Explorations of Denver...

Our day started well. We had a delicious fast breakfast at our Art Hotel where we could see the Rockies from our breakfast table. L & J were like "Wow" whereas I just thought they looked almost exactly like the Adelaide Hills. J actually rolled her eyes when I said that. Hello adolescence!!!

The Art Hotel gave us a courtesy car ride to Union Station to meet our tour guides (which we'd organised independently, so this was good of them). Our two absolutely delightful 'docents' (which means volunteer guides) from the Denver Historical Society were there at the flagpole to meet us with warmth, enthusiasm and professionalism. Diane and Bobbie wore logo'd polo shirts and co-hosted our tour. We were the only ones on it, so we had the best experience. This was a heritage architecture tour of the LoDo District surrounding Union Station, opened in 1881. It was the hub of the new railway push into the Western Frontier, and the wealth of well constructed and supremely sturdy warehouses and distribution centres in the area is quite extraordinary.

Within ten minutes of starting the 90 minute tour our guides had completely transformed our understanding of what we were looking at. The streetscapes all around us came to life in a new way. Once we got a grasp of their architectural vernacular, and their purpose, it was terrifically exciting. We learned so much, about brick work, in particular, and we greatly enjoyed it. I was particularly interested to find similarities in appreciation of aspects of built heritage such as 'Ghost Signs' which we in Ballarat are also developing a keener interest in recently, or at least more explicitly than previously.

Denver is an amazing city. It's a mile above sea level, which explains my tight chest and my being short of breath - I was pretty worried last night and this morning, but once the women explained it to me, I'm like, "Oh, phew... So I'm not about to have a heart attack." Turns out J was having the same thoughts. And it's hot and dry here. It was 37 degrees today, in the shade, but felt more like 47. Big, bright blue skies and a sense of unique conditions. People here are pretty zesty. It's a city with a pulse. That much I've worked out. Locals here are mad keen on scooter riding, which struck me as very hip. There are scooters everywhere you look!

Anyway, we toured the oldest hotel in Denver, the Oxford, and had a private peek at their hyper Art Deco Cruise Room Bar, shaped like a wine bottle, illuminated in watermelon pink light, with all the trimmings, including booths, circular bar stools in chrome and a jukebox. It opened the very day after prohibition ended in America, and is the most authentic, kick-arse, cool bar I have ever seen in my life, with music to match. 

After the tour ended we felt compelled to visit a few of the places the women had pointed out on the tour. This included the iconic store Rockmount Ranch Wear, owned by a man named Papa Jack.  He actually invented those press dud buttons everyone had on their western shirts in the 1970s.  We spent about 30 minutes in there admiring everything and learning all about the legacy of the man who lived to be 107. This was the best cowboy and cowgal store imaginable.

We went back to the main wooden clad and general bar area of the Oxford, with it's ornate, gold pressed metal ceiling, for refreshments and a light bite to eat, because air conditioning is important to experience whenever possible. It was impossibly hot outside. I had a cocktail called a 'Kentucky Smash' and shared some lobster nuggets with J. Both items were utterly delicious. We figured it was our last (mini) meal in America. After that we visited the bookstore we saw on our tour called the Tattered Cover. That was an absolute barn, and so ambient with dark wooden shelves and lush, soft chocolate leather lounge chairs. The aesthetic of Denver is highly appealing to us.

I realised by mid afternoon, that I would really love to comeback here and spent four nights, so I can visit all the museums and galleries, and do a whole lot more. I'd stay AirBnB and plan it really carefully, but regardless of whether or not that ever happens, I am so glad we were able to come see and touch this place. It's one of America's the fastest growing cities.

We made sure we checked out Larimer Sqaure before we left, and then we grabbed the free shuttle bus all the way down 16th Street, to Broadway. That was eleven big city blocks we did not have to walk. Next we walked just four blocks across to 12th Street, past the grand civic square, with monumentally impressive state buildings at each end of the square. That was populated mostly by the homeless, and therefore not frequented by many other people. Just as we got to our mirrored Art Hotel, ready to take the private limo service we'd booked (it's only $4 dearer than a taxi, and so much nicer) I saw the sign that made me feel ill. 

The Colorado History Museum which looks and sounds superb in all dimensions, especially re digital  and interactive displays, was directly opposite our Hotel and  open all day!!! I sware I checked the opening days of at least four or five museums I wanted to visit and they were all closed on Mondays. And now, having left downtown Denver at 3.30pm to be fully on time for our flights home to Melbourne, Australia, our departing flight was delayed nine times, and is now scheduled to fly at 12.30am, arriving in Los Angeles two hours later. So we've missed our international flight home, and we will have spent 8.5 hours today at the Airport. So I could have gone to the Colorado History Museum after-all!!!  Growl.

Dipping into Denver...

This morning we bid farewell to beautiful Boston, and grabbed a cab to the Airport with a nice Muslim driver.  Were pleased with our time in Boston and especially with how comfortable Boston felt. I really did not expect it to be so warm, in all senses of the word.

