It was still early when I stepped into “The Press”, a cleverly named coffee shop, featuring a wall decorated with pictures of old newspapers. Charleston is quiet this morning. Much quieter than the night before, when people lined the streets, spilling out of the doors of restaurants, enjoying a bit of the local cuisine or a drink on one of the many sidewalk table setups. Some even lined up and waited, stretching out the door for their turn to step into Kaminsky’s, a quaint but bustling cafe serving up coffee and, well, dessert mostly. I couldn’t say I blamed them.
A last minute decision to get away and visit this charming city ended up being a good one. Landing at the airport, our driver didn’t waste any time telling stories, sharing points of interest as we passed, and showing a level of warmth and comfort we are definitely not used to at home. “So this is southern hospitality?” Didn’t take long for that to show up.
The market was just closing down as we started walking through the maze of tables. The warm afternoon light filtered through the windows on either side of the open air area as cool breezes blew through. All sorts of vendors, selling everything from cheap souvenirs, to intricately woven sweetgrass baskets, had their wares spread throughout the area. Children skipped around, dogs looked up in excitement at the people and activity around them. A man near us was delighted as he stumbled across a copy of “De Gullah New Testament” on one of the tables. An old creole language, barely spoken and enticingly difficult to understand, the man and vendor shared as laugh as they chatted about the amount of work it would take trying to read it. It was a treasure found nonetheless.
The air was chillier than expected for a February evening, even for the south, so a quick stop into a local store before dinner yielded a nice hoodie and some much needed warmth. As we headed back out to a bustling street near our hotel lined with restaurants and shops, the soft glow from windows, the dance of light and shadows from the gas lantern lights lining the buildings, and the sounds of music all signaled the start of a relaxing evening with friends and family. You could sense the warmth as much form the people as you could from the bustling shops and restaurants.
After a nice, local seafood dinner, we headed down towards the the water. The pier was dark and quiet, for the most part. You would never know it was one of the largest ports in the country at this time of night. The lights of the Ravenel bridge, the longest cable-stayed bridge in North America, twinkled in the distance. The U.S.S Yorktown sat silently on the other side of the river. Once a giant of the seas, the ship now serves as a museum, and a national Historic Landmark.
In a dark spot, at the very tip of the pier, we hear some music. A little band has set up in the corner, and gentle notes can be heard wafting over the water toward us. My fiancé, the romantic one, thinks it must be a proposal about to happen. I laugh. Yeah right. My laugh quickly fades as the silhouette of a man getting down on one knee becomes quiet clear. We watch them dance as the music plays, and water laps against the wooden pier beams and dolphins slip by in the inky darkness of the harbor. We sit and rock on a wooden swing set on the pier, feeling the cool breeze and listening to the sounds of a peaceful night.
The next day, the gas lanterns still flicker in the early morning light, illuminating some of the charm of the old southern buildings that line the streets of the city. An older woman gives a hearty hello as she walks by with her two dogs. More of that southern friendliness, I notice. A hotel worker gets a warm greeting from the barista behind the coffee bar. Known only as “Mr. A”, he seems to be as happy being alive collecting the garbage in this southern mecca as any millionaire could pretend to be anywhere else. It truly is a unique place. A unique culture. A unique warmth. A unique feeling.
And that is after all why we travel, isn’t it? For the feeling.
Until next time,
BEN