24 Hours in Savannah

I met Savannah in the rain. And just as in a movie, that made the meeting even more romantic. 

A few sprinkles were already hitting the windshield of my rental car as I drove south from Charleston and detoured to Tybee Island Light Station before going into Savannah proper, during my whirlwind five-day trip to Greenville, Charleston, and Savannah. Crossing the long, scenic Islands Expressway brought me past marshland and numerous "turtle crossing" signs.

The rainy Monday afternoon turned out to be a great time to visit Tybee, which I imagine is usually chock-full of visitors. I had the place almost to myself. The complex of restored buildings at Tybee Island Light Station and Museum includes the tower itself, part of which still dates to 1773, the head keeper's cottage and assistant keepers' cottages, and a summer kitchen now housing archaeological artifacts.

It was fun to climb the lighthouse steps, even if I did get a bit freaked out on the breezy observation ledge at the top. You can see a panorama of the shoreline, the battery of historic Fort Screven, and the surrounding cottages.

Tybee Island Light.

The Tybee Island Museum is housed in Battery Garland, across the street from the lighthouse, and the entrance to North Beach is adjacent. On that drizzly afternoon, there were only a few people there, making it a perfect time to wander along the sand without dodging beach umbrellas and towels every few feet.

House on Monterey Square.

Following this hour communing with nature, I drove into the historic downtown of Savannah and checked into my bed and breakfast on Gordon Street, next to Chatham Square. Encompassing a set of adjacent townhomes from the 19th century, the Savannah Bed and Breakfast Inn is ridiculously classy. From its elegant parlors to its narrow wooden stairways to the exposed brick walls, it's a dream for a lover of old buildings. 

The front desk staff was happy to suggest nearby restaurants, so for dinner I took them up on their recommendation of Local 11ten, a swank establishment in a renovated bank building at the south end of Forsyth Park. I ordered the seared sea scallops, which were delectable (I may have had a rather large amount of the exceptional table bread as well).

I began to walk back through Forsyth Park, full of good food and admiration of the live oaks that stretch overhead in this iconic Savannah green space. A woman passing by with her boyfriend complimented me on my dress, prompting an exchange of smiles and greetings. It was such a simple and friendly moment, yet one that would almost never happen in D.C., where addressing a stranger is basically considered impolite.

Rain began to fall in earnest, and as I sought to escape the downpour without leaving the park, I noticed a single dry spot on the sidewalk, where the tree branches overhead had managed to overlap. I stood there, camera in hand, in my sundress and sandals, completely dry as the rain came down all around me. It was a lovely, suspended moment. More people came by, and more words and laughter were exchanged. 

Fountain and flowers in Forsyth Park.

After a while, the rain slowed a bit and I wandered on, willing to get a little bit damp in the pursuit of scenery. Monterey Square, just a few of blocks away, was especially mysterious and beautiful in the evening. Savannah's squares, I would quickly learn, are a big part of its appeal: perfect droplets of green space at perfect intervals in the grid of the old streets.  

The wet brick walkways shone under the street lamps, and as the evening sky darkened, the branches of the live oaks seemed to unfurl even more over the little park. Large old homes surrounded the square, each with their unique wabi-sabi patina, and backyard gardens were visible in glimpses behind curling wrought iron gates. I felt as it I'd stepped back in time.

Monterey Square.

Eventually surrendering to the descent of actual nighttime, I returned to the B&B to take full advantage of the cookies set out every evening in a big glass jar in the parlor, climbed the antique stairs to my room, and settled in to scare myself by watching the latest episode of "The Terror." It was too late to book a last-minute ghost tour, of which Savannah has infinite options for the traveler, being reputedly one of the most haunted cities in America.

Morning brought more precipitation as I visited Congregation Mickve Israel, a community founded in 1733 by Sephardic Jewish immigrants. The current synagogue building dates to 1878, and tours of the sanctuary and the fascinating little museum space upstairs are offered every weekday, basically any time you stop by, between 10 a.m. and 3:30 p.m. Those who journeyed across the ocean to settle in Savannah brought with them a Torah scroll from the 15th century, which is on view in the museum.

Mickve Israel sanctuary.

Upon leaving the temple, another swift downpour sent me scurrying under a nearby overhang, where I stood for about 10 minutes watching water drip off the bright green leaves of someone's front yard bushes. I've never been as content to just stare at foliage as I was when sitting out the rain in various Savannah squares.

I spent the next couple of hours exploring the Cathedral of St. John, Colonial Park Cemetery, and two indie bookstores, before taking a break for lunch at the hip Soho South Cafe. By then, the sun was out, and the combination of heat and humidity made the cafe's cold ginger beer and fresh fish tacos a deeply appreciated restorative.

Live oaks draped with Spanish moss overlook Colonial Park Cemetery.

After mailing a few postcards and exploring further north in the historic district, I walked all the way back to the south end of Forsyth Park and picked up a much-needed cold brew at The Sentient Bean, a large and popular coffeehouse not far from where I'd had dinner the night before.

Regrettably, I had to head back to the airport—and when I got back on the interstate, the clouds opened up once more and the rain came down in a blinding white sheet. This part of the trip was not romantic. I prefer dripping live oaks to the spray of speeding tractor-trailers.

My time in historic Savannah was all too short, but I can't wait to return and see more. It's our first impressions that linger when we think of a place, and my Savannah has the sheen of rain on trees and old brick, the softness of evening, and the warmth of friendly faces. 