Upon checking in we found our flight had been delayed, again. Originally I booked this particular flight because I wanted to leave at 10am and arrive by midday (thanks to time changes) so as to create a full afternoon to explore the art galleries of Denver Colorado. Most American galleries are closed on Mondays, but i figured so long as we had the Sunday, I could at least visit the one closest to our hotel, the Art Hotel. Right? Wrong. It was changed to 11am a few months ago, then 12 midday, now 1pm, and by the time all was said an done it had been delayed again, and we finally left at 1.45pm. Thanks United! No art gallery for me today.

For months I've wished I'd booked 3 nights in Denver to maximise the chance to check everything out. But the cost of changing my bargain priced tickets was insane, so we're stuck with what it is: one evening and most of tomorrow through until almost 4pm, when we need to leave for the airport again.  Still, it shaves 4 hours off the trip, which is worth it, rather than adding to the massive journey. Furthermore, if we had been flying to Melbourne tonight, we would have missed our onward connection, so would be pretty stressed by now. Have to just hope tomorrow's planned departure is on time. If not, we may get that Los Angeles stopover we'd contemplated after-all!

When we landed at Denver Airport, I expected to see the Rocky Mountain Ranges, but no. I was reticent to grab a cab, given how many complete clowns we've encountered when taking a random cab from the Airport, but Laurie thought it remained the best option.  We had a guy from Haiti or the Dominican Republic, wearing a Pork Pie hat. The Airport is way out in the middle of nowhere, but as we got closer to the city and entered the outskirts it all looked rough and rugged, and we saw several clusters of homeless people under bridges, in little parks and at the intersections.  One was holding a cardboard sign by the road side saying "Give me anything but watermelon."

We arrived at the Art Hotel by 6pm (which for us was 8pm Boston time, as we've gained two hours). Once we'd checked out our room, with it's 'city views', which doesn't mean much at all, we ate the complimentary nut mixes and all puzzled over how it could have taken ten whole hours to travel from Boston to Denver door to door.

This evening we had a couple of bevvies and some eats on the Terrace, and called that dinner. Had a great waitress. A major law firm were having a function on more than half of the Terrace area, so we had the benefit of enjoying their string sextet. We're pretty tired from all this travelling, and Laurie is looking forward to going home. This hotel seems perfect for one night. Doesn't seem 'arty' to us at all, but architecturally the externals are fairly post-modern and wild. As for the internals and general decor, however, it's just a simple, contemporary approach. I've only seen one artistic piece in the foyer - a sculpture of a horse - that's it. Well, that's not technically true. There are a few other pieces here and there and a few paintings on the walls in public areas. There is also a catalogue style booklet outlining all of the art displayed (sparingly) throughout the hotel, which I presume is by well established artists. I haven't had time to read the detail on that just yet.

I've stayed at three 'Art Hotels' in Australia's Victoria; the Olsen, the Larwill and the Schaller, all part of the same chain (and completely different to this one obviously). I like them, and they are at least somewhat arty! I also find them very clean (partly because they're often in old hospitals - either that or they're quite new!) and respectful of everyone's privacy. The rooms are full of peppy and uplifting appointments, they serve excellent quality food, have good magazine and book areas, stylish lounge areas, complimentary jars of confectionary and generally speaking everyone who stays at them looks reasonably interesting. These are a commercial take on it all, but at least they have their heart visibly in the right place. That said, I've stayed at plenty of Arty Hotels, that are not labelled as such, in Sydney, Canberra and Wellington. We also stayed at Moira Mirka's Tolarno hotel in St Kilda a few times, and an early entry art hotel in East Berlin in 2001. Anyway... All I'm saying is that this here Denver hotel is great, but it has very little to do with promoting the arts in general!

Tomorrow we're off to explore Denver, so I look forward to reporting back on our findings.

Museum of Fine Arts Boston & Day Trip to Salem

Having been here four days now, J and I can confirm that Bostonians bump into each other a lot. The first day I was here I thought it must be me, bowling into people, slamming hips and shoulders with others, but then on reflection it struck me that I'm not ordinarily clumsy, and furthermore, when I've said sorry, they've not said anything in response, or been at all concerned by the collision. It's like they didn't notice it at all. Again today, at the MFA (Museum of Fine Arts) people were bumping into J & I like we were skittles. So anyway, having discussed it, we now confirm this must simply be the Bostonian way.

This morning we spent a few hours at the MFA, inspecting the permanent collection of contemporary art and photography, plus the feature exhibition, 'Mega-Cities Asia'. It was great. After that we walked along the pathway beside the Fenway to Back Bay and along the main shopping strip which is  Newbury Street. The rows of six story townhouses throughout this area are awesome. We stopped for lunch at Sonsie's in the cafe area, and shared a 'white' pizza with duck bacon, dried cherries, spring onion and goats cheese. I had a lemongrass gimlet, and it was divine. Cocktails are so exxie in Australia that I never have them, so I've been enjoying having the occasional one while here.

We then visited a comic superstore for J, and thereafter navigated our way through the Boston Botanic Gardens which was alive with families, wedding parties and bursting with so much joie de vivre I felt like we could have been on the film set of  the film 'Enchanted', especially with all those white swan driven gondolas they have floating around on the lake. It was the perfect temperature with a soft breeze, and the whole walk home from the MFA was just lovely.

