A new day and a fresh start. Subs and salads from Subway back in the hotel room and a brief swim at the pool last night did wonders for us all. A sound sleep on one of the most comfortable mattresses I’ve slept ever on last night made me happy. (Captain’s Blog: If you are in Chester, VA, stay at the Hyatt Place. Truly the best hotel I’ve ever stayed at for $85 which covered a spotless room with 2 double beds, a pull-out couch and a 46” flat screen!) We backed out of the parking lot and saw the only Massachusetts license plate we’ve seen since we left New Jersey.
I tell my kids that sure, it would be nice to jump on a plane and be there in a couple of hours, but what I also tell them is that it’s so exciting and fascinating to drive around our own country. I don’t tell them that I think it’s educational, or they really wouldn’t look at anything but the DVD player. To observe the change in landscape, climate, fast food signs, license plates, road conditions, and accents from state to state to state is all part of the expedition. What an effective way to show kids the feeling of connections and that our country really is a weaving of intricate threads. If you get on a plane in Boston and land in Charleston, you miss an awful lot of fabric in between.
I am typing this is in the car. Captain is driving, listening to satellite radio, and feeling calm as there is less commuting traffic since it’s Saturday. Quill is sitting shotgun listening to his iPod, making randomly whimsical comments, chatting with Captain, and texting as per most of yesterday. Asia and Rowe sit in the way back listening to iPods and watching movies. Asia dotes on Rowe with an occasional smooch on the cheek, much to Rowe’s annoyance, while Rowe comments often on how much fun he’s having. I’m in the second row, flanked by luggage, with the flexibility of enjoying a movie too. Sam is busy doing her thing, less a novel part of the family, more a familiar presence, sometimes even an annoyance—a true family member. After getting on I-95 leaving Chester, we drive through the rest of Virginia, a lot of green littered with small brick ranches beside tidy yards.
After about an hour, we cross into North Carolina, my birth state. We take a pee stop at a small gas station 20 minutes into our border-cross and three men are chatting in very heavy southern accents. I realize I’m barely understanding them. The snacks inside the store are different and called catchy things like Hunkey Dorey and Stuckey’s Pecan Log. Feeling a bit nostalgic, I buy a cheesy North Carolina refrigerator magnet that has a few towns on it, including my birth town of Jacksonville. We get in the car and continue on. The signs become noticeably different at this point, advertising fireworks, more fireworks, then cigarettes, then CHEAP cigarettes, then scratch biscuits, then gun shops, then South of the Border, which we decide to forego. (Captains Blog: Driving past South of The Border reminds me of the scene from The Holy Grail where the knights approach Camelot with excitement in their eyes, only to forego visitiing there because "Its a rather silly place".)
We enter South Carolina and we pass our first palm tree (Tiff lets out a squeal of delight) and drive past tobacco fields and billboards advertising peach products, peach wine, pecans, and cherries . . . and “Clean Restrooms.” Truck stops are plenty as are the native roadkill: turtles and an armadillo. As we pass Providence, Dorchester, and Summerville, I realize I could be well on my way back to Reading were it not for the spelling of the last town, but instead we’re getting closer to Charleston! Yay!
We pull into Charleston at 3pm, a collection of hot, tired, excited, hungry bunch of weary travelers. Showers and a brief rest in the room and we’re venturing out to explore our surroundings. Wow! Location, location, location! We’re in the heart of the city at Market Street, adjacent to the covered markets and amidst restaurants, bars, shops, galleries. My camera is clicking away madly as we roam street after street and end up at the waterfront. Each house we pass seems to have been purposefully placed and precisely painted. We’re on a stage set. Palm trees line the streets, courtyards flaunting exotic plantings hide behind lavish wrought iron gates. There is little traffic, no horns beeping, and not one skyscraper. The latter we later learn is because there is a law in this city that states no building may be higher than the highest steeple. That steeple is not very high. On the waterfront, we walk through gardens, past fountains suitable for ankle-wading and running through, but we’re overdressed for that at the moment. We circle up to where the center of the city is.
For dinner, we choose Aw, Shucks. It’s exotic and garden-like outside; inside it’s big, open, high ceilinged, and air conditioned! For starters we choose the appropriate fried green tomatoes with Jamaican relish and Asia is sold on them. The boys, both of whom dislike tomatoes, pass altogether. I’m really down here for the grouper, so I go with a grilled grouper and mango salsa, Gardner enjoys a crawfish and shrimp etouffee, Asia has the grouper with an orange teriyaki sauce, Quill opts for the seafood alfredo, (hold the tomatoes), Rowe has the chicken tenders, and we’re all delightfully satiated. The locally brewed Palmetto Lager is refreshing and the service is southern—friendly and warm.
To aid in digestion, an evening stroll is in order, so we head up beyond our hotel and find what we think must be the Newbury Street of Charleston: Meeting Street—trendy shops, galleries, restaurants, and that, you know, energy. We pop into a tourist office, of which there are many along the street, and enjoy a conversation with one of the employees, a perky, blond girl who’s a native of Portland, Maine, She tells us of her college time here and her move to NYC for her first job. She lasted there a few months and hated that city only to return here. This girl was a perfect PR rep for this city. She looks at Asia and tells her she should think about going to school down here. I silently agree.
Our walk takes us along to very intriguing wine galleries where one goes to sip wines, sit and relax, and browse the art. We strike up a conversation with one of the owners, a woman who paints all the art and was walking around sipping her glass of white something. Her husband tends the bar at the back and the walls are covered with art and gas lanterns, which we learn are designed by the young woman outside with the dog inviting us in. While the kids enjoy the dog outside, Gardner and I go in for a quick peek as I decide this place needs an onsite babysitting service too. I leave, nudging Gardner, saying THAT’S the perfect retirement job for us!
Deciding it’s too early to go back to the hotel, we venture back to the waterfront and head out to an enormous covered pier lined with small benches, and about six gigantic porch swings wide enough to seat five. We sit at the very end of the pier, look out at the ocean, and take in a warm breeze that cools us off. As we stroll back on the pier, headed for our hotel, one of the swings becomes vacant, and the five of us sit, swing, and joke around in darkness overlooking the water for a good twenty minutes. I could be wrong, but I’m not sure it gets any better than this.
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