Haunting Savannah

I've been to Savannah a few times over the decades, and each time I visit, it is as if I see a completely different, yet recognizable town. Savannah certainly hasn't changed all that much. The architecture is the same, The Mercer House, The Telfair, The River Street Inn, SCAD, and the many squares with historic statues. Perhaps it is the company that I keep which changes my perspective. 

I first visited as a teenager, seeing Savannah from the backseat of my parents' Buick. I gasped at the beautiful avenues lined with live oaks, dripping with Spanish moss. I've visited with Darryl and was overcome with the romance of walking the streets and having candlelit dinners. A prospective employer flew me into town once and assigned a real estate agent to show me all the lovely neighborhoods I would be able to afford should I get the job.

This week, Joelle and I drove into town from the south. It was raining buckets. Our first destination was Bonaventure Cemetery, located in Thunderbolt, which is a few miles southeast of the historic district. Overlooking the Wilmington River and tucked into a quaint and thankfully non-HOA neighborhood, one enters the cemetery complex from twisty turny side streets.

More of a family compound that singular gravesite for Johnny Mercer.

We may not have been on a Mission from God, but we were on a Mission from Claire, Joelle's mother. We promised to visit the grave of Johnny Mercer, founder of Capitol Records, who penned mid-century classics like "Moon River" for the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's.

What could be better than visiting a cemetery on a dark and dreary day? Having a picnic while you are there, of course. 

After packing up the old blue cooler (I can never part with her now.), we headed into town and our next stop. How can the Gypsy Sisters not visit a vintage clothing store called Gypsy World? Impossible.

There we met and instantly befriended the owner, Lisa. We spent ages comparing van life stories, and laughed about our favorite high school clothes that are now considered vintage. 

Her green eyes watch you walk through the store.

We tore ourselves away and ventured toward the historic district. Oh Savannah, I love your quirkiness and your appreciation for characters and stories told with that southern culture hyperbole. We did not get to spend enough time wandering down your back streets, eavesdropping on tour guides, and admiring your wabi sabi splendor. I'll be back shortly.