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.

5 Days 6 Cities

And if a 5 hour layover in Atlanta counts, 7 cities. The stoplight in Broken Bow, Oklahoma would make 8.

Charleston
Atlanta
Dallas
Jessieville
Hot Springs
a brief drive through Oklahoma
Paris
Dallas
Austin
Dallas
DC
Atlanta
Charleston

I didn't set out to cover 4500 miles in less than one week, it just worked out that way. 

Rain delayed my afternoon arrival, til late night. No worries.
I'd rather sit in the Atlanta airport than fly through storms. And did I mention?
Dave and Joelle served me spaghetti and meatballs when I arrived at their place. 

It started as a weekend trip to see Joelle's new house. A roundtrip ticket from Charleston to Dallas. Our only agenda – just hang out on her patio and drink our morning coffee.

As a proud member of The Hat Ladies of Charleston,
one's hat and gloves must always match, even in an Arkansas crystal mine.

The plans changed somewhat while I was visiting Arkansas a few weeks before. I was there on a crystal mining trip and constantly thought of how much Joelle would enjoy it, too. So, we added a little day trip to our weekend. Just a 5 hour drive.

One of the numerous Hot Springs abandoned buildings. Is that an alien communication device?

On the road by 6:00 a..m., we spent the day digging and decided to spend the night in nearby Hot Springs. (fun details in the previous post)

Oh no, we missed Nikola's birthday.

The things you see in storefronts

Next morning, we began meandering back to Texas.

A place to tie up your horse and pray

Must be lots of cowboys in De Queen, Arkansas.

The road from Hot Springs to Paris took us through Oklahoma, home of perfect clouds.

After looking at the map, we saw we would be within spittin' distance of Paris, Texas, on the road home. My father told stories of stopping in Paris while traveling on an Army train at the start of his service in World War II. From there he was shipped to Europe. Joelle googled and discovered they have their own mini Eiffel Tower.

First stop in Paris, the town square, which boasted 3 banks in the early 20th century. Did my father have a chance to get off the train and see this town square? Did he stand where I am now? 

I love you Texas, but not everything is bigger there.

As we pulled up to the Eiffel tower, just outside of town, we saw this beautiful Veterans Memorial right next to it. Soldiers from every U.S. military campaign are honored here and we visited the World War II monument and reminisced about Joelle's grandfather and my father. We paused at the Vietnam monument to honor Darryl.

Beautifully designed and moving tribute.

After a good night's sleep in Dallas, we were back in the car the next morning, adding one more side trip, heading South toward Austin. We enjoyed walking the streets of Austin, even though the thermometer was wavering around 100.

The quirky details of a town delight me.

On Monday morning, we actually took the time to have our coffee on Joelle's patio, which adjoins this beautiful park.

Joelle's backyard

Plans had changed once again, I rerouted my flight, and by that night, I'd landed in Washington, DC to speak at a marketing conference. Lucky me had a balcony.

Getting a feel for the room.

I thoroughly enjoyed my time speaking with the attendees of the non-profit conference. Everyone was polite … and reticent. Other places I speak, folks ask questions and offer up anecdotes during the presentation. 

I was struck with the difference in personalities among people from different parts of the country. In Arkansas, every single person we encountered struck up a conversation. Even in the elevators. With only a moment to share, people would ask where you were from and how long you were in town. 

I bounced onto the elevator of the Fairmont on M street in Washington, greeted the only other person on the elevator, and she turned her head and shrunk into the corner.

This seemed a very fitting symbol for our politicians, and possibly people in elevators.

Two hours before my flight leaves? You won't find me in the hotel bar. The concierge stowed my bags, and I took off on a brief walking tour up Pennsylvania Avenue.

Inside the World Bank, turning hand grenades into flowers.

It will be interesting to watch this play out.

Everywhere I go, they name buildings after me.

One lonely picture of an actual tourist attraction. How mainstream of me.

I can find a skeleton anywhere.

Back in Charleston the next day for a board meeting and a photo shoot.

I tiptoed back into the house at nearly 3:00 a.m. After a few hours sleep I jumped right back into business as usual.