hand we set off on a mini tour of the waterfront and the historic houses. Everything along the waterfront seems to have been recently revitalized with a boat filled harbor, a broad walkway, suspended swinging bench seats, play equipment, and acres of open space for picnics and games. Behind the Main Street filled with shops, with we avoided, were two streets of lovely old homes built in a variety of styles. After a few photos and a quick lunch we headed off for the surrounding islands.

 

Our first stop was the Penn Center on St. Helena Island. Established after the end of the Civil War the Center's original goal was to educate the children of the freed slaves. Some children came from the surrounding area and others boarded. They were taught the usual reading, writing, and arithmetic in the mornings and in the afternoons manual skills that would lead to self supporting jobs. The focus changed with the Civil Rights movement and the later battles to retain their property. Black owners were being cheated because what to many of the Gullah people was swamp, was potential beach front property to the wealthy. The small museum has many interesting artifacts gathered from the slavery times through the 1980's. The acreage is quite large with a church and many of the old surviving buildings that are used for a conference center. All it needs is some generous donations and a dynamic director. The current website for the Penn Center does not include a map, hours of operation, or entrance fees.

 

Not far down the road on another island is the Hunting Island Lighthouse. After entering the park, Mike drove us on a winding road through a forest unlike any I have ever seen. The afternoon sun was filtered through the trees highlighting a variety of tropical looking plants. The word exquisite comes to mind. Walking from the car the forest thinned and the beach and lighthouse appeared. We paid another fee and climbed just over a hundred feet to the top for a spectacular view of miles of coastline. It was amazing to learn that the lighthouse was in its second location as a consequence of land erosion, having been designed for the purpose, with enormous curved concrete blocks weighing several tons each being assembled with brick lining, and the wrought iron staircase and intervening floors being bolted together.

 

The clock is ticking and our rental car is due in Savannah so we turned around to exit the islands, follow the tsunami signs, and find the way to Georgia. The ground is so low and flat that a rise of one foot seems like a hill. There is no quick way out and earthquakes are as much a possibility as they are in Portland. All I can envision is donning a bathing suit and climbing the highest tree. Escaping safely we arrived at our rental return with two minutes to spare.

 

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Middleton Plantation

Aboard our newly acquired rental car we rode through the urban sprawl of Charleston out the Ashley River to the row of plantations. Our first stop Middleton Place proved to be our only stop of the day. There was much to do and the entry fee of $86 encouraged us to linger.

We began with a ninety minute tour examining the lives of the slaves, the massively labour-intensive methods for growing, harvesting and processing rice, almost all of which had to be performed by female slaves to avoid heavy-footed or heavy-handed men either pushing seeds too far into the ground that they would never grow, or smashing the delicate grains to pieces if they did manage to survive. The guide was unhurried and well informed. This was one of seventeen plantations owned by the Middleton family and used mainly to grow food for all of their estates. The main cash crop of rice was successfully cultivated because of the knowledge brought to the colonies by African slaves. I was a bit skeptical of the description of benign treatment of slaves. Six weeks of maternity leave? Perhaps Middleton was a kinder and gentler place.

Prior to the Civil War there were three houses in a row that overlooked the Ashley River. One was a library, music room, and art gallery, one an office, and between those two mirror-image buildings sat the considerably larger main house. Incredibly, we were informed that this vast estate passed into the Middleton family as just one part of a marriage dowry that came with a daughter of the Williams family.

The houses and fields were looted and burned by Union soldiers; think Gone With the Wind. In the earthquake of 1886 most of what remained fell into piles of bricks. The remnants of two piles of rubble remained where the library building and main house originally stood. The office building, the most intact, was rebuilt to become the family home, the building we visited. When the estate became a foundation and opened to the public family member returned furnishings, artwork, documents and historical memorabilia. The opportunity to see the house was worthwhile, however the tour guide could use more training in history and professionalism.

After lunch with a glass of wine onsite we walked through the extensive gardens and woodland trails, passing several alligators basking in the various lakes, one 4-foot long black snake slithering across the path we were walking on, plus the rather more benign wandering sheep and horse-drawn carriages. By now it was four o'clock and we returned to Charleston.

 

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Kayaking with Clark

This morning was one of the highlights of our southern adventure. Clark, Carmen's husband, is a certified kayaking guide and is extremely enthusiastic and knowledgeable. To add to his list of accolades he furnished us with taxi pickup and return delivery service.