Yesterday we took a fast ferry up to Salem, as a return day trip. It only took us 15 minutes to walk to the Wharf, and an hour on the ferry flew past, as the captain gave a great narration the whole way there. The weather was a clear calm 28 degrees with big blue sky above, and it was a pleasant day out. Salem is a sweet township, and we found two open gardens, as well as the main heritage house streets (Chestnut for upmarket and Essex for mainstream living) and really enjoyed the architecture. We had a relaxing lunch up on the verandah of a great seafood restaurant by the marina. It felt like a holiday, which after-all is what this is meant to be. After that we checked out the very old cemetery, and the main downtown mall and a few shops. L & J had to find the statue of actress Elizabeth Montgomery and pose with her. We're all great fans of the original Bewitched series. J also enjoyed the work of a giant bubble blower in the downtown mall. We did lots of little things in old Salem town.

Overall, I was a bit disappointed that the witchy stuff has been commercialised every which way, and is tacky tourism orientated, but overall that stuff doesn't taint the beauty of this coastal township. If I'd spent the time doing my research into exactly which museums to go to, we would have done better on some level, but if that was the case then we would have needed more time. We did visit one 'so called' Museum, but it was far too 'lowest common denominator' for us. I felt it had a place (in the 1970s). We've noticed this a couple of times here, where first in museums which were innovative in the 70s or 80s are now tired and dated, but no-one's managed to tell the management. It's a bit sad.

We'd booked to come back on the 4pm ferry, but would have needed to come home on the 7pm ferry if we'd wanted to see all the things we really should have seen. I kind of think we needed those extra 3 hours, but the fact is we were quite tired on the way home as it was. Of the sixty people on the ferry with us, I counted ten of them sound asleep on the journey back. All that walking in the sun... I felt like sleeping too, but don't like to do that in public, so I went out on the deck and got some major wind in my hair instead. Maybe the answer is to overnight in Salem.

This evening, our gal wanted a quiet night in, so as an absolute first, we agreed to pop out for an hour or two, while she sat at home in our condo, with the door locked. We went to a nearby foodie bar called 'The Merchant' and had two bevvies each and delicious appetizers: Mussels for L and Shrimps for Moi. It's nice to grab some grown-up time on occasion. Tonight's our last night in Boston, so it did merit a couple of cocktails. We do not get to go overseas often, but when we do, we believe we go to seriously great places, and we do treasure our time away:  Quality, not quantity.

Day Trip to Harvard...

Yesterday at about 3pm we caught the train to Harvard. As soon as we came up for air, it was apparent that we were there. We entered via the main front gates, and went first to Harvard Yard. It was pleasant, but my first impressions were much less 'wow' than I would have anticipated. It's a surprisingly approachable place, at least until you attempt to enter any of the buildings...

There was no signage for anything, no 'you are here' maps and no information officers. From 3.15pm onwards we started asking security staff at the various entrances to discipline buildings, because they seemed the only human faces we could find, yet of course none of them knew anything at all about guided tours, despite the fact that the University offers four to five free guided group tours every day of the year, except Christmas Day... So we dashed from building to building, hoping for a clue or a sign of where this tour started. It was all confirmed as real online, but on the ground, there was no sign of it at all, and certainly no knowledge or awareness of it.

On the steps of a building near an exit by the rear road, we came across a slightly distressed British woman in the same situation, though she'd been circling the joint for over 45 mins already. We joined forces with her and together we went beyond the old walls of the University, down a non-descript private enterprise style street, and at the very end, opposite a fast food mall we made a lucky find: the Harvard University Information Office, barely signed at all. I only recognised it because I've worked in the Higher Education industry for 18 years, and know how strangely bureaucratic these institutions can be, and how they completely lose sight of the obvious, some of the time, so I was alert to all possibilities, however unlikely. So anyway...

We did the one hour tour, with a lovely Afro-American performing arts student, Genevieve. It was really interesting, and our 12 year old was at the front of the tour group, along with three adolescent boys, the whole time - It was sweet to see how tremendously engaged they were. They were all so keen to learn. There was a hint of Harry Potter about it all, which added to the charm. We thoroughly enjoyed learning all about Harvard and it's history.

Afterwards we walked over to one of the main external plaza areas, as we'd made a reservation for dinner at a very cool, experimental 'food as art' sort of restaurant called Alden & Harlow. It was located in the raised basement of Brattle Hall. I had a 'Fashionably Late', stirred, and J had a 'Strawberry Fields' Mocktail. In the U.S. they do non-alcoholic bevvies terrifically well. The service was excellent, ambience perfect and the food was very high quality, of course, but particularly the buckwheat pasta. That just rocked. It was a very pleasant dining experience.

We caught the train home, and popped up out of the oldest subway station in America, the Parks station, on Boston Common, and walked up the hill to our hot little condo. We really love the way Boston Common is a smaller and more intimate version of Central Park in NYC. It's so great staying in this part of the city; the heart of Boston. Having wanted to come here all of my conscious life, it does not disappoint. It's such a walkable city and very manageable for visitors. I think we need one more day here than we actually have, but never mind...

America's first city is a very special place to be, despite the incredibly uneven and dangerous paving all across the city, and the inexplicable proliferation of Dunkin' Donut stores in all sorts of otherwise pristine heritage places...

Boston's North End and a bit on MIT...