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.

24 Hours in Greenville

Greenville, South Carolina, snuck onto the itinerary of my extended weekend trip to Charleston and Savannah because of all the internet superlatives that have lately been attached to it. Now that I've reached the ripe old age of 40, I'm starting to idly consider where I might want to drift off to after I retire, and the next 20 years will certainly afford me plenty of time to wander the U.S. to see what appeals to me most. As long as I was flying into Columbia, it seemed silly not to drive a little bit out of my way to take a look at the city recently landing on so many "top places to live" lists.

Greenville, a small but rapidly growing city in the northwest of the state, is only an hour or two from several larger cities, such as Charlotte, Asheville, Columbia, and Atlanta. With local employers like Michelin, GE, and Lockheed Martin to replace the textile manufacturing that anchored the town in the last century or so, the economy is supposed to be healthy, and the presence of local theater, ballet, and art options as well as multi-use trails (and that hipster indicator of a strong economy, craft breweries) round out the city's claims to livability.

I was only there for one day. However, it was an awkward first date. I did not leave feeling that I particularly wanted a second one. It's nice, but it's not great. The city struck me as if it were the offspring of Asheville and Charlotte—in both good and bad ways, inheriting characteristics from both parents, but reaching the distinctive appeal of neither.

The good stuff

Greenville has put a lot of money and thought into making their main street and the park in the middle of town attractive. And Falls Park on the Reedy is everything it's cracked up to be. I've never seen anything like this small river and waterfall that run right through the middle of town. Looking at them, you feel you've stepped inside a postcard. The falls can be viewed from right up close, or from myriad walkways and bridges set at various heights. The day I visited, the temperature was in the mid-90s, and I was sorely tempted to dive right in. Kids were climbing on the rocks, parents were sitting in the shade, and ducks were parading by right and left.

The gorgeous Falls Park on the Reedy in the center of downtown.

Wandering further down the path by the falls, you come to a combination of newer hotels and older structures repurposed for local events, like the Wyche Pavilion. I'm a big fan of adaptive reuse, so I was pleased to see that Greenville was using its older historic structures and not just tearing them down. In other parts of town, old mills are being turned into living spaces and breweries. 

Wyche Pavilion, once part of an old carriage factory.

I walked the entirety of Main Street itself, which has a couple of fun shops like the Mast General Store (endless bins of nostalgic candy brands!) and a smattering of restaurants. But I was generally underwhelmed by the options on a main drag that's billed as the center of the community.

Also, I was there during the Artisphere festival, meaning that everyone in town seemed to be walking the streets looking at artist booths and stopping into tents of wine or food tastings. The quality and variety of the art on display was very impressive, as good as anything I've seen at a big city art fair.

Swamp Rabbit Cafe and Grocery was my favorite local business. It is set near the Swamp Rabbit Trail, a paved path that runs for many miles through Greenville and to points north and south. I saw many runners, cyclists, and young parents with strollers making use of the path. I went to the cafe for lunch my first day and for breakfast my second, and everything I got there was fresh and excellent, from coffee to salad to baked goods. There is also a bike rental facility a few steps away.

The not-so-good stuff

One of the side effects of this art festival was that many downtown streets were blocked off to traffic, even in the evening. Since this area is where nearly all the restaurants are located, this presented a problem when looking for dinner. In my rental car, I circled endlessly as my GPS tried unsuccessfully to direct me to parking areas.

Sculptures at the Artisphere arts market.

The streets in Greenville are laid out somewhat strangely, so it's difficult to get around whenever you need an alternate route. To get to the western side of Greenville from the east, I had to go pretty far out to find a larger loop highway that would get me from Point A to Point B without crossing downtown's barricaded streets.

Another issue is the crowdedness of the local haunts. I couldn't tell how much of this was an influx of visiting artists versus the average Friday night crowd, but the impression I got was that there are so few good places that everyone goes to the same three, and they're swamped.

After giving up on downtown dining, I attempted to go to the White Duck Taco Shop casual dining establishment next to a brewery in a repurposed warehouse area, but the restaurant was so packed that it would have taken me at least half an hour just to reach the register to make a carry-out order, much less to find a table (believe me, I asked if I could jump the line, and was told that carry-out orders had to be called in ahead of time). I wasn't going to go drink beer without any food, being a lightweight, so I just headed back out.

Similarly, the Swamp Rabbit Cafe had extremely long lines both times I visited. My impression was that if there were more than one organic cafe or hipster taco joint/brewery in town, it would spread out the love a little. Greenville needs more establishments to meet its growing customer demand.

Last but not least, I was a little shocked by the clear delineation between the up-and-coming areas, full of condos and young white people, and the places where—only a street or two away from the hipster craft brewery or fancy repurposed mill—there were neighborhoods of intense poverty and seemingly 90 percent residents of color. This is a problem in most cities. But I was surprised that in such a small city, touted as so livable and appealing to new residents, the rich/poor and black/white divide would be so striking. The city has seemingly put fewer resources into good, affordable housing and social equity than into the downtown tourist areas and bringing in new people. 

Isn't one of the main reasons to live in a smaller community the sense that it cares about its residents? Isn't that one of the things that's supposed to distinguish it from the big city? In my admittedly abbreviated tour of Greenville, I felt the town still had a ways to go in becoming its best self.