It began with a small beach town on the Isle of Palms... Low Country restaurants, Banana Cabana, flip flops and surf boards. Now I have seen my share of west coast beach towns, but the east is distinctly it's own, and the wonder of exploring a new place never gets old for me. I dig my toes into the sand, I breath the air coming off the sea, and expect it to sting my nose, like it does on Pacific Beach. But the air is sweet, not salty. I take a deeper breath... still sweet. I am not in CA... this is the low country where the wind tastes like the tea they brew. Delightful.
It is late afternoon and the sun is in the south. The waves are breaking too close to the beach to play in the whitewash - good, otherwise I'd be missing my board, ruining the contentment of this moment. I am finally here.
Into the water... it surprises me with its warmth, the sand is carved into a wave-like pattern under my feet. I want to feel the force of the waves breaking against me, taste the salt in the water, experience the energy of the ocean.
Again I marvel at the wonder of a new place, a beach that I do not know, a sand bar I cannot predict, the sweetness of ocean air that seems so foreign to my senses. And my mind that is prone to wander and dream, wonders what has happened on this beach... some of us have a "geek curse." Mine happens to be a zeal for history.
Tour guides love me because I ask so many questions... I really tried to tone it down on our walking tour of the historic district, out of respect for the other 20 people walking with us. And yet I held nothing back when I was one on one with the Dungeon Master in the Old Exchange Building. It's fun to watch their faces light up when you ask them about details that most people don't care about, and you can speak plainly geek to geek.
In Charleston, I found a lot more than "Glory" on the beach and more historical drama than the mind can ponder... there was abounding satiation for yet another of my favorite past times, food and wine...
I scan the menu at Huck's Low Country... Carolina Crab Cakes, Oysters, Fried Green Tomatoes, Grouper, She-Crab Soup, Mahi-Mahi, Catfish, Salmon.... fresh from the water.
Now the south is a wonderland for many reasons, but the fact that I will always have a pallate for cream, extra butter, and all things fried, makes me feel right at home. Now as far as I know, I don't have a drop of southern in me, I attribute my passion for fat, cholesterol and heart disease consumption, to an origin in hardy midwest farmstock. My grandmother always cooked like she'd never left the farm. And nothing tastes so good to me as Double battered spicy fried chicken smothered with creamy mushroom gravy and a side of greasy cornbread. I may shop at Whole Foods and eat organic salads in my everyday Denver life, but while vacationing in the Low Country, Cracker Barrel with an extra side of biscuits is just my speed. Meg was slightly horrified at my menu choices during our trip, but when in Rome...
I savor the experience of a Bed and Breakfast, and it's not just the blueberry waffles with lemon curd sauce... it's the Georgian-style charm, with no two rooms that look exactly alike, enjoying morning coffee with fellow travelers and comparing stories, resting on the veranda for afternoon wine hour, chatting with the inn keepers about the "insider" places to go... tell me what is off the beaten path.
Our B&B came with cruiser bikes... we were thrilled. A Sunday morning ride before church, up East Bay Street where the Georgian mansions still have cannon lodged in the walls, and Fort Sumter can be seen across the Bay. The park is hallowed with "Gump Trees", there are a million diamonds on the bay, the azaleas are in bloom, the air smells sweet again.
After our ride, Meg and I attended the Emmanuel AME church, the oldest African American Church in the south, and origin of the largest organized slave revolt in history. It is a rare treat for me, and we are received warmly.
Touring the Old Slave Mart Museum, was undoubtedly the most difficult piece of this trip. It's one of those things that I knew I wanted to do, and I'm glad I did it, however, I know that I don't want to go back again. Perhaps it was the fact that the tour ahead of us was all black, and I kept wondering what was going through their heads as they looked at the relics of a reality that is almost too dark to think about. Or maybe it was the feeling I had when I viewed the child-sized shackles, I could not stop seeing the faces of my precious babies in Uganda. It hurt my heart. Yes, once was enough.
On our last day in Charleston, Meg returned to the beach, and I walked downtown to get a final glimpse of Cobblestone streets, Palmetto Flags, hidden alleyways lined with Carolina Oaks, and the oldest sea port in the Union. I lingered in a cafe and had a conversation with a local artist, I bought a dress from a Gula woman whose dialect was absolutely delightful to my ears, I envisioned my return trip, and thanked God that every once in awhile life just is "that good."
