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.

Further explorations of Quebec City

Another five hour day out'n'about. We started the day lolling about on the boardwalk in front of the grand Hotel Frontegnac. A beautiful opera singer was busking under the statue out front, and it was rather pleasant. Later when we returned a very talented gent was performing Sinatra, and was of a high calibre. We believe the local government must licence certain performers to play there, and timetable them, to ensure a consistently high standard.

I impress myself with my assumed knowledge sometimes. Later in the day, I said to my husband that I suspected the cheapest you'd get a room at this globally recognised hotel for would be $560 - $580 per night. When we got home, I looked it up on a few sites, and found the best price currently is 543$ Canadian, which is AUD $574! How close was I?

After a while we went up to Musee du Fort to watch the 'sound and light' show. It was a 20 minute show and cost us 22$. We found it very dated, confusing, and even boring at times. I almost feel asleep twice.  However, it did give us a much more vivid understanding of how strategically important Quebec City was and still is, and why the Americans wanted it so much. It also heightened my awareness of why Boston is still seen as a fierce rival, by both Montrealers and Quebecois folk.

Next we walked down the many steps to the area underneath the fortress walls, by the banks of the St Lawrence River. We meandered through many of the cobblestone laneways, along with countless other groups of tourists. It's very gimmicky down there, but the heritage buildings and shopfront presentations remain interesting to me. Laurie and I have a real soft spot for old wharfs, marine waterfronts and working port heritage. Whenever we arrive in a coastal city, it seems to be the very first place we go.

We decided we needed something to eat, so started looking for a decent spot, knowing that our chances of finding something worthwhile would be limited in such a tourist trap. Eventually we noticed a gorgeous and less populated street, so went down there and found a great old stone pub called 'Oncle Antoine.' We went into the dark, compelling, cave like interior to enquire about beers, and saw the quality of the french onion soup a hipster barman was bringing out for other customers, and that was it - We were in. We grabbed a table in the cobblestone laneway, ordered some beers, the soup and some nachos. This may sound pretty average, but my Goodness, when it arrived on our table, it was the best version of each dish we've ever had. We regret there was no prospect of trying their fondue (as we just can't eat everything on a menu!) We're sure it would have been exquisite. It was lovely sitting out there, in the gentle warmth, along with a couple of gay business men and some stylish Italian women carrying Prada handbags. It was a memorable experience.

Next we wandered the shopping lanes some more, with ice-cream cones in hand, and found a store where a woman made fresh, warm maple taffy, cooled it somewhat on a bed of ice, then wrapped it around a stick and gave it to our daughter for 2$. It was delicious gummy goo.

We returned back up to the old city fortress on a fernicular, then strolled the length of the boardwalk up there overlooking the river and the landscape at large. It's a tremendously wide wooden boardwalk, about 25 metres wide, I'd say. It's called Terrasse Dufferin. We then went into the grand Hotel Frontegnac to check out the internal courtyard and the main entrance areas. I had full, and long held, intentions of having a whisky sour at their stunning circular bar, overlooking the river, but unfortunately it does not open until later in the day.

Content with all that we'd seen and consumed, we called it a day, and came home for a siesta. I had dearly wanted and intended to go to the Musee National des Beaux Arts, further along through a large park, however luckily I checked before heading off there, only to find that it is closed until the end of June for refurbishment. I also wanted to visit the Musee Royale, but that's only open on weekends. No matter, it's such a picturesque city that just being here for 3 nights has been a great privilege. And now, we're off to have a gourmet pizza experience at Quebec City's most well reviewed 'unique pizza' restaurant, so we'll get to enjoy more walking along the cobbled streets, and down to the waterfront below. Definitely happy with the time we've had here. It's a seriously charming city to visit.

