SUN SONG 21: The Milky Way
Ducks, cowboy hats, and ranch dressing.
June 4th, 2022
Charleston, SC
12.87 miles
By the sunbeams of South Carolina! Well, there were no sunbeams today, just a bunch of rain.
What do you mean, by the sunbeams of South Carolina?
I’m not sure what it means either. I just read it on a tiny placard attached to a business facade. Charleston is full of placards. Nearly every home, at least those towards the southern edge of the peninsula, have some kind of decoration signifying the structure’s historical significance or notoriety.
Today I ventured north, which proved to be a stark contrast from the tourist filled meanderings of the day before. The north side, or “the neck” as a man at a bar described to me, is generally more residential, not so touristy, and less buttoned up. This was the Charleston I was looking for.
I was blessed with rain today. As I briefly wrote, the rain is different down here. The clouds hang lower in the sky and move quickly. Rain one minute, sunshine the next. The precipitation is generally light and kisses your face. It’s refreshing. However, just as I took off my rain jacket, it was time to put it on once again. It’s really unpredictable.
Luckily, it was a fairly cool day – a welcomed reprieve from the brutal sun and humidity that has hugged me like a warm blanket for the last week.
Not so many long winded conversations today, save for a gentleman I met this afternoon (more on that later), but I did make friends with the ducks while walking through beautiful Hampton Park. For those who followed the Long Island walk, there’s something about those ducks. I’m always attracting them while I walk. Especially those who are big and full of energy.
These ducks were unlike any I’ve seen before. Their tails wagged like dogs, and the noises coming from their beaks sounded awfully close to a panting dog. Their faces were covered with red lumpy skin, and their bodies full of feathers both white and black. We don’t have ducks of this variety up north, but a little internet research helped fill me in. These ducks are of the muscovy variety and they showed little concern of my presence. For a moment we had a little photoshoot, that is until a couple started mating. That’s when the ducks turned and started snapping at me. I took it as my cue to leave.
Up a ways, I continued north, passing a lively game of neighborhood kickball. Despite the rain, the game pressed on with competitive energy. Kids screamed from behind a chain link fence.
Eventually I reached the end of the line, or so it seemed. I couldn’t really walk further north as it was nothing but the interstate. I’m sure there were sidestreets somewhere, but I wasn’t eager to find out and decided to turn around.
Of course, that’s when I needed to pee and there were no businesses in sight. I found a Mexican grocery, but was denied. Eventually, after waiting for nearly an hour, (Charleston needs more public restrooms!) I stumbled upon an Exxon gas station and was handed a bathroom key given I would purchase something. The walls were covered in wood paneling and could have used a facelift, but it was charming. There was a display case full of tchotchkes and boxing memorabilia on the wall. A sign read, “Now Hiring, Ask Mr. G.”
A balding man, covered in black grease, spoke with an older gentleman sitting in an office chair posted in the middle of the store. He had magazines and snacks surrounding him as if he was sitting on a throne. The two men went back and forth, but their accents were so thick I couldn’t understand a single word they were saying. I pretended to browse just to listen. Their accents were unlike anyone I met in Charleston.
As a means of starting a conversation, I asked the throned man where I could find something to eat, even though I wasn’t hungry.
You walkin’ huh? Well… uh… There ain't’ nothin’ ta eat around ‘ere ya man. Just beer.
I pressed further, hoping to get more information outta this guy. I needed his story, but he didn't seem like he wanted to chat. He just introduced himself (he was Mr. G) and that was that. Conversation over.
This was one of those situations where if I lived here, I could keep showing up to the gas station and eventually form a connection with this guy and build a sense of trust. Sometimes people are a little more skeptical of strangers, whereas others spill their heart upon first conversation. It’s really hit or miss, but makes me think. Don’t quote me on this yet (hah), but I think my next walk might be 2–4 weeks walking in one city. Doing so would allow time to visit the same places over and over again, thus developing a repertoire. Now that would be something.
So Instead of restaurants, I walked by new developments, cabaret clubs, breweries, train tracks, auto body shops, a yard sale beneath a bridge, and open green space filled with palms.
Eventually I did get hungry and was looking for salad. So I stopped at a bar called the Recovery Room of all places. I ordered the house salad with fried chicken and ranch dressing. I’ve likely consumed more ranch on this trip than I’ve had in the last three years. I’ve made a habit of eating salads throughout this walk, but each time I’m given such limited options for dressing, thus succumbing to circumstances and ordering ranch. I’ve no distaste for ranch, but it’s certainly not my preference. What does it matter? My salad was good.
