Approximately Chapter 4

SAVANNAH, CHARLOTTE


Do you have in mind that Savannah is a tranquil little place steeped in Southern charm? Yeah…um…well, instead picture Main Street at Disneyland on a summer weekend. Except with more tourists and more goofy characters. And the food is more expensive.

We got into Savannah right at dinner time, hungry. After we navigated through a nearly gridlocked tangle of cars, tour buses, horse drawn carriages and pedestrians, we found a parking place just 270 blocks from the “historic district,” which in most cities is the charming area that locals avoid like the plague.

It was a balmy evening—meaning it was just slightly cooler than the surface of Mercury, but Mercury’s is a “dry heat,” and therefore more comfortable than Savannah’s.

The restaurant search began. Even though we were famished, we have very high dining standards and were not about to settle for just any place. It had to be open, and luckily the first place we encountered was. The menu was extensive and complicated, and for each dish there was a plethora of choices for sauces, dressings, sides, and so forth. We were impressed when our waiter confidently committed our entire order to memory. And it was doubly impressive that he got almost half of it right, his onIy foul-ups being on the sauces, dressings, sides, and the nature of the meal that Shana ordered.

As is our tradition on vacation, after dinner we went out for ice cream, which in resort areas is known as “gelato” and costs five dollars for the kiddie cup size. (We also do this after lunch and for between-meal snacks. When the weather is warm, as it has been through this entire trip, we do it more frequently.)

Early the next day—and by “early” I mean “late,” because Sammi and Sophie have a completely different sense of time than the rest of civilization and think that getting our day started at noon is early—we drove out to Tybee Island, a quaint little seaside town. Don’t get me wrong—it too was choked with tourist traffic and a robust game of musical parking places, but relative to Savannah it was placid and low key.

We hadn’t planned on a day sitting on the beach, which is really nothing that special to us since back home we live a short drive from a nice beach, oh but wait… the water here on this coast is so warm that you can actually go in without freezing your parts off. In California outwardly you act like it’s refreshingly cool but this is a fiction because the reality is that hypothermia isn’t that enjoyable and all you can think about is getting out.

So swimming at Tybee was really, really fun and we stayed in the water for a long time.

After the beach we had a fun little lunch at a burger joint by the beach, for only $53.

Tybee Island is where Miley Cyrus’s “The Last Song” was filmed, so naturally we hunted down a couple of the locations and did our own photo shoots.

We returned to Savannah relaxed and happy, although Shana, Sammi and Sophie were a bit sunburned; my normal golden bronze had deepened a bit.

I’m a real history buff, and my extensive knowledge of Savannah’s history greatly enhanced the experience for me and the family. It’s a sad commentary on our schools that today’s kids have such a meager understanding of our heritage. I explained to Sammi and Sophie that Savannah played an extremely significant role in the Revolutionary War. Or maybe it was the Civil War, or WWII. The point is, it was part of the olden days.

My area of specialization is 19th century architecture, and Savannah has hundreds of splendid examples. I spotted one particularly beautiful brick structure, (which had been renovated as a Doubletree Hotel) and based on its details I dated it circa 1866, perhaps 1867. It turned out to be 1994, but still.

Our hotel had a great view looking toward the Savannah River.

A few minutes after I took this we were treated to a spectacular three-hour lightning and thunder show. We’re not used to those in Southern California, so I had to calm the irrational fears of my poor girls, which was not easy to do from under the desk and where I was curled up purely as a precautionary measure. Also my teeth were chattering from the air conditioning.

My opinion of Savannah improved significantly the next morning when Shana and I left the room at 7:30 A.M. to go out for coffee and walk the town while the girls slept, and discovered that not only was the temperature tolerable at that hour, but the streets and sidewalks were nearly empty. We walked along blocks and blocks of Savannah’s tree-canopied streets.

The town was actually quite beautiful. Unfortunately it seems to be undergoing the same budget challenges as everywhere else. The streets were in desperate need of repair (can you say “asphalt?)…

…and unsightly moss is left hanging on nearly every tree. Sad.

But overall it was nice. We visited the “must see” Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. I’d describe its attributes in detail, but I overhead a young boy walking by and perhaps he said it best: “Tha’s a big ol’ church!”

Shana and I continued with our quest of sampling the local delicacies in each visited region. Georgia lays claim to two such foods: 1.) peaches; 2.) and boiled peanuts, and we stopped at a wonderful little market where we bought a bag of each.

Ahh, the peaches. I picked out the most beautiful one and the instant my lips touched its soft skin, and I took in its sublime fragrance I knew I was in for a very special treat. I took a bite and it was sweet, moist and heavenly. Its sticky juices ran down my chin and onto the ground, which only added to the pleasure. I’ve always been one to enjoy food that gets all over the place.


Next up were boiled peanuts. Let me explain the probable history of this fare: The peanut was invented in Plains, Georgia, but in its raw form was inedible; then someone accidently dropped one in a pot of boiling salt water, which made it soggy but edible; word got around and people ate them to avoid starving. Meanwhile a Yankee invented dry roasting; this resulted in the perfect taste and texture, so the world flocked to the peanut, which had been turned from bad to good (ask me about peanut butter milkshakes); when the Southerners found out about this they wanted to save face, and ever since they’ve convinced themselves that their soggy peanuts are a delicacy, even though in their hearts they know better, just as we Californians know that our water is too cold.

Still, in the spirit of adventure I popped one of these soggy peanuts into my mouth. It was eye-wateringly wretched. Fortunately I had the perfect antidote handy: a peach.

This is why Georgia is known as “The Peach State” and not the “The Boiled Peanut State.”

This afternoon we drove up to Charleston by way of Hilton Head Island (yes, it was named after the hotel chain). As a seasoned road-tripper I’m highly attuned to the unique attributes of each town and city, however the only difference between Savannah and Charleston is that the latter is in a different state, and is named after a dance.

Also, there are no significant distinctions between the various states in this part of the country. Except for their slogans and license plates they’re pretty much all the same.