This morning we took our trolley bus over to North End to seek out Paul Revere's house. This seemingly simple goal took us well over one hour, and given that by then we still had not located it we decided to grab an early lunch in Little Italy. When we stopped to consult one of our many useless maps, we were hustled by a Tibetan monk in orange robes wearing sneakers and a dirty beige sunhat. I've been hustled by many people over the years, but never anyone purporting to be Buddhist, so this came as a disappointment to me.

Soon after entering Little Italy's main eat-street, North Street, we were attracted to a high quality 'hole in the wall' sandwich bar that was down a long 900mm narrow laneway and around a corner. Extraordinary food, with moist salami and huge vats of giant bocconcini, and octopus and stuffed peppers swimming in olive oil. But nowhere decent to sit, other than an outdoor patio in the burning sun, so that's where we had to go. Luckily we only ordered two 'sandwiches' between us, as it turned out they were 12 inch long baguettes. We sat there, eating our delicious lunch, while the skin on our shoulders sizzled. There was nothing we could do. All the sunblock in the world could only take the edge off it.

Next we resumed our search for Paul Revere's House, and did circles of a few blocks, before it dawned on us where it might be. Just as I was about to turn back and give up on the street I thought was absolutely it, Laurie encouraged me to go up a bit further. Hey presto! It was just around the bend. Paul Revere was associated with the sons of liberty and is the hero of the American Revolution.  The house he lived his life in, with his two concurrent wives and 16 children, was built in 1680 and is the oldest surviving house in Boston Central, and the only example of 17th century domestic architecture in the city. I found it profoundly interesting. It's been carefully presented since 1908 as a partly preserved and partly restored showcase of life in the years soon after it's creation. Every room has (at least) four walls and they all go off at irregular angles, and the floors creak and heave like an old tub at sea.  I really liked it.

Out in the side yard again, just when my loved ones thought we were good to go, I announced the great news: Another heritage house just next door... Boston's oldest surviving brick home, built 1711, the Pierce/Hichborn House.  I expressed an interest and they sent the curator straight over to give us a private guided tour for $2 each. It was really good, and I must write and thank Eileen.

Thereafter we returned to explore some backstreets full of Italian foodie places, hoping to locate a pastry shop that made decent cannoli's. We found Bova's Bakery, a huge corner pastry store that had function sized quantities of dozens and dozens of different types of sweet pastries. If they really move that much stock each day, they simply must be wholesalers to the hospitality industry. To devour our cannoli from a seated position, we walked up to the park that sits over the underground expressways. This whole grassed and treed area, with its walkways and shallow water features is hailed as a great urban success story for the city and its liveability. It's reduced air and noise pollution dramatically, given city workers a healthy environment to take breaks in, and cleared traffic congestion completely.

Then, we went underground to get a train. After taking a wrong changeover we had to backtrack a bit, but eventually we made our way to Kendall Station where we thought we'd find MIT (Massachusetts Institute of Technology). Upon arrival, we bought a horribly diluted iced coffee (that's the only type they know how to make here) and then promptly marched off in the wrong direction, found nothing at all, so decided it was far too hard, and that Harvard was more important. If only these places had street signage for newcomers!

Just as we got back to the Station, I realised I could see a whole lot of people buzzing about further up another long street. I strong armed my loved ones into traipsing up there, on the promise we'd just peek around only one place. That turned out to be the MIT Press Bookstore. Oh my Lord! This bookstore was ugly as sin from the outside, but an absolute treasure box inside. I had to buy two little books. How could I not? Their architectural and urban studies sections were sizeable. In fact, that's all I could see, so I was extremely happy.

We then returned to the 'outward bound' station entry, and continued on to Harvard. More on that later...

Beacon Hill and Beautiful Boston

We spent all day and night Tuesday in transit, despite only travelling from Savannah, Georgia to Boston, Massachusetts. It's a long and tedious story, so suffice to say that after nearly 12 hours in transit, we found ourselves at the luggage carousel in Boston at Midnight.

We grabbed a taxi, and again destiny dealt us an utter idiot as a driver. Having hurled our bags into the back of his car with a violence that disturbed me, our driver then claimed to not know of Beacon Street, Beacon Hill. I opened the door while the car was taking its first corner and threatened to disembark there and then. For him to state that he didn't know how to get to Beacon Street is equivalent to a Sydney taxi driver saying he doesn't know where Circular Quay is, or a Melbourne driver not knowing where Federation Square is. It's bloody ridiculous. In any case, he suddenly remembered that he had heard of Beacon Street after-all, and in fact knew the shortest route there possible. Incidentally we are staying right next door to the Massachusetts State House, with it's great gold dome and grand estate. We can see the gate to the House of Representatives from our bedroom's bay window, and the security guards can see me too!

Our condo is very old money, with ghastly salmon pink walls, highly ornate fretwork, walnut dressers and chandeliers. I feel like we should be wearing 1700s wigs and full period costume with white stockings while here. It reminds me of New York's Diamond District, where we stayed for three nights in a sprawling old hotel that had seen better days, but remained loved by all the oldies (the Roosevelt.) We even have a door-person, which is lovely, though it makes me feel like we must be living in a bank.

Yesterday, we ventured out to the Boston Public Market first up to have breakfast. Laurie and I chose Jewish, while J went French. The Market itself was too clinical, contrived and showy - Presumably due to the exorbitant rents. Thereafter we explored the King's Church Grave Yard, which dates back to the 1700s and hosts Boston's first Governor. We then went inside the Church, which was really something different. Each family had their own walled booth, like sheep pens, but with red satin walls, velvet seating and black stands for four brollies.

