Wednesday, August 13, 2014

The Hostess City of the South

I've been meaning to write about our trip to Charleston, but I'm having trouble condensing the trip into a couple of paragraphs and a photo or two.  I took too many pictures and we did so much fun stuff, but the best part was probably things like Not Doing Dishes and Sleeping Through The Night and Not Answering Questions and Using A Bathroom That Smells of Something Other Than Eau de Urine.  You know- magical stuff.

We flew into Charleston late Saturday night, and stayed in a hotel on the south side of the city, because we were planning on driving down to Savannah the next morning.  The best thing I can say about that hotel is that it wasn't dangerous.  The worst is that I refused to take my shoes off the entire time we were there- as in, walk over to the bed in my pajamas and shoes, slide my feet out of my shoes and into the bed; the next morning, swing my legs over the side of the bed and put my feet right back into those shoes before shuffling off for my ante meridian ablutions.

This was my, and Derek's, first trip to the oldest city in Georgia, and can I just say:  Savannah, you are lovely, all soaking heat, dripping Spanish moss, and green, shaded squares.  I had a delectable cone of Honey Almond-flavored ice cream (made with local honey, which means it was practically health food, because local honey is, like, good for allergies and stuff) and Derek got to come in physical contact with a piece of history.  (Derek watching ignorant innocent fellow tourists as they passed by us:  "Look at them, just walking on by- people, GEORGE WASHINGTON TOUCHED THESE AND YOU DON'T EVEN CARE.")

Derek cared.

One of the good things about being married to a history buff is that he doesn't mind you stopping to read every single historic plaque you see (I'm a bear to visit museums with, I admit), and will indulge your whims- even when those whims are going up and down steep, crumbly, semi-dangerous staircases.  (I don't know why I loved those things.  I just did.)





The Iowa summer we've been enjoying this year has been rather cool, with just a day here and there above 90, and most days barely reaching above 80.  This means that when we walked around Savannah, with its high temps and heavy, smothering humidity, even sitting on a lovely bench in a lush square, surrounded by historic houses, it was incredibly sweat inducing.  I'm talking the kind of perspiration where, when you try to cross your legs, they can't find any purchase and slide right off of each other, so even though you're trying to be a freaking lady and wearing a skirt, you end up sitting with your limbs all splayed out, more something you'd find as a cautionary warning in an Emily Post guide than anything like genteel Southern femininity.  Oh, well.  Scarlett O'Hara would've been eaten alive in the midwest anyway:  We don't truck with drama and rich, entitled debutantes need not apply.


We were only in Savannah for three hours, just long enough to get a feel for the flavor of the city.  We walked by a gorgeous B&B (which I just checked out online, and while the interior photos look equally impressive, at $300 per night, I think we'll content ourselves with trotting past, oooh'ing and aaah'ing) and a number of small museums we would have enjoyed ducking into, had we had more time.  The problem is, with our beloved Charleston so close, it's hard to spend any time anywhere else. Boohoo, poor us.


Clearly bereft on the Charleston Battery.   Because of our height difference, Derek and I can't take a good selfie together to save our lives; I take it and he's scalped, he takes it and my face is either half-gone or straining upward to remain in the frame.



2 comments:

  1. Sleeping through the night would make any vacation fabulous! I lived in S. Carolina for a few years, and Charleston and Savannah were wonderful cities to wander through --I loved all the tiny well-tended gardens in Charleston :-)

    ReplyDelete
  2. All those things you mentioned in your first paragraph are indeed magical.

    "Ante meridian ablutions" is a great phrase.

    It is a wonderful thing to actually be able to learn something while viewing historic sites, museums, or anything. And that type of learning is more possible if you have a bona fide history buff. So many times I want to stop the car to read the "historic marker" sign but I am the only one in the family. And I am not even a true history buff!

    I have a vague recollection that once we stayed at a B&B with our kids. I was a nervous wreck the whole time that our kids would destroy something vintage. Everything in the B&B was vintage.

    I think I need that "historic steps" sign for my basement stairs.

    ReplyDelete

Studies show that that people who leave comments are kind, intelligent, generous, creative, and have really nice hair.