Starting the Summer in Charleston: Old Buildings, New Sights

Live oaks are everywhere in Charleston.

Summer is my season. I love the heat, the humidity, the long hours of sunlight, the soft evenings. Perhaps being born in July in the Midwest gave me a natural affinity, but I think traveling and summer go together like peanut butter and jelly: all that warmth and sun means you can pack light, walk long distances, and absorb a lot of the place you're seeing.

I chose mid-May for a brief visit to South Carolina and Georgia, and the temperatures, mostly in the mid-80s, were perfect. After an unusually cool D.C. spring, this boosted my spirits into summer mode a little bit early. Driving into Charleston on Saturday afternoon via Ashley River Road, I had my car windows down, and the warm wind was filtered through the live oak trees lining the drive.

My first encounter with the distinctively Southern live oak was in New Orleans a few years ago. These trees speak to my heart—with their gnarled, sprawling branches, they have an air of mystery and protectiveness that lends magic to any park or roadside. Just seeing them makes me feel like I'm home. 

I was only in Charleston for about 40 hours, so I couldn't see everything. But I did experience much of the best of it: colorful shutters on 18th and 19th century buildings, excellent seafood, and plenty of live oaks. Please take my unscientific best-of breakdown with a grain of salt, and visit the city one day yourself to make your own list!

Best historic estate that doesn't gloss over its history

Drayton Hall.

Since I had a few hours to go before I could check into my Airbnb, I stopped along Ashley River Road to visit Drayton Hall. The eighteenth-century mansion and grounds are beautiful, and the tour honestly discusses all who lived and worked on the estate, not just the Drayton family. The house is empty of furniture, allowing guides to showcase its architecture and the changes made over almost 300 years. The African American cemetery on the grounds was the first in the nation. 

Best restaurant housed in a former auto shop

Leon's Oyster Shop.

My Airbnb in West Ashley was perfect in every way, and an excellent home base from which to explore. When I asked for recommendations for the historic downtown, my hosts let me know that the best restaurants are, in fact, outside the most touristy areas.

On their advice, I went to Leon's Oyster Shop, which is "on the peninsula," but north of the most visited part of downtown. Repurposing a midcentury auto shop, the oyster bar and restaurant has a vibe that walks the line between hip and casual. The chargrilled oysters were great, but it was actually the side dish I fell in love with: a spectacular marinated cucumber salad with sesame seeds. You can choose indoor or outdoor dining, but even the indoors feels airy, and the front garage door stays open. Leon's also offers free valet parking.

Before and after dinner, I walked around the neighborhood, taking note of the variety of architectural styles. Everything was a little bit worn, in that attractive way that makes you think "maybe I could actually afford a house here," and often colorfully painted. I saw Victorians, foursquares, Craftsman bungalows, and plenty of original windowpanes.

Best use of vintage metal lamps in an open-air market

City Market.

After sunset, I drove further downtown and parked near the City Market. This historic market has existed since the early years of the 19th century, being replaced after a fire in 1841 and refurbished in 2010. It was fun strolling through the spacious corridors, looking at local vendors' wares, people-watching, and listening to street musicians playing near each entrance. My favorite part was actually taking artsy photos of the vintage lamps and the perfect amalgam of brick, wood, and steel in the ceilings.

I spent a bit more time exploring the market district of downtown, but it seemed to be mostly hotels and tourists. The streets are not well lit, and venturing too far beyond Meeting Street or Market Street quickly takes you into dark, isolated areas, even though the streets are well-traveled in the daylight hours. 

Heading back for the night, I nearly took the fender off my rental car while trying to squeeze out of the tiny public lot. I recommend parking only in large garages or using Uber to get around, as downtown parking is difficult.

Best historic church for modern people

St. Stephens Episcopal.

On Sunday morning, I hit up Kudu Coffee for my caffeine fix, and then explored the Ansonborough neighborhood a bit in the quiet residential vicinity of St. Stephens Episcopal Church.

I passed the small, pretty Theodora Park with its tiled fountain (and while lingering there, learned that mosquitos in Charleston do not wait until evening to attack). Rambling around brought me past many lovely old homes, and up and down narrow streets.

The church itself, built in 1836, was small, light-filled, and welcoming. A visiting minister from Massachusetts who was in town for a "blessing of the bicycles" gave a heartfelt sermon, and part of the reason I selected St. Stephens to visit is its inclusivity—it's a church liberal enough for even a D.C. Episcopalian to feel at home in. 

