SUN SONG 22: For the Birds
Blackbeard, Groundhog Day, and nonstop rain.
June 5th, 2022
Charleston, SC → Savannah, GA
9.72 miles
One last day (bonus) in Charleston, all thanks to a late evening train to Georgia. You could spend a whole week here (if not more), completing every tour or taking every carriage ride underneath the sun, and if I had a day off here, I’d likely attend one or two. Or even venture out to one of Charleston’s fabled beaches.
Instead I spent the morning writing. I was in search of a coffee shop with adequate working space, but many of the shops here are more sit-down places and not conducive for working. Plus it was Sunday, which meant most shops were closed.
Given my limited options, I opted for old, reliable Starbucks. I chose the location on King Street – the heart of tourism in Charleston – knowing I was rolling the dice. Good luck finding a seat. No matter where you go, everything is busy and this is the “off” season! I can’t imagine what this city is like when school is in session or the northern snowbirds arrive trying to escape the cold of winter.
Being Sunday, that also meant vacation was over for many. On Monday it was back to work. As I walked, large groups – luggage in both hands – crowded the sidewalks while waiting for a taxi to pick them up. In the morning they would fly back to their respective homes, wherever that might be. In the afternoon, another group of tourists would arrive to fill their places and do it all over again, thus repeating the never ending cycle.
I’ve gathered that most residences within a few blocks of my hostel are actually vacation rentals. Nobody lives here, but it’s a constant influx of visitors. There’s an ever changing crew at the hostel, and next door a new cast of characters fills the porch each night. They’re typically a young, jovial bunch. They play country music or an assortment of Top 40 while drinking beers around the grill. Occasionally they engage with someone walking down the street.
Hey there, wanna come join us?
The city felt a little more quiet this morning, but Starbucks was still packed to the gills. It’s Sunday, so those who haven’t left yet are likely going to brunch. I managed to squeeze out a small table right beside the register, which meant I sat beside a never ending line of sunbathed customers ordering mocha cookie crumble frappuccinos or iced tea. Baristas frantically prepared drinks, which accumulated in large numbers at the end of the counter. Given this heat, many of the orders were iced and it looked like the drinks were sweating while waiting for customers to pick them up. I was lost in my writing, but when I looked up, the store was completely empty. I worked through the morning rush.
After two full days in Charleston, I think I’ve seen all I need to see – on foot at least. The peninsula is so small that I’m repeating the same loops I walked yesterday and the day before. There’s still parts of the city I could walk, although if you’re looking for a change of scenery, you’d really need a car.
I had no real plan for the day, except saying goodbye to Trudy, the sweetgrass basket weaver. I told her I’d visit one last time before heading off to Savannah.
So, I spent the afternoon on the eastern side of the peninsula, walked by East Side Soul Food (where I ate dinner on my first day here) and slowly weaved my way down to the south side of town. The eastern part of town is void of tourists and a little less buttoned up. Instead of vacation rentals, there are those on the sidewalk who clearly have no place to stay beneath a backdrop of worn out homes. Just a few blocks west, is Meeting Street, which boasts many expensive restaurants, clearly not opened for those living here. The theme of Charleston, to my understanding, is catering to those who have no real investment in this city other than to have a good weekend or a second home.
I continued south towards the water. I’d seen it all before, but not in comfort as I wasn’t able to enjoy myself (no thanks to a full bladder) during my last visit. I chose to walk the alleys (of which there are many) opposed to the main streets. Like Philadelphia, Charleston has many tiny side streets which could barely fit a car. The town was built well before the invention of the automobile, so these streets often lead to the front door of peoples homes. Large palms and brush often hang overhead, sheltering pedestrians from the scorching sun. Charleston is great in that regard, there’s plenty of shade.
