Life in the Low Country

DAY ONE:

After spending a few days with my family in Charlotte, North Carolina, I decided to get a rental car and head to the other jewel of the old south, Charleston.

Charleston, like my favorite city, Savannah, is truly an American treasure. It is a wonder of adaptation that this antebellum city stands as a truly modern city in spite of its revolutionary war-era civil engineering.

As I drove through the streets of the "Holy City"--aptly named for its inordinate numbers of churches--I was in awe of the narrow streets that separated the wonderfully ornate two-tiered old south homes.

One must be patient when traveling in this city--patiently reckless.

Among Nascar fans there is an old saying: "Rubbing is racing." In Charleston, it seems, rubbing is living. It is no place for the claustrophobic, on or off the roads.

After slingshoting myself around legions of King street shoppers eager to find a day-after-Thanksgiving bargain, I made my way to the tip of the Charleston peninsula--the battery. I stood at the end of the path that captured pirates once walked, some 250 years ago, on their death march to the gallows.

From there I made my way around the battery, to Broad street to Church, where I spotted the first Huguenot church founded in North America.

I took some pictures before traipsing down historic Market street and back to the car. As an aside, there was an American Indian woman I encountered on Meeting street who was sporting a t-shirt that said: "Don't worry, be Hopi."

I got a kick out of that.

Day Two:

I got up this morning, turned on the television, and saw a pleasant forecast for Charleston--70 degrees and sunny. What I didn't see, however, was a forecast with regard to the breakfast buffett at the North Charleston Inn.

If you were wondering, it was cold and nasty.

The rest of my Saturday morning was spent at the Military College of South Carolina, The Citadel. The Citadel is a top-tier military college that is located on the Ashley river in Charleston.

Every building on the campus looms large with a fortified edifice, especially the enormous Cadet barracks.

You might remember hearing about The Citadel back in the mid-1990s when a female sued to gain entry into the all-male Cadet corps.

She won, but didn't last a week. The male Cadets openly celebrated her retreat. Since then, The Citadel's Corps of Cadets has been co-ed.

After I had a sufficient number of pictures, I returned to interstate 26 and headed over the newly-opened Arthur Ravenel bridge that connects Mount Pleasant with the Charleston peninsula. It is the largest cable-stayed bridge in the Western hemisphere.

From there I took US-17 to Long Point road where I stopped in at the Charles Pinckney House at Snee Farm. I walked around the property for about 20 minutes before I saw a sign warning of venomous snakes.

I scurried back to the car with my tail between my legs.

On the property were the foundations of old slave homes that were marked out by archeologists who worked on the site many years ago.

I snapped a photo of the foundations before running scared to the car and continuing north on 17 toward my final destination, Georgetown.

Before Georgetown, however, I got off the beaten path and visited Hampton Island and the Hampton Plantation. It is a beautiful plantation home built by French Huguenots in 1735--err, I mean built by slaves for Huguenots.

The Hampton Mansion was visited by George Washington in 1791 when he, supposedly, urged the plantation owner not to cut down the small oak tree in the front lawn. He wanted it spared even though it would eventually obstruct the view of the house from the front.

Well, Washington saved the tree and now it is nothing short of enormous.

Back on 17, I travelled the final half hour of the ninety minute trip to Georgetown, South Carolina's third oldest city.

Georgetown, a port city, is steeped in history. Not only was it the city that supported Nathaniel Greene and the Continental Army during the Revolutionary War, but it also was one of the main ports of entry for west Africans during the Atlantic slave trade (besides Charleston).

In Savannah during this time cotton was king, but in Georgetown it was first indigo and then rice.

I walked along the board walk and strolled around downtown for a little while before hitting the road once again. I was lucky to be able to hear the end of the biggest rivalry football game in South Carolina on the radio. The Gamecocks of USC defeated Clemson 31-28 in death valley.

Heading back towards Charleston, I stopped for a quick visit of McClellanville. This town of 600 people bore the brunt of the category 5 monster, Hurricane Hugo, in September 1989. (The original track had it passing over Savannah, but, as with General Sherman in the war between the states, Savannah was spared.)

This town is like nothing I've ever seen. It is small, yes, but it is spread out and almost totally canopied by enormous live oak trees and spanish moss. This little town is so close to the Atlantic that in 1989 the storm surge flooded and almost killed dozens of people riding it out in the local high school.

I stopped at Sonic in Mount Pleasant before taking the interstate 526 back to North Charleston.

Sonic is an endemic southern chain that, much like its western counterpart, In-and-Out Burger, is nothing to write home about.

Ok, your order is delivered by a roller skate wearing waitress. I get it.

DAY THREE:

This morning, like each of the past three mornings, I woke up to the smell of funk in the air--North Charleston.

I am not exactly sure what that smell is, but funk should suffice.

In any event, I was in a hurry to hit the road for some reason, and I soon found out why. I wanted to drive all the way (20 miles) to Isle of Palms without my camera battery.

Needless to say, I was a little bent out of shape. Like any good shutterbug, I drove back to get it.

I spent the next two hours in Isle of Palms and Sullivan's Island, taking pictures of the Atlantic, of Fort Sumter and everything in-between.

I didn't do a whole lot after that. I figured I had already done enough driving--700 miles.