Charleston - a real knees up

En route to our final, fabulous hotel in Charleston, we stopped at the Boone Hall Plantation.  This was really rather disappointing apart from some pictures with Chris and Dan, so in the English way, we'll say no more about it, and move swiftly on.

Chris and Fiona, making the best of Boone Hall Plantation.

Our hosts, modeling the new style for the Autumn (or Fall)

In citrus colours, our older and larger models pose by the tree.

We now come to the most Southern of our accommodations, according to Chris and Dan - the astonishing Wentworth Mansion, which just screams for a Great Gatsby-style party.  It's truly lovely, filled with Tiffany glass and all things Victorian.

Worth a bob or two...original Tiffany glass, surviving even an earthquake in the last 1890s, apparently.

A small, humble room for two.

This sort of place simply makes you more gracious, more pleasant, and better looking. 

As a city, Charleston is much the same.  We walked past some of the lovely houses en route to the Battery, taking in St Michael's Church with more wonderful Tiffany glass.....

...the Post Office, which made ours in the UK look rather miserable in comparison....

...and the local courthouse which really was like something out of Bonanza.

...and Dan decided to show us his style as a prosecutor.

And I rest my case, m'lord....

For the country which practically invented advertising, some of the attractions are missing a trick.  For example, we went into the Hugenot Church which was lovely, but not particularly stunnning. When we started talking to one of the guides, he told us that the street on which the church was built was once all water.

"They used to call this the Church of the Tides, because the only way you could get here was in a boat at high tide," said the guide.  

How interesting was  this?? Why not mention it before? 

But then again, perhaps the congregation numbers indicate how effective the church has been at attracting followers. 

"How big was the congregation that came over from France?" we asked.

"About 500."

"And how big is it now?"

"A little under 500."

Ah. We smiled and went on our way.

The Hugenot church - doomed to obscurity by poor marketing.

Our final morning in Wentworth Mansions was spent in very leisurely fashion, sipping coffee and reading the papers and snapping photos of Victorian grandeur.

Not bad for an entrance, what?

After watching Kevin Spacey in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil we retired to the splendid comfort of our guest room with Dan and Chris. Tomorrow we fly home, to bore you all to death with tales of our trip.

Fried chicken for breakfast

If you'd said to me before this holiday that I'd enjoy fried chicken and waffles for breakfast, I would have chortled and walked away shaking my head. 

But actually, this was exactly what was served at the hotel this morning and both Fiona and I thought it was delicious. Thus fortified, we stepped out into the damp Savannah morning to tour some houses, walk into some parks and generally get the feel of the place. 

There's no doubt Savannah has atmosphere in buckets. Gracious houses, anyone?

Or spooky trees?

Our first house was the Mercer House, from the novel Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. I have no photos (not allowed), but safe to say it was elegant, with high ceilings and 'stuff' of all types, as the chap who pulled together the restoration was a 'collector'.  

The tour guide was a little coy about 'the incident' which is the central theme of the book (the murder of a gay man), but the back of the book looks a hoot.

So tomorrow, onto Charleston, more fried food than you can shake a stick at (another English expression to confuse our lovely American friends) and the final bit of our trip.

Savannah

We didn't have the best wake up call this morning - the fire alarm went off. It was swiftly followed by the fire engine.  So Lorraine - this is just for you.

Possibly as hacked off as we were at the early false alarm - Jekyll Island's finest

We packed, ate breakfast and then started on the Georgia Scenic route to Savannah, a largely uneventful trip as most things appear to be closed on Mondays. But we took it slowly and drove what appeared to be miles along forest roads next to swampland which stretched as far as the eye can see.

We arrived in Savannah slightly before 3pm, to find Chris and Dan already settled in to what is a truly gracious B&B.

Chris and Dan in the Drawing Room....

The view onto Lafayette Square

We saw the Cathedral and then ate some Southern cookin' in an early dinner at Paula Deen (dip it in butter and then fry it, apparently. Oh, and say 'Y'all" a lot).  

We then joined a ghost tour of Savannah, hilarious for lots of reasons, but primarily because the man taking it was so serious about the 'evidence' which he brought to illuminate his stories. 

This was a lot of crackly tape recordings where ghosts spoke to him and his colleages, and photos which reminded me strongly of those declaring that the Loch Ness monster was alive and well.

It was enjoyable to walk around the city, but we were also treated to a lightning storm while we walked, which seemed appropriate given the ghosties & ghoulies we were being introduced to. No rain - that comes tomorrow, apparently, but sheet lightning flashing across the sky.

Fabulous. We returned to the hotel to partake of port (how very civilised) before bed.

Turtles and beaches and Tiffany glass

Our first day proper on Jekyll Island and we began with the item at the top of Fiona's list - the Georgia Sea Turtle Rescue Centre.  