As we emerged from this peculiar church, there was a sudden summer shower, so we dashed up to our street intending to get cardigans and a brollie, but by the time we reached our building (a matter of minutes) it had all passed and it was warm again.

We then decided we needed an overview of the city, so we descended into the Boston Common in search of the visitor centre. Found that and booked a City Trolley Tour which does a one hour loop of Boston, and is the best value. $16 each for us and $6 for J.  We can use it for two consecutive days. We had the best driver and guide ever. He was so informative and highly entertaining. Had a voice exactly like Phil's Father from Modern Family. We did the full one hour loop (I could have gone again), then went back to Boston Common coz J had decided she had to buy a sweater (partly because it had turned cold and windy again). Shortly thereafter it was warm again, so I suggested we share a pizza slice and a fresh lemonade in the park. We did that, along with a squirrel friend for company.

Next we ascended the hill toward Joy Street and began our amazing walking tour of the whole heritage rich Beacon Hill area. We loved it. Acorn Street was magic. Toward the very end of our walking expedition we came across an authentic old liquor and convenience store which immediately reminded me of Sydney's Eastern suburbs (where I lived for nine years). There's something very special about the crustiness of these old stores. Yet the nearby square where John Kerry (U.S. secretary of state) lives is premium. After all those hills and cobblestones, and all that architectural appreciation I was suddenly utterly exhausted, so we had to trek home. We cooked a meal in, as we were still weary from our crazy long day travelling via Chicago, and spent the evening watching re-runs of Seinfeld and the Big Bang Theory.

Sultry and seductive Savannah

We're staying in a very comfortable two story wooden heritage home just one block from Forsyth Park.  It sits in a picturesque, tree-lined street, and gives us a really good idea of what it might be like to actually live here. The very first thing we noticed about the historic district of Savannah is that it’s squirrel central. J thinks they're the cutest things, and they are. This city is pack jammed full of crepe myrtles with fuscia pink flowers and loads and loads of live oak trees: Heavenly.

Yesterday morning we went straight out to buy coffee, as this is the first AirBnB we've stayed at that does not supply it. Fortunately there’s a coffee bean providore and café just a few blocks away, facing the lower end of Forsyth Park. It’s a hippy trippy sort of place, and a bit too feral for me frankly. The crowd there reminded me of the scene in Newtown & Enmore in Sydney. You’re expected to half do your own dishes, which I found revolting. I felt this put a certain tarnished edge on our first impressions of Savannah, which wasn't necessarily a fair representation.

J & I had oatmeal with pecans and cranberries for brekkie, and my hub had a cheese and egg croissant. Being seated by the window, we noticed that lots of people had cute dogs. Another cool thing about the place was that they gave my hub a trophy (as an order token) when he came back to our bench by the window. I thought that was hilarious, given it was Father's Day in the U.S. yesterday. It must have been a trophy store before it was a café, coz when I looked up high I saw dozens of old 1970s trophies up on the mezzanine which they were using as junk storage.

We walked through part of Forsyth Park, which was lovely. It’s been a dream of mine to come here for twenty years now. The whole park, although large, is quite a bit smaller overall than I imagined. Next we grabbed our rental car and drove downtown to visit the First African Baptist Church on Franklin Square. Yes, believe it or not, we went to Church! Just for a look, because we’ve always wanted to witness the place that gospel came from and the blues grew out of. It was a big deal for me to get my hub in there. He’s 54 and says he would have been 7 when he last went to an actual service, other than for a wedding or funeral. I was about 12. We stayed about half an hour, just listening and watching. Heard two great songs, and found it entertaining listening to the preacher for a while, and observing the congregation, but then we had to leave. It was special though and one of those boxes in life we’ve now ticked.

Next we walked around a bit, through the City Market to Ellis Square and then over to Telfair Square. This section feels very ‘downtown’ and it’s OK, but it’s not that special, so we drove in search of a supermarket, found one and bought ourselves lunch to eat in, so as to save money. The funniest thing is that every time Laurie buys wine, he gets asked for ID. He’s 54!!! We’ve asked around and it’s a Low Country thing – Everyone get’s asked – ‘It’s the law’… When you leave a store, people say things to us like "Y'all be blessed." Classic.

J was asking why the only music on the radio is either country, reggae or God Rock, and I had to say that’s because that’s where we are… We discovered another category this afternoon ‘70s Guitar’.. .They love old rockers here. So much more to add about our adventures at Bonaventure Cemetery yesterday, on our completely absorbing 2.5 hour guided tour, which I really need to write a small essay on. It was way beyond impressive.

Then there were all of our adventures today, which began with us jumping on the free bus downtown, which poor locals seem to use. We had brunch at a great eatery on Bay Street, the walked home, as per our plan, via as many city parks as we could squeeze into the two hour time allowance. We walked from city square to city square, zigzagging in fact, all the way trying to work out which ones were our favourites. I chose a first and a second, but with so many to choose from… The fact is they are all good in their own way, if only by virtue of the fact that they are there – The lungs of this little city. It’s so wonderful. On our way we explored the oldest cemetery in Savannah, the Colonial, which was rather lovely, and a few blocks on we came across a gourmet food mini-mart as well as a very impressive bookstore. We purchased several items at each stop.