While Clark sorted out preliminaries, we took a stroll along the boardwalk over the surrounding marshland before signing away our lives on disclaimers, donning life jackets, and joining the rest of our group, a family of four, for brief introductions and basic safety talk from Clark. A dolphin bobbed above the surface beside us as we clambered into our kayaks and slid into the water.

Clark led and the rest of us unskillfully followed from the harbour into Shem Creek, a narrow and shallow waterway full of abundant nature. Battalions of fiddler crabs paraded in little armies all along the water's edge and scurried off into the marshland grasses as we floated past. Herons majestically posed at intervals before flying away, a number of huge storks soared above us on the thermals, and at our level various wading birds strutted in the shallows seeking their various prey. Clark pointed out the ones we hadn't noticed, named them all, described their different lifestyle habits, and enthused about the surrounding landscape. The water of Shem Creek became ever shallower, so we retraced our steps (our strokes?) before venturing out into choppier waters towards Castle Pinckney a protected bird sanctuary teeming with incredibly loud avian activity. A huge cacophony of shrieking and squawking provided the soundtrack as dozens of different types of seabird swooped in or out or scrabbled for their selected spot on the island. We cruised around the island as dozens of brown pelicans either flapped over our heads or glided gracefully just above the surface between our kayaks.

The time was too short. Mike and I could have lounged in our kayaks bird watching for the rest of the afternoon but we had already exceeded our time so reluctantly we returned to shore.

 

Charleston is a food town. Judging by square mile or number of residents there are more restaurants than in any other city we have visited. Every local will make recommendations based on the chef and the menu. Those currently at the top of the popularity list require reservations weeks in advance. Although we were flatly refused a table by the top two, we had three memorable dinners. Tonight at Magnolia we dined on crab cakes, flounder, and pecan pie at a spacious table in an unhurried quiet atmosphere. If I had to pick a favorite, this would be it.

 

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Houses and A Fort

Charleston is a small city where residents don't leave, or having left, realize their mistake and return. Of course this is a broad assumption based on three days of evidence. Yesterday's guide was a seventh generation Charlestonian, Michael Trouche. This morning our excellent docent at the Nathaniel Russell House was a Calhoun. When I inquired after the tour he confirmed that he was a descendant of John C. Calhoun's brother William. If your US history is a bit rusty, John C. Calhoun resigned as Vice President when South Carolina seceded from the Union.

 

We began our day arriving at the Nathaniel Russell House punctually at the ten o'clock opening time, receiving a place in the second tour of the day. Apparently others decided that Charleston in April is a good vacation destination. The Russell house was opulently built to impress their daughter's future in-laws the Pinckney's. The centerpiece is a curved, three story, free-flying staircase. Built in the Federalist style favored by Washington and Jefferson, it is fully furnished with original family pieces.

 

After an excellent guided tour of the various rooms on two of the three floors (Charleston fire authorities apparently having the view that allowing the public to be at the giddy heights of the third floor is way beyond legal comprehension), and taking a few pictures in the garden, we walked to the Aiken-Rhett House. Built in 1820 and expanded in 1830 this house is much larger than the Nathaniel Russell House but it has been unaltered since 1858. Although crumbling and decrepit in many places, the house, slave quarters, kitchen, stable, and privies are still standing. Members of the family continued to live in the house until the 1950's shrinking their living space into fewer and fewer rooms. The decay of the rooms echoed the story of Grey Gardens, and the comprehensive iPod audio commentary provided an interesting contrast to the crumbling architectural history we were walking through.

 

The sky was sunny and the temperature around eighty when we boarded the ferry to Fort Sumter; perfect weather for a boat trip across the mouth of the two rivers. However, it is a very small and colorless island. The fort was planned to protect the Charleston Harbor after the War of 1812. It had not been finished when it became the site of the first shots of the War Between the States, or the American Civil War, or the War of Northern Aggression. The preferred name depends on the speaker and the audience. Also a nearly fifty year unfinished government plan sounds quite modern. We listened to a fifteen to twenty minute talk by a park ranger, walked and looked at cannons for thirty minutes, toured the small museum, then boarded for the ride back to the harbor.

 

Unable to get dinner reservations at the hot spots of Fig and Husk, we had a delicious dinner at 82 Queen - yet another of the top-rated half-dozen or so Charleston restaurants. Dinner is served on covered open air brick patios which proved convenient as rain began to spatter before the end of the evening. Good food here is superb although expensive, but there are so many great places we just cannot settle for less. Note Mike's reaction to tonight's bill.

 

 

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