Hilton Head, South Carolina

Let me take you back in time two months ago when I actually went on this vacation. Every day since I have drafted my daily to-do list, writing a capitalized order to BLOG over 60 times. My apologies (to the assumed three people that will read this sentence) that my busy schedule has kept me from sharing titillating exploits of crab cakes eaten. The wait is over.

Replies to the questions fielded about my family trip to South Carolina were as follows: “No, I’m not from there. No, I don’t have family there. No, I don’t golf.“
My dad was left behind to work so the traveling kin was composed of yours truly, my mom, my sister Michelle, Aunt Ronna, Uncle Mark and my grandparents. After a stop in Charlotte to board a puddle jumper (with propellers, how very retro) we landed at Hilton Head Island’s comically sized airport and went onward to the Westin. The hotel was decorated in an appropriately Southern Living seaside cottage motif.




The first afternoon found our clan boarding a rental minivan bound for Beaufort. I finagled shotgun by volunteering for the role of navigator and immediately failed as the driver's co-pilot by not advising Michelle to slow down. This was confirmed by the patrol car driving over the parkway's grassy divider to pull us over, scold Michelle (albeit with a charming drawl) and write her a speeding ticket.


To give you an idea of the family dynamic, you must understand my role. I am vilified for appreciating quiet, for opting to only observe the flood of unsolicited opinions ping-ponging around the minivan with earbuds as my armor. My defense is to go mute, to keep suggestions about the temperature to myself because any commentary ignites ten minutes of bickering about the car's air conditioning. Bringing up a topic like politics is a death-wish.

But back to our journey to Beaufort. The road revealed the southeastern landscape of marshes, lagoons, moss-draped live oaks and palmettos along with what I considered even more interesting as a city gal - farms, barns and Piggly Wiggly stores.
From the car, Beaufort's Boundary Street looked like an adorable postcard of old tyme George McFly Americana. After lunch at a sports bar and a futile chase down the docks towards dolphin fins in the distance, we went exploring. Beaufort's marginalization was clearer on foot, with streets of eerily empty churches and half of the town's businesses shuttered (unsurprising since the estimated population seemed to be ten human beings and two dolphins.)






After Beaufort we stopped in Harbour Town, a gated marina community of idyllic vignettes (horses, creeks, yachts) and 70’s era condos. Also, rocking chairs everywhere in South Carolina! I really appreciate the importance they place on just chilling.











We had a dinner of traditional lowcountry cuisine that evening, the first of many she-crab soups and cholesterol-marianted steaks.

Savannah, Georgia/Hilton Head, South Carolina

Our third day took us across state lines to Savannah, Georgia where we experienced an overview of Downtown from a trolley tour that took us through around the grid-like city and it's 22 squares. It became apparent the measures Savannah takes to maintain and restore the historic buildings and the preservation of the bygone horse-and-carriage era fosters it's rank as "America's most haunted city." To me it's those reminders of early America that give places like Savannah, Sleepy Hollow and Boston that certain spookiness.








Paula Deen is Savannah's Obama, Madonna, and the Royal Queen. Throughout town, her ubiquitous buttery "Hey Ya'll!" face directs tourists to join the fried chicken buffet at The Lady and Sons.


Our group split up to explore on foot, where I came across some threatening scripture on a park bench en route to the cemetery (fun fact: the bench where Forrest Gump reflects on his cinematic life was filmed in Savannah's Chippewa Square, though the bench is now housed in a museum.)






My cynicism was challenged by Savannah's reputation as the best-mannered city every time a stranger struck up a conversation or asked where I was from (why is it that the camera around my neck reads as "German tourist" and not "photographer"?) It took some serious re-wiring to understand unsolicited conversation from strangers as politeness and not harassment. Sad, no?






Besides Savannah (which was definitely my favorite city from the trip) I found the highways connecting the larger cities some of the most interesting parts of the South. The rurality of the back roads is fascinating: forests, fireworks for sale, swamps, roadside strip clubs, crab shacks, barns and outbuildings and rusty gold just waiting to get snatched up by Mike and Frank from American Pickers.



Back in Hilton Head, we had dinner at Skull Creek Boathouse with a lovely waitress named Audrey who handled my family like a pro.



The next day we returned to Harbour Town to rent a Catalina 32 for an afternoon sail. The wind was lacking (we tacked four times maximum) so we just enjoyed a relaxing cruise around the bay.

Charleston, South Carolina

We planned to rent another car upon leaving Hilton Head, but instead opted to Jenga seven bodies, seven full-sized suitcases and assorted carry-ons into the minivan. Needless to say the drive was uncomfortable, especially with hungry (read: cranky) people driving 70 miles of food-less logging roads before the beacon of Hardee’s.



In Charleston (technically Mount Pleasant which is a boat/trolley/car ride across the bay), Michelle and I checked into what we crowned The Ugliest Hotel Room Ever.


We did some dolphin spotting on the dock before trolleying into town for a delicious Italian meal.







Our first mode of transport the next morning was the water taxi back to Charleston before boarding yet another free trolley to ride around the city and get our bearings.



We backpedaled through automotive history once more with a horse and carriage ride to trot around in the rain and look at historical homes (many of which have sloped over time. If you look at a house as a face, a lot had wonky-eyed windows.)









After lunch at a sports bar that had occupied a former church, I went off to do some shopping on my own until faced with routing obstacles due to Joe Biden’s motorcade.



That night, we had dinner on the river at Shem Creek Bar & Grill, where the menu offered promises of coronary heart diseases against a pixilated clip art background. Take a moment to consider the existence of "prime rib with bacon wrapped crab stuffed shrimp."