We absolutely loved visiting Charleston, in all aspects. It's very grown up, polished and pretty. However, the wealth of public parks in Savannah really do it for us. It's a highly seductive lifestyle city.  Having spent three nights in both Charleston and Savannah, that is the minimum we would recommend, but it was adequate. If I had my time again, within the same budget, I would probably add in one night in Beaufort, in-between these two big cities, just to take the heat off, on a whole lot of levels.

This afternoon my loved ones wanted to go to the beach, so we asked around and found out where the locals go. We were told North Beach of Tybee Island, 40 minutes away. Today it was 26 degrees in the water, apparently. Me? I spent my time on a wooden beach swing, and after half an hour there in the bold sun, I went to a communal wooden rotunda for a short while, and then finally found myself some privacy in the shade on the verandah of a coastal heritage museum called 'Summer Cottage', where I could peruse Architectural digest without glare.

After that, we went to a rough edged place called the 'Crab Shack', which my loved ones enjoyed immensely. Reminded me of Australia's Top End. Not quite my scene, but it was memorable, and I was there for them. It's such a relaxed place overall, I really didn't mind the side trip.

From South Carolina to Georgia...

I haven’t had time to write about anything over the past two nights, as we’ve been too busy trying to maximise our limited time in Charleston. Such a charming city and we really needed seven nights there, rather than just three, but none-the-less, we were very fortunate to have the time we’ve had.

There’s a lot to write about with regard to what we experienced during our two full days and nights in Charleston (remembering that we arrived in very late on night one), but in brief... we packed in quite a lot: three fascinating guided tours of grand historic homes (Nathanial Russell House, Edmonston-Alston House & Aiken-Rhett House), a three hour foodie (and architectural) tour of six gourmet providores, a city history tour by horse and cart, independent wanderings around the Battery, private art galleries and through the city craft markets, brunch at the acclaimed Hominy Grill, plus a visit to a twenty-somethings' Oyster & Beer Bar. Utterly amazing architecture everywhere – a total visual overload for history lovers like us.

Yesterday was the one year anniversary of the horrific death of 9 people in the church service massacre and commemorations were held all over. This city's people are proud and resilient, surviving civil war, financial ruin, earthquakes and hurricanes. What has really impressed me is their considered and serious approach to preservation and restoration. They’ve had one Mayor for forty years, and by all reports he has enabled and nurtured Charleston to become the successful heritage tourism city it is today, in terms of a balanced approach that is appropriate and tempered. There’s so much more to write about Charleston, but I think I’ll need to do that in a formal article write-up or two or three or four, for publication.

This morning we packed up our stuff, and drove into town hoping to get a table at Poogin’s Porch for the best shrimp and grits, but there was a 55 minute wait, which we couldn’t afford, so as we’d parked the car very close to the ‘Fast and French’ (an indie place we visited on the foodie tour) we popped in there for croissants and café cream instead (which was plunger coffee with vanilla ice-cream - a much weaker version of what we in Australia would call Affogato – Italian espresso with ice-cream).

We then left Charleston to visit two plantations, which involved driving over a bridge and then through a residential suburb called west Ashley. It seemed a reasonably nice middle class area with new heritage style homes on big blocks, and a fairly black neighbourhood, which makes sense given the proximity to the places where multiple generations of Afro-Americans lived for so long.

We went to Drayton Hall first, which was on my ‘must-see’ list, as an example of an unrestored house and property. It was well worthwhile. We looked around the beautiful grounds for half an hour, then did a one hour guided group tour of the house.  Next we went 4 miles up the road to visit Middleton Place, which was on my ‘we probably won’t have time’ list, as it’s absolutely huge and there are 5 different types of tours included in the entry fee, so you could definitely spend a full day there. The gardens are the most extensive and oldest planned gardens in the U.S. It was a working plantation and the outbuildings and livestock areas are the most magnificent I have ever seen. The gardens make our Paul Bangay Gardens (superb as they are) in Victoria, look like modest beginner gardens. We spent an hour or so self-touring the property, the extensive camellia gardens, the many lakes and waterways, the enormous octagonal garden and so on and so forth. It was all huge.

Unfortunately, the next (one hour) house tour didn’t start til around the time we’d planned to head off, so we could not do that. Still, it’s pleasing to me that we had the opportunity to view this extraordinary plantation, and also view Eliza’s House and see the slaves’ Chapel. I would dearly love to have done the African connections tours at both properties, but timing wise we just could not do it. Given how grumpy J was about the whole idea of human slavery, I doubt she'd have let me do it anyway. She was quite annoyed that we'd paid 'the owners' money to go into these plantations. The larger value of historic social memory, for multiple communities and for various reasons, is a bit lost on her as yet.

Next we found our way back to highway 17 and drove through into the 'low country' swamplands to Beaufort, which was a 25 minute (each way) diversion off the main freeway. I’ve been looking forward to visiting the township as it’s where ‘The Big Chill’ was filmed in 1983. We got into Beaufort at 4.45pm, with a rather frazzled driver, as he’d been concentrating terribly hard on staying on the right side of the road in all the traffic. We managed to find a park on the main tourist oriented Bay Street, and dash into the Visitor Information Centre five minutes before it closed. It was inside some sort of military fortress that looked mock Medieval. I really should have planned an overnighter here, because there's historic tours, a museum and its a chilled out sort if place to be, with a curious ambience.