Volunteers and scientists collect turtles in distress (being run over by boats and cars, that would distress you, right?) and where they can, nurse them back to health for release into the wild, or failing that, arrange for them to go into aquariums. 

The description of the patients in the centre was given by Meghan, and fabulous she was too, without the dreadful sing-songy drone you can get from people who've told the same story too many times.

The black patch is a weight to help Fred (not his real name) rebalance 

This chap had his shell broken by some idiot in a boat running over him....

Baby terrapins deciding what they want to be when they grow up.

We learned of the diseases - possiby if not man-made, then man-encouraged - that threaten turtles, which include some pretty unpleasant fungal diseases as if being run over, hunted and eaten wasn't enough to contend with.  We also saw the amount of plastic that your average turtle can injest if humans throw it into the water, and what global warming is doing to a species where the sex of a turtle is influenced by temperature rather than genes....

Amongst all the doom and gloom, there are still some sparks of light.  Turtle populations are recovering (slowly) following the legislation has been passed to protect them. And if all else fails, America will add water to the problem and voila!

We're not making this up.....

After this highly satisfying morning, we trotted over to the Jekyll Island Club Hotel, which once played host to folks like Pullitzer, the Vanderbilts, the Rockefellers, J P Morgan, Mr Goodyear (of tyres fame) and where the Federal Reserve was launched.

 

Karen swore she'd sit on a porch in a rocking chair on this holiday.

Fiona, plotting our next moves.

We then headed to the chapel to look at and illegally photograph the glorious Tiffany windows, and then headed out to the aptly-named Driftwood Beach, which looked like a place just begging for a Vogue photoshoot.

We think that someone's nicked the melting clock.

And then it was a dash to the other end of the Island for the sunset, where we took way too many mediocre pictures.  So we'll just show you a couple here...

Coming soon to a postcard near you.

Then, grubby and sticky from suntan lotion and sea spray, we ate at the wonderful Latitude 31, which was a place after our own heart.

Dancing is encouraged. Singing, not so much.

And so, as Mr Pepys says, to bed.  Tomorrow, we meet Dan and Chris in Savannah.

A quick post-script

You can't be in the South and not eat grits.  Apparently.  So at dinner at The Driftwood Bistro, we both ordered fried green tomatos and Fiona ordered wild shrimps and grits.

Fried green tomatoes are just as calorific as they sound....

We're on holiday, this is our excuse and we're sticking to it.

When we got back to the hotel, as our room overlooks the ocean, we did a bit of star gazing with the binoculars (spectacular) and just before we went to bed, Karen poked her head out on to the balcony, to see the biggest, yellowest moon ever. 

Seeing as we're not NASA and don't have the Hubble telescope to hand, you'll just have to take our word for it.

 We know it doesn't look much, but honest - the moon was huge and made of cheese....

Baked goods and the kindness of strangers

We left the charming B&B (At Journey's End) fortified by another of Laura's lovely breakfasts (a Hallow'een theme, see picture) and a couple of freshly-baked cookies for the road.  

Now come on! This is a GHOST and a PUMPKIN!

We took the St John's River Ferry (across, weirdly, the St John's River) and scanned the skies for the re-scheduled Atlas V launch, but either we were looking in the wrong direction (unlikely, as Fiona was navigating) or the cloud was too low and we saw nothing. 

Never mind, we'll come back for Orion....

We did however, see a lot of pelicans on the ferry, so here's a picture.

Who needs to fly? I have my own boat.

So we headed along the A1A coastal road, catching glimpses of the sea and eventually, we ran out of road. We stopped at the brilliantly named Sandy Bottom Cafe at Fernandina Beach to refuel and then decided we'd take a walk along the beach. 

We stopped at beach entrance 27 and chatted casually to a man hanging off his balcony. He seemed very interested that we were from the UK and said he'd sailed across the Atlantic for the Queen's Silver Jubilee. We were suitably impressed and went for our walk.

Fiona, making a quick gettaway from the incoming tide.

Fernandina Beach.  I hear London is foggy.....

However, our chap on the balcony wasn't finished with us. As we approached the car, he introduced his wife (presumably to demonstrate he wasn't an axe-murderer) and asked us if we'd like a cup of tea.

To Fiona's slight consternation, Karen accepted with alacrity (anything for tea!) and we went up to their condo, where we were told all about Ed's adventures sailing single-handedly across the Atlantic, and shown copies of the book that he and his wife Fran wrote after the trip.

They were both charming, chatty and - unusually for Americans* - made a damn fine cup of tea. Here they are with Fiona:

Frankly, when they offered us the guest book to sign, we KNEW they weren't axe-murderers....

About 35 minutes later, we were on our way with an invitation to write.  Certainly, they'll be on Karen's Christmas card list.

*This is of course, not counting Mr Chris Schmaltz and Mr Dan Grossman, who have tea making down to a fine art.