Charleston: The Holy City?

Founded by cronies of Charles II over 400 years ago, 'Charles Town' became the largest colonial city south of Philadelphia. Once a rich port where cotton, rice and a third of America's slaves passed through, Charleston retains a pre-Civil War atmosphere with porticoed homes lining cobbled streets that look out towards Fort Sumter guarding the harbour entrance.

The tidbits you can glean from Wikipedia! It never occurred to me that one of Charleston's nicknames is 'the Holy City' thanks to its abundance of churches and its historic religious tolerance which extended to the French Huguenots and the Jews.

Steeples are still the first things you see punctuating the skyline when approaching the city.

This was all a bit difficult to appreciate on our first afternoon in the city, when the skies were leaden grey and a chill wind blew over the choppy water. We had a brief walk around the historic core of the city. Eventually the rain drove us into a Tex-Mex placed called Moes where we warmed up with fajitas, hot salsa, guacamole and rice & beans. Cheap and filling, if not that fresh or tasty.

Time to find our accommodation for the evening, the 'Not So' Hostel. If you are young or young at heart, then this place is funky and cool. If you've never stayed at a hostel before or didn't enjoy your college days in the dorms, then you're in a for an eye-opener!


Initially we were alarmed at the state of the streets nearby, which verged on being a shanty town on the fringe of the city, but the neighbourhood improved immensely once we found the place. Still, we did not want to venture out after dark and it was too far to walk into the city centre.

The hostel sprawls across three traditional buildings that date from the 1840s which feature open verandahs, complete with rocking chairs. Each of the two floors had its own kitchen and bathroom. Our room was tiny and aside from a closet, leather bench and lamp table had no furniture or storage. The beds were single mattresses, lovely and firm. Free continental breakfast was on offer but didn't start till 9, which was far too late for us early risers.

We were up and out the door before 7 under a cloudless sky, the air filled with the sound of birds greeting the early morning sunshine. After parking at the visitors centre, we followed King Street, which reminded me of my university days in downtown Lawrence, Kansas with its similar mix of eateries, boutiques, bars, galleries and bookstores.

King Street has an eclectic range of building styles, from Georgian to High Victorian...

...and Art Deco.

Occasionally an ivy-covered alley beckoned us to glimpse into gardens filled with azaleas or a cemetery where tombstones were draped by tree boughs laden down by Spanish moss.

Crossing Broad Street, we entered the residential district which proved even more gorgeous.

We happened upon Rainbow Row, America's oldest Georgian terraces, each uniquely painted and adorned with ornate lamps.

We reached the Battery, the sea wall that protects the largest houses, many with multi-tiered colonnades of south-facing porches to best catch the breeze.

Turning down streets at random, we found perfect Georgian streetscapes with wooden shutters, flickering gas lamps and cobbled lanes where we half-expected horsedrawn carts to come trotting.

Instead we spotted window cleaners, deliverymen, dog walkers and a mobile pet grooming van catering to the whims of the city's elite.

One thing this city lacks is friendliness, with only one passerby nodding at us and asking 'how ya'll durrin?'. After awhile the non-stop beauty of the place turned into pompous grandiosity and the exclusivity became almost repulsive. It's a town where you can spend $80 on a T-shirt, but can't walk around the corner for a pint of milk.

One antidote to the snobbish atmosphere is the city market, which boasts local beers, hot sauces, photographs as well as woven sweetgrass baskets - which fetch astronomical prices. Time to make tracks: it was becoming clear we'd never be able to fully appreciate Charleston as our budget couldn't take the strain!

Back in the car, our last stop on the way out of Charleston was at a bland strip mall which happens to boast one of the South's finest barbecue joints, the Hickory Hawg. The surroundings weren't particularly inspiring but the food was incredible with huge platters of smoked chicken, hush puppies, coleslaw, baked beans and our first encounter with those famous collard greens (a leaf like kale cooked with ham hocks). All for a bargain £5 a plate!

Take the tip and make time for the 'Hawg' on your trip!

Next stop...down the back roads past a mysterious abandoned church, through beautiful Beaufort and out to the stunning sea islands.

Just photos of Charleston

I'll be writing a proper entry soon, but suffice it to say Charleston is the loveliest big city I've yet to visit in the States.

Proof is in the photos!










Exuding grace and charm...from top to bottom!

A cellar door

The River Road leading into Charleston, South Carolina is lined with many old plantations. Drayton Hall is unique by being unfurnished and uncluttered, the cypress panels of its walls boasting only their second coat of paint since 1738.

In places the paint has worn through to reveal the patterns of the wood underneath, which to me look like ripples. By coincidence, the single sheets of wood are called 'floating panels'.

The lack of restoration means in places the house is literally stripped back to its foundations, yet seems all the more beautiful for it.

Without the distraction of furniture and carpets it is possible to appreciate the care that was spent laying out the rooms and the attention that was giving to the walls, floors and ceiling.

Only rarely does ornamentation intrude, like with this stone fireplace and its intricately carved frieze.

Meanwhile, stars march across the ceiling of the grand hall...

...but note how the stars are fixed to the ceiling with star-shaped pins. It's these details which come to the fore in this stripped-back setting.

This simple bench is the only bit of furniture to be seen, so visitors can take a breather after climbing the stairs on the regular tours that take tourists around the house.

For years the keepers of the house could not decide what animal looks down from the centre of the mantle above the grand fireplace. Then a British visitor pointed out: 'It is a badger. And a rather poor one at that.'

I recall the tour guide describing the evacuation of Charleston ahead of Hurricane Hugo and how she and her family decided this large stone house several miles inland would make for a good bolthole. She knew the house had survived other catastrophes before.

Over two days they gathered around candles and listened to the wind rattle across the roof and tear at the chimneys.

And so to the cellar, where the original columns taken from the front porch lie across dusty flagstones.

I much prefer colour photographs to monochrome, but in this case the pale light and drab colours made me feel this was an opportunity to focus the eye on the textures revealed.

Someone once said 'cellar door' are the most beautiful words in the English language. They certainly photograph well, too!