We then went straight toward the waterfront in the historic part of town, and found Plums, which is the main eatery everyone recommends on Trip Adviser. There we spent over 90 minutes, enjoying what was effectively both lunch and dinner, involving dishes we’ve wanted to try all our lives. For Laurie that was gumbo. For me that was fried oysters. J had seared Cajun shrimps for starters. It was delicious. For a second round of ‘starters’ (which we call entrée in Australia) Laurie had scallops on flavoursome Cajun rice, I had fried green tomatoes with crab meat, and J had a crab cake with salad. It was all utterly delicious and generous in size. It was everything we’d hoped it would be all these years, so that was a really great reward for all that rather stressy driving. Afterwards we walked along the waterfront, past a public concert for the Afro-American communities, the marina and then a short walk up the esplanade to view enormous mansions. We only had time to see half a dozen, but they all screamed ‘The Big Chill’ to me!

At 7ish we left town, via a supermarket to pick up some vino and rye bread, then drove straight to Savannah, in a race to beat nightfall. Just as we approached a big bridge leading into Savannah, we hit a stand-still, due to an incident on the bridge. We had about 70 or more cars ahead of us, and thought we were in real trouble, but when I got out and walked up to see if I could find out what was going on, a guy told me they were about to reopen the bridge. Phew! 

So before long, it was all about navigating through the city. Didn’t have much brain space to notice too much about the architecture, but being focused on the roads, my first impressions were that I really like the planned, grid style layout of Savannah with all the square and rectangular parks. It may sound unlikely, but it reminded me of Adelaide, in South Australia, where I grew up. We’re looking forward to checking it all out tomorrow. We got an easy park directly opposite our AirBnB place, and opened the front door at 8.45pm, just as last light was disappearing: Mission accomplished!

Transit trials and tribulations...

Big day of travel and transit. We’d booked a taxi to collect us outside our front door at 10am and take us to Quebec City Airport for our flight to the U.S. It did not arrive. This, as it turns out, was the sign of things to come…

Instead of the taxi driver we needed, some people from Coober Pedy in South Australia happened along our rue, and were delighted to hear our accents. They were keen for a big chat, which would have been fine, except we were standing there on a slope propping up our roller wheeled luggage, so it didn’t slide down to the river, anxiously awaiting our taxi, and realizing that it was probably never coming. We gave up on the taxi and our new friends by 13 past and raced up the hill, and around a few corners, heading toward the main eat street.

Fortunately, I saw an empty taxi straight away, with its windows down, and hollered ‘Bonjour!’ and he took us. Lovely man, and quite a chatterbox. The only worrying thing about that journey was that he liked to take both hands off the wheel whenever he was explaining some new aspect of his life, which was constantly.

Spent an age at check-in, stuck behind just two cohorts: a heavily tattooed dude, with nostril and ear modifications via extreme piercing, and a skateboard, who the check-in girl was clearly seduced by (as he was taut and good looking with dreamy Quebecois eyes). She kept him talking so she could flirt overtly with him for 25 or so minutes (I am not kidding). At the other desk there was a young couple with some enormous sports vehicle (like a toboggan or something in a massive case), who were there in conversation with the desk woman for half an hour before we were served by the girl at the next desk, and they still there when we left. There were people behind us as well!

We got through customs and security and eventually boarded a tiny little plane (seating 72 people only) and were set to fly from Quebec City to New York. This would have been fabulous if I didn’t have to worry about whether or not I’d get a seat on our onward flight to Charleston. They’d given L & J a boarding pass each, but said there was no seat for me, despite the fact that I booked one year ago, and reconfirmed all flights before we left Australia.  Apparently United Airlines over-book most flights… It’s their ‘policy.’

My instinct told me I would most likely be OK, because I’m told they try to prioritise putting a family together, but there were no guarantees. I did not want to be left behind in NYC, and poor L & J certainly did not like the idea of going forth without me. I am the most experienced traveler here, by far, and the ring-leader. In addition, we’d booked a car to collect at the Airport in Charleston which Laurie was to bravely drive downtown, without a GPS, and I was meant to be his navigator and moral support. We therefore travelled to Newark rather nervously, with clenched teeth most of the way, trying our hardest to think positive thoughts… 

We spent the one-hour flight nibbling incredibly good but stinky aged cheese in flakey chunks, like you see the mice eating in classic American cartoons. We’d brought this with us from Montreal five or so days ago, and did not want to give it up! I’d also bought some hickory flavoured French Sticks with the last of our Canadian coins from the Airport Lounge. They were delicious, but only after we finished the pack did we note that they were packed full of trans fats (the worst kind, and the type we normally avoid). We were only given an orange juice on the flight, and a tiny packet of Asian crackers with wasabi peas, all of which I gave to Laurie. We flew over New Jersey coming into Newark, and I was lucky enough to have a full view along the length of Manhattan Island all the way while descending. The Statue of Liberty looked tiny from where I was sitting. I took a bunch of photos, but it was fairly smoggy, so they’re not particularly good photos.

