The magic box

Day tripping in Beaufort

First things first,. I needed to learn how to pronounce the name of the town. The one is South Carolina is pronounced Byoo ferd. The one in North Carolina is pronounced Bow ferd.

I spent the day in Byoo ferd, with my friend Larry. Larry is a professional photographer, a walking history book, all around genius, and very patient fellow. He showed no indication that he thought my love of graveyards is in any way weird . As a matter of fact, he took me to a couple of them, explained their significance, and didn't look at all look bored while I took dozens of pictures. (Perhaps I should add "accomplished actor" to his list of good qualities.)

Church of Prince William's Parish

Speaking of pictures, a normal person would be intimidated taking her amateur photos in the presence of a professional. But my love of taking pictures outweighed any self-consciousness, except that one time I forgot to take off the lens cap. Hoping he didn't notice.

Our first stop was on the way into town. Located in Yemassee, are the ruins referred to as Sheldon. Built 1745. Burned by the British 1779. Rebuilt 1826. Burned by the Federal Army 1865. Finally gave up hope in 1937 and The Colonial Dames of America erected a plaque.

We could hear the thunder roaring closer and closer as we wandered the grounds.

And because one graveyard is never enough, we then ventured on to Beaufort proper and the grounds of St. Helena's Church. The Christian faithful have been worshipping on this site since 1712. 

In a world where nothing is straight.

We dodged rain drops and ventured inside the church, where we were treated to an insightful lecture from the docent. This parish has survived the Yemassee War and the Union occupation when it was converted to a hospital. Some say that stone slabs from the graveyard were used as makeshift operating tables to treat the soldiers injured in battle.

The Big Chill was filmed here. The constant breeze blows the Spanish moss in a languid wave.

I love looking through the lens of my new real camera. The colors are so vivid, and the detail is exquisite. Everything appears magical in the viewfinder. As a matter of fact the entire day was magical. On every street we wandered down in Beaufort, we were accompanied by music. Piano sonatas wafted from school halls, jazz filtered through apartment windows, and a live band was playing along the waterfront. It is as if our visit had been scored specifically for each scene change.

Who can resist the lure of a used book store? We walked in the door and breathed deeply the distinctive smell of well-turned pages and worn bindings.

Once home, I got to enjoy the trip all over again as I downloaded and reviewed the day's photos. Then I came across this picture, one of the last I took. For those of you who believe in that sort of thing, that is most definitely an orb, hovering just over the fence. Beaufort is definitely a place full of magical moments and mystical things. 

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.

Shhh. Don't tell anybody.

We liked the way it looked on the map, practically walking distance from St. Augustine. It has affordable motels on the beach. Every trip we take must include some nature time, whether we are hiking, camping, or swimming. So, although our ultimate destination was to arrive in St. Augustine, we decided to make Vilano Beach our basecamp.

We spent hours on the beach, walking, watching the surfers, chasing my hat in the wind, and camped out in our brightly colored chairs.

We actually stayed in a motel on this trip, instead of sleeping on the beach or under the trees. Indoor plumbing is nice, and our Spanish styled residence was tucked behind a wall, within feet of the sand.

Everything we could want is within walking distance in Vilano Beach, so we set out on foot to find dinner our first night there.

The food was marginal bar fare, but the sunset was spectacular. 

 The walk back to our motel took us directly through the 50s and 60s.

And while there were signs of human activity, we saw very few people. The streets were empty.

The sign read "Home Cooked Italian," and of course we were skeptical. We tried it anyway on our second night in town. Course after course, hours later, we were the last people in the restaurant. Joelle certified it "authentic Sicilian." We waddled back to our hotel happy and full, with enough leftovers to feed us the next night. 

Real New York Home Cooked Italian Specialties

Quiet, convenient, and affordable. We strongly suspect magical Vilano Beach was a Twilight Zone experience. If we were to drive back there next month, it may no longer exist. 

Quick, Jump In

We drove a car. We stayed in a hotel. No sleeping in a van down by the river this time.

Before we even set off, Joelle had already travelled from Dallas to Baltimore, run a 10K, worked a full day, then flew into Charleston.

We loaded the car with essentials: the old blue cooler and our fluorescent camp chairs. Joelle loves to drive, so she slipped behind the wheel first. She must have really had the pedal to the metal; the next thing I knew, we were in Switzerland. 

Stop the car! We need a selfie!

Yes, we are constantly entertained by town names, like Paris, Texas and Switzerland, South Carolina. 

Since we both work while traveling, we take turns on the computer and the phone. I took over the wheel so Joelle could communicate with the office.

The onboard GPS in my trusty Beemer has learned the Gypsy Sisters travel style. She directs us on circuitous routes and down sand packed roads. Why drive down 95 when you can travel on a ferry? Why face the asphalt, when your car can point directly at a swiftly flowing current?

So we cruised south on A1A and drove aboard the St.John's River Ferry, connecting  Mayport Village and Fort George Island, near Jacksonville, Florida.

Joelle is the more adventurous of the two of us, and she hopped out of the car instantly. I think she had some Titanic bow-like visions.

I, on the other hand, was eventually able to pry my fingers loose from the steering wheel, and venture outside of the car … but had to have a body part touching it at all times. And let's face it, it was only because if the ferry sunk, I was afraid of getting trapped in my seatbelt.

OMG, we cut right in front of this guy!

Gonzalez-Alvarez house and grounds.

Next stop: St.Augustine, Florida, where we spent a full day wandering the side streets, and I practiced using my new Olympus camera. Joelle is so very patient with me, and just laughs when I say for the third time, "That's it; I broke it. I touched something and now it doesn't work."

Memorial Presbyterian Church

 No alley goes unwandered by the Gypsy Sisters.

Where should we go now?

The other Charleston

Charleston has been my home for four years now. I will never tire of exploring streets and neighborhoods and love playing tour guide when my friends come to town.

Saturday mornings are for aimless wandering down dead end streets and occasionally past the No Trespassing signs.

Ooh! Events, I can't make a U-turn in your parking lot without taking a picture of that 3D wall of yours.

Spanish moss adds to the macabre facade of abandoned Marine barracks on Truxtun Avenue. Even in the bright sunlight, this place is forbidding. 

Seriously, don't they look like The Minions mingling at a cocktail party?

Today's trip was a reminder of my childhood. Charleston, much like Baltimore, where I grew up, is a port city. My parents were both photographers, and in fact met in a darkroom. My father worked in the shipping industry when I was a teenager and used to drive me to the docks to take pictures on Sundays. This morning, I kept driving until I found my way to the water.

 

A wind turbine blade looks like a beautiful sea creature, resting on the beach.

The Clemson University Restoration Institute is located in North Charleston.

The Power House used to provide steam power to the Charleston Navy Ship Yard. It now sits empty, and happily there are no plans to tear down this neoclassic beauty.