The rain continued throughout the day, but I didn’t bother bringing my rain jacket even though today’s rainfall was much heavier than the day before. I didn’t want to put my camera away, so when it started pouring, I kept my camera underneath my shirt before finding refuge underneath a big tree. It was really no use. Even under the large tree limbs and leaves, rain still managed to make its way to the ground. To walk in Charleston, at least in this time of year, is to walk in a perpetual state of moisture. You’re either sweating profusely or covered in a light rainfall.
I’m sure I smelled awful too, which I didn’t even consider until giving Trudy a hug goodbye. Aside from the accumulation of sweat and rain, I haven’t been able to wash my clothes during my stay. The hostel doesn't provide a laundry machine and there wasn’t a chance I was doing laundry in the sink as it’s a shared bathroom (I’ll have to wait until Savannah). Whatever, there are worse things to complain about.
But Trudy didn’t mind and gave me a prayer before I went on my way. I told her I would visit next time I was in Charleston and she reminded me not to break my promise.
Don’t you forget about me up in New York!
I didn’t feel like doing much else after saying goodbye to Trudy, so I returned to my hostel, albeit very slowly. My train was set to arrive at 7:30pm and I had a couple hours to kill. I wanted to relax and do some last minute packing before heading out.
On the way back, I stopped at the park where two men (one was dressed as a pirate) exhibited their pet birds in exchange for tips. They ushered me off the street and I was handed a small parakeet, which gladly hopped onto my finger. A parrot stood on a stand, so I extended my arm and he too climbed aboard.
Long ago, I tried doing a story about a woman who organized a nationwide nonprofit dedicated to finding lost, found, or stolen tropical birds, but the story didn’t end up going anywhere. In the process, I learned those who own tropical birds are a devoted bunch, often living on the birds' terms. While we keep them as pets – and some tend to live long lives given the adequate care – they are never actually domesticated. It’s like living with a toddler that never grows up.
I’ve never met a friendly parrot, so when this guy hopped on my arm I anticipated an attack. Instead, his claws gently duck into my skin and he chowed on an orange. He wasn’t planning on hurting anybody. Eventually the novelty wore off, but this guy wouldn’t budge – likely waiting until I gave him a tip. So I tried returning him to the perch, but he insisted on staying, until the man dressed as a pirate ushered him forward.
The pirate cracked me up. While harmless now, I read pirates were once an actual issue in Charleston long ago. Not just folks who brought their birds to the park. The combination of a weak, corrupt government made the city very populars for those seeking booty, leading to frequent visits and raids. Of all pirate visits, the most notable was Blackbeard, who in May 1718 besieged the city for several days and held hostages until receiving a chest of medicine from the governor.
Later that evening I hopped on the train for a 2 hour ride. Goodbye Charleston!
It was an hour late, so I arrived in Savannah close to 10:30pm. The station is located on the western edge of town and I called a car instead of walking 5 miles to my airbnb. The driver, David, was born and raised in Savannah, and I pressed him for recommendations. I got lucky, he had a laundry list of places ready and rattled them off quicker than I could write them down. I told him I heard Savannah was better than Charleston (just for the sake of stirring discussion). His take was that Savannah is like Charleston’s little sister, but if Charleston had a baby with New Orleans. I’ll keep that in mind as I walk around.
As I write, I’m sitting on the porch while a steady rain hangs over the city. I’ll likely get started walking later this afternoon, once the weather passes. I’m in no rush, as I have an extra day here so I can take an *official* day off. We’ll see how I’m feeling.
My airbnb is likely the nicest I’ve had this whole trip. I’ve the entire second floor of a two-story home to myself, giving me plenty of room to stretch out. It’s the complete opposite of the cramped quarters of the Charleston hostel.
Last night before falling asleep, I watched the Florida Project, a film by Sean Baker. A friend recommended I watch prior to reaching Orlando (the next city on this walk), as did another guest in the hostel, so I took it as a sign. I’m so bad at watching movies as my attention often drifts, but this one had me the entire time. I’d highly recommend it. Bittersweet and touching.
Savannah, Georgia. Looking forward to it.
More tomorrow,
–Alex