Charleston is home to many historic houses of worship, earning it the nickname "the Holy City." Most of these are churches and synagogues, though—I had to do a Google search to find whether there were any houses of worship for other faiths (only a few, it turns out).

Best diner to live up to its Fodors Guide blurb

After services, I made my way over to Hominy Grill on Rutledge Avenue. Located in a historic Charleston single house, with beadboard walls and a pressed tin ceiling, it's cozy and classic. There's a small courtyard area where you can order a drink while waiting for a table to open up. This place was recommended in my Fodor's Travel guide to the Carolinas and Georgia, and it did not disappoint. I ordered the shrimp and grits, which came with mushrooms, bacon, scallions, and a tinge of lemon. It was perfect, and the "beermosa" was a good complement, even if I was too full of breakfast to actually finish it.

Houses on Radcliffe Street.

Best Instagram opportunity if you like entropy

Wandering from Hominy Grill toward the King Street shops, via Rutledge and then Radcliffe Streets, I found a cool neighborhood mixing residential with more historic houses of worship, such as the 1854 Brith Sholom Beth Israel Synagogue and the 1893 Central Baptist Church.

This area boasts many of the classic Charleston single houses with piazzas, narrow 19th century buildings with both upper and lower porches. My camera got a good workout with all the attractively disheveled views of clapboard and climbing vines, as well as front doors, mailboxes, and other details that had just the right touch of authentic shabby chic.

Best Instagram opportunity if you like neatness

Rainbow Row.

In the downtown historic district, closer to the Battery, I found photo ops like Rainbow Row, where several residences boast attractive pastel colors. The homeowners really keep up with their external paint jobs, which are pristine and Instagram-ready. The street—which, believe it or not, has its own Yelp review page—was part of a very run-down area in the 1930s and 1940s, and it was restored using the Caribbean-inspired colors for which current homeowners uphold the tradition. 

There are also some impressive mansions lining East Bay Street, as you walk south along the seawall toward the Battery. The park at the tip of the peninsula has old cannons and cannonballs set among the live oaks shading its grassy areas and benches, and locals and tourists alike strolling around.

Walking north up Church Street from the park will bring you down some lovely cobblestone streets past restored 18th and 19th century homes. The elegant air is slightly marred by the many large SUVs parked all along one side of the narrow streets, but one can't have everything. 

Best historic surprise in the suburbs

On my way out of town on Monday morning, I stopped for a terrific pour-over at Classic Coffee Roasters back in West Ashley, then called up Google maps to find a post office. A block from the post office, I passed a cemetery with two plaques, one in English and one in Hebrew letters: "Brith Sholom Beth Israel Congregation, 1886."

Apparently, this is one of two older cemeteries belonging to the synagogue I passed downtown on Rutledge Street. It has beautiful old headstones, stone fences, and those timeless live oaks watching over those resting in its grounds. What I most loved, though, was that each gravestone was inscribed both in Hebrew and English.

I'd never visited an Orthodox cemetery before—and I've always enjoyed seeing anything printed in two or more languages, be it a book of poems or furniture assembly instructions. It vividly illustrates how people from each nation and culture arrive in America with their own languages, customs, and distinctive identities—and hopefully keep them, even as they develop another, indefinably American identity alongside.

Brith Sholom cemetery in West Ashley.

In so few hours in Charleston, even after a lot of walking and wonderful discoveries, it's hard to distill a single impression. It's an old city, and some of the suburbs are as appealing as the downtown. It has dozens of historic sites to visit and Southern restaurants to frequent. I think of Washington, D.C., in its driven impatience and intellect, as a young soul, but I think Charleston is an old soul. I'd like to spend a more leisurely visit getting to know it, and coaxing out more of its secrets. After all, in the South, you can't rush things. Especially in summer.

Drayton Hall: History and Honesty Preserved

People are fascinated by the homes of the rich—particularly historic mansions. These solidly built, spacious, intricately carved structures serve as sheer eye candy. The grounds are beautiful, parklike spaces in which to stroll around. Old estates are a glimpse into how "the 1 percent" lives that is seductive even if you're not an architecture aficionado or history buff—but learning about the history of these homes makes them a much more enriching experience.