We landed perfectly on time, and naively thought that 2 hours and 15 minutes until the next flight would be manageable and that we would even have time to grab some lunch. Not so. It took an age to get through immigration. We were in that queue was for 80 minutes. Luckily I had some Hazelnut chocolate wafers with me, so we could have a bit of a sugar boost to keep us standing during that most tedious period. J was fine with the time there – She used it to play Minecraft, and enjoyed creating new ponies and foals for her virtual collection.

Next we had to find a United customer service attendant to get me a seat allocation and a boarding pass, and she managed it – Hallelujah! We were then told we had to find our way to an entirely different terminal, using a transit shuttle. We had to go through security, which took an eon for L & J, but for some reason I was whisked through, popping out at least ten minutes ahead of them. Our boarding process at the gate was almost closed when they finally made it through. For a moment it looked like I could fly to Charleston, but they may not make it.

We all made it onto the plane, only to sit on the tarmac for 45 minutes, before they announced they didn’t have enough fuel and had to go back to the gate and get more. They then told us it was due to bad weather ahead and we’d been given a new and longer route to avoid the bad weather, hence the need for extra fuel. At that point I did not mind the delay because I was just thankful to be on the same flight as my family, and still thought we’d make it to Charleston in daylight, in order to drive our hire car.

After they’d refueled, we progressed toward the take-off area then stopped there for 30 minutes, after which they said there was a problem with one of our wing flaps. They’d go back to the terminal and get maintenance. Another twenty minutes later they decided it was irresolvable, and we all had to disembark. They said they’d try to find us a plane and seemed to be negotiating to bump all the people bound for Baltimore off their flight, in order to give that plane to us.

As it was 6pm by this stage, and we’d still not had lunch, I made a mad dash to the place with the shortest queue at Newark. That was ‘Aunt Anne’s’ Pretzel Dog Stand. I spent US$20 on pretzel dogs for the three of us and US$4.50 on a small Starbucks Vanilla Frappacino, while L & J spent US$10 on sour worms and Asian crackers. We had to because we knew we’d get nothing on the next plane, if and when we ever got that plane, and that the earliest we’d make it to our place would be about 9.45pm, and even then we’d have no food in the house. So there’s about AUD$50 blown on absolute junk food.

As we attempted to gobble our (surprisingly delicious) pretzel dogs, some nutcase women became fascinated by me, and intent on asking me question after question, during the exact four-minute period I was standing there trying to consume the pretzel dog as elegantly as possible, under the circumstances, while standing amid a crowd, clutching various bags and keeping an eye on the boarding gate action all at the same time.

Meanwhile, an American woman who was sitting with Laurie on the first flight, as we were not allowed to (!), told us that the car hire place would give our car away and mark us as a no-show, because we were unable to phone them and update them (this turned out not to be true – They said they hold it for 48 hours).  None-the-less, as Laurie had been very nervous about driving, we decided to just let the car go, and rebook one to collect on Friday afternoon. He does want to do it, and we absolutely need a car to travel on Saturday, and do stuff on Sunday, so that’s our new plan. I know he will feel very proud of himself once he gets the hang of it – Driving on the wrong side of the road, that is. At least Charleston is only a small city of 130,000 – Not that that much bigger than Ballarat really.

Anyway, following five hours at Newark, we got on our new plane, took off and flew loudly, at low altitude, all the way to Charleston, to avoid a storm overhead, somewhere up in the sky. I never thought I’d hear myself say that I was delighted to be leaving New York!

After a free white wine each and a can of Sprite for J (big whoopee UA – Thanks so much!), we landed in the sleepy South at 9pm. Remarkably our luggage joined us here, and then we thought we’d simply grab a cab…

There was only one cab there, and the driver wore a classic old fashioned black shiny cap and looked at least a decade older than Morgan Freeman in ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ at the end of the film… And so we embarked on what turned out to be the most excruciatingly slow and painful taxi ride we’ve ever taken. Our driver had no idea where anything was, no street directory, no GPS, no interest in looking at the THREE maps I’d printed, no ability to hear my directions, no clue at all, and he actually drove at 25 miles an hour on the Freeway, and about 10 miles on the backstreets, drove into low hanging branches in obscure and irrelevant parts of town, mumbled incomprehensible things, tried to do text messaging while driving in a four lane freeway, then went back the wrong way on the freeway almost to the Airport, was consistently abused by all passing drivers, continuously took wrong turns, and on and on it went. It was very trying...

Never, ever, ever have we experienced anything so beserk. I could write a whole short story on this experience. I guess I just have. Eventually, however, we got him to where we needed to be, which was perfectly clear to us all the way through, and we don’t even live in this country. The poor man said Charleston ‘keeps changing all the time’ which we very much doubt. The fact is this elderly gent should be given a pension, and not required to work at all, let alone be on the road. He looked so hurt when we insisted on taking our own luggage down the street to our place. We were kind and jolly about it, but we really couldn’t take a moment longer (as we’d already spent an hour with him, on what was meant to be a 20 minute drive).

All up, it’s been a 12.5 hour journey getting here, and it’s a very late night, after a crazy long day, with no dinner. But we are here safely now, together, with all our luggage, in our darling Southern cottage, and I’m happy with that. L & J are even watching a kid’s film on Netflix.