At the bar, I met Andrew. He works as a shipping and receiving clerk. He bounces around from terminal to terminal within the port (Charleston has six different terminals), but spends most of his time down at Wando Welch. I just wanted to get his read on the city as he’s lived here for 12 years. Originally born outside Washington, D.C. he moved to Long Island to attend the Kings Point Merchant Marines Academy, joined the coast guard, and eventually found himself in Charleson. He loves it here, but I sense he has his reservations. When I tell him I live in New York City, his eyes light up.
New York is the best, man.
I didn’t expect to hear those words down here. It seems New York City is a polarizing place once you leave the tri-state area (heck, it’s even polarizing within the tri-state area). People either love it or hate it.
So we get to talking and Andrew orders me a shot of Fireball. I’m generally interested in the work he does, which he speaks of so passionately. He talks about his time in the Coast Guard busting ships full of narcotics, or how he frequently ventured to Angola, Africa to help on oil rigs. I kind of get lost in the narrative, but from what I understand, this man has spent a lot of time at sea.
Eventually he starts talking to me about God, which he says he found in the middle of the ocean.
I’ve seen the full Milky Way. It made me believe in God. I know it sounds funny, but trust me. The Milky Way is God.
Andrew's god is not the kind you’d try to make contact with in a church. His god is in outer space, and manifests itself in star constellations such as Sirius or Orion, which he has tattooed on his legs. He gets up from his chair just to show me.
I asked him if he’s seen any crazy shit out at sea. I was hoping for sea pirates, or unusual cargo, but his answer surprised me. He pulls out his phone and shows a picture of a gorgeous sunset.
This is some crazy shit, man.
I took a photo of his phone screen, which displayed the sunset photo, but he insisted on sending it to me.
What’s your number brother?
I gave him my number, he sent the photo, and that was the end of our conversation.
Southern mannerisms aren’t totally unlike that of the Midwest, but it’s a little different. People down here share a certain aggressive warmth. You can’t just walk into a bar or restaurant without saying hello, and it’s almost always followed by a “and how are you?”
I met another guy named Cookie during my stay. We briefly spoke about baseball (I was curious which MLB team folks root for down here) and I mentioned this was my first time visiting Charleston. Our conversation lasted no more than 2 or 3 minutes before he got up to sit with friends. However, before he left, he came back to me, extended his arm in front of my face for a handshake, and said goodbye. You don’t get that kind of hospitality with strangers up north or maybe this was just a really, really friendly bar.
I took a break in the late afternoon, choosing to sit around the hostel and relax. My stay has been better than anticipated, although everyone here is on vacation mode and looking to hit the town. As much as I’d like to hang, I’m not here to party, but I do enjoy the conversation and the eagerness of those trying to make temporary friends with strangers.
Christof, the Belgian fellow I met on my first day, took off this morning. We had plenty of good conversations, but when it was time for him to go, we didn’t exchange information nor a goodbye. Such is the nature of this hostel and there’s something beautiful about that. Everything is fleeting and changes each day.
Once the sun started setting I took off for a few more miles, I went down south in search of a coffee shop where I hoped to complete this newsletter. I was wrong to think so. Once I got to the shop, it was packed to the brim with tourists. It looked much different online, but I should have known.
So instead of writing, I played wallflower for the evening, stopped for an Italian pastry and coffee, and chose to walk up King Street – the heartbeat of Charleston nightlife. During the day I would have chosen a different street, but nighttime is a different story. As much as I don’t enjoy large crowds of tourists or drunks, I enjoy observing nightlife. It’s an excellent time for witnessing unusual things or watching people, such as an entire coach bus full of middle aged men wearing cowboy hats.
What's up with the cowboy hats, sir?
We’re all just friends on a trip. That's all.
It must have been one heck of a trip. There were probably 50 of them – all in hats. I’m beating myself up for not getting a photo as I write, but I chose not to because each time I pressed one of these cowboys for information, I got responses that made me feel like I was pulling teeth. Starting conversations with strangers is a surefire way to feel like a freak.
Slowly, but surely, I made my way back to the hostel, but not without dodging a few bachelorette parties (Charleston seems to be a destination for that) and a few rogue golf carts, manned by those who’ve probably had more than they should drink (what’s up with those golf carts, by the way? It seems a popular means of transportation as I’ve heard public transit isn’t very good out here). Sitting in bed, the coffee had me wired, which is unusual for me, but magically the caffeine wore off and I fell asleep. I’ve had no issues getting rest while on the road, which is certainly a blessing.
I basically have another full day in Charleston. My train to Savannah leaves at 7:30pm, but it’s the same train I took to get here from Richmond, which was delayed by two hours. Everyday I check the train schedule just to see how it’s running. Yep, nothing but delays. If I’m lucky, I’ll get out of Charleston by 9pm and arrive in Savannah by 10pm or so.
So another fullish day in South Carolina!
More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
–Alex