The realities of Southern history

However, visiting historic estates can also be psychologically problematic. In the northern and western states, such homes often rose out of the profits created from the labor of miners or railroad workers, who never saw any of that wealth themselves. In the South, large estates and plantations existed because the homeowners paid nothing for labor: They kept slaves to work the land and take care of the houses. The cruelty, inhumanity, and lasting damage of the institution of slavery casts a pall over any visit to a historic Southern estate.

As described by many with more direct experience than I have, historic homes and tour guides often struggle to incorporate this reality into their exhibits and tour scripts, and visitors sometimes ask questions that betray their ignorance of the reality of slavery. What is the right way to talk about slavery at a historic site? Fortunately, the best sites make it a critical part of their exhibits, research, and outreach to address this question. Some individuals, like Joseph McGill of the Slave Dwelling Project, bring the reality home to people through visiting and engaging with extant slave quarters. 

Drayton Hall's imposing double portico, the first of its kind in the world.

Drayton Hall doesn't fall into the trap of trying to whitewash, as it were, the history of slavery in the South. In a matter-of-fact way, our tour guide discussed about how the home of John Drayton, although a country seat rather than a working plantation, was maintained through slave labor, and how after the Civil War, African Americans made up the majority of the labor force in the estate's phosphorus mining operations. For about 50 years, a community of miners and their families lived on the grounds. After that time, fewer people stayed on, as caretakers, gardeners, and landscapers, making improvements to the home and grounds over the years.

The tour script referred many times to individual artisans, household workers, and caretakers among the enslaved people at Drayton. Using the names of the people who lived and worked in a place makes a difference, even in a small way, in giving credit where credit is long overdue.

The African American cemetery, believed to be the first in the U.S., is preserved near the front entrance to Drayton Hall. Visiting the cemetery was recommended by several different staff members, from the tour guide herself to the gatekeeper at the entrance. It's a beautiful spot, and unobtrusive signs help the visitor learn more about some of the people buried there. The caretaker's cottage exhibit also shares information about those who lived there up until the 1960s, as well as the larger community during the phosphorus mining years. 

The African American cemetery was left to nature, in accordance with the wishes of Richmond Bowens, a seventh-generation resident and later gatekeeper of Drayton Hall.

A unique perspective on historic preservation

The house itself is unusual among historic estates I've visited. It has been preserved, not restored, and in choosing not to present the home with all the trappings of a particular period, the Drayton Hall Preservation Trust showcases the bones of the house itself. Tour guides are able to point out the different paint colors, changing fireplace technologies, portico repairs, and other shifts that took place from the home's establishment in 1738 through the transfer of the property to the National Trust for Historic Preservation in 1974.

Stripped of furniture and decorations, Drayton Hall is a beautifully carved shell that one can fill with the imagined activities of those who lived and worked there. Without objects to fill the space, the size of the rooms, the height of the ceilings, and the attention to detail in plaster and wood molding is all the more striking. There is a language to the layout of the rooms, I learned, with particular styles of decorative columns representing a visual code to guests of the time as to which rooms were most important. Doric details give way to Ionic, which in turn are replaced by Corinthian.

The interior of Drayton Hall is unfurnished, showcasing the design and functionality of the house itself.

From the newly published Drayton Hall: The Creation and Preservation of an American Icon, which I picked up at the gift shop, I learned that scholars believe John Drayton may have drawn up the plans himself based on study of architectural books, particularly the classical designs of Andrea Palladio.

Drayton Hall was progressively designed for its time, and the book shares the architectural elements and history of the house and grounds in a way that's both detailed and succinct. I really enjoyed reading about aspects that couldn't all be covered in the tour.

Structural safety issues are addressed by the preservation team, as are paint, plaster, and wood elements that crack or break down. The aim is to be invisible, however, in keeping the house as it is. Electricity, plumbing, heating, and cooling capabilities were never added to the property, even in the 20th century, but open doors keep the air flowing well throughout the building, even on a warm day.

A pathway circles the back of the estate by the Ashley River, and I wandered there to sit for a few minutes under the Spanish moss-draped oaks, watching boats go past. The breeze felt wonderful, and I lingered long enough that when I started back to the parking lot, I realized that I was the last visitor on the grounds.

The wide green lawn and the massive house were empty, and the breeze was ruffling tree branches above my head. The sun was getting lower and casting longer shadows. Walking alone across the estate, I paused to look around once more, feeling that eerie tingle one associates with old places—that sense that after you leave, the place is still full of ghosts and stories, even if no one is there to witness it. 

Drayton Hall is a good example of why we should keep our old places alive, and why we should never stop learning about our past.