Our first day in old Quebec City

The very first thing we did yesterday was walk toward the fortified wall, at the end of our street, and stroll along for a while looking over the wharf area. We found that the tops of the walls are being replenished with new wooden slats, presumably to protect the ancient walls, but also to give them a nice looking capping. We only spent 5 hours sightseeing yesterday, as the hiking up and down slopes did us in early. Quebec is not excessively hilly, but as we left the walled city twice, once on each side, it did add considerably to our walking efforts, as the steeper ascents are all around the old city.

The first place we came across was an abandoned arsenal barracks, with huge fortress walls. It had minimal signage, and has fallen prey to disaffected youth and punk graffiti artists. It was an interesting site to check out. With a bit of TLC it could be converted into a historic site that more people visit, even if still of an unrestored nature. Having a cafe or small cultural centre at its heart, would enable greater maintenance of the general area. We've noticed that anything off the official tourist route here seems to be quite neglected, particularly with regard to basic weeding.

There's a cynicism here that is palpable. The older generation of Quebecois really loathe the tourists, and I sense that the Quebecois youth hold them in disdain too. It's understandable, I guess, as the poor city has had to prostitute its soul for this ongoing influx of people to bring in the cash. There are many mature age and retired Americans here, doing the predictable tourism type things, as well as Canadians, Italians, Japanese, and all cultures, with loads of money to spend on silly trinkets. The tourism model applied here seems very old-fashioned. It's twee. The vested interests that have grown up in support of that, particularly with regard to large luxury hotel chains, are powerful and pervasive.  More on that in some other forum... I think that's a whole feature article or academic paper in this. The point is there's a conspicuous gap in connection between the traditional residents of Old Quebec and the avalanche of tourists. I'm told this is not even tourist season, so I hate to think what it's like come July and August.

What we did mostly was walk all around the place, simply looking at things, admiring and photographing the local architecture and engaging in a bit of window-shopping. The only official tourism activity of note that we undertook was to visit the Observatoire de la Capitale. You go up to the 31st floor and enjoy a panoramic view of the beautiful cityscape of Montreal. The fire engine red rooftops are delightful, as are the shiny silver rooftops on the traditional bonnet style roof-tops. There's also a distinctive mid green. We walked past Parliament to get there, and some pleasant parks and gardens. Evertyhing is so green, and the trees are lovely. We took the advice of our host and had lunch at Chez Ashton, which he claims does the best poutine in town. It was delicious, but it's an extremely daggy fast food place full of teenagers, so not our normal style of eatery. The poutine is served in alfoil tins! I mean really...

For dinner we went to the other extreme, which was my preference, and that was to enjoy a fine dining experience at a foodie mecca. This will probably be the highest moment of our eating experiences for the whole trip. I'd booked us a table at Chez Boulay which specialises in Nordic influenced cuisine. It was extraordinary. Everything about it was top notch. This is an anniversary holiday after-all, so some special treats are justified.

The weather is incredibly changeable here; even more so than Montreal. Coming from Melbourne, Australia, we are used to having to prepare for most possibilities when leaving the house, but here it's out of control. Warm sunshine in the morning, then overcast, cloudy and pelting with rain, then clear again, then warm almost hot, then not, etcetera. And checking the official weather guides seems futile, as the forecasts change constantly, and I mean several times a day.

I've found it fascinating to note how many redheads there are here. In Montreal we only saw one other redhead in our entire week in the city. Here, they are everywhere and it's quite striking. I asked a redhead about it yesterday and she says its the Irish lineage here which is strong. At dinner last night we counted four or five other redheads in the restaurant, which for us in Australia is so uncommon. We're used to being a rarity. The redheads here even smile at us, or at least look upon us with interest. In Montreal we looked conspicuously foreign, and I sincerely felt that Montreallers thought us somehow uncouth. I admit this disapproving outlook was mostly directed toward me, because I dare to colour my hair.  I know the French prefer the natural look. I also suspect they think mature women should not draw attention to themselves, by using 'enhancing' colours. Oh well... As much as I love the French, the fact is I'm not French!