One of my latest adventures was local public transit. Charleston has a system of cute little green trolleys (along with more utilitarian buses, of course) called DASH. There are about four different loops and, best of all, it's free. What could be better?
It's been a long time since I took a bus, although I used to do it fairly often in NYC, and I had forgotten the whole social dynamic of travel by bus. First of all, from my reading I had anticipated something created for the tourist trade. That may have been the idea but the locals have certainly taken it up. Tourists were definitely in the minority but tourist or local, there's still nothing quite like going by bus. There's the wait for it to arrive. Not too bad the first time I got on but wait till later. Then there's the group that somehow always builds up near the front, followed by the driver asking everyone to move back. Then there's the person on a cellphone who apparently wants everyone to be aware of her social life. And, of course, there's the political/social discussion going on among three guys on the back seat at voice levels that would reach the last seats in any theater. Some things never change. But I do think Occupy Wall Street should be aware that it has at least three voluble supporters in Charleston.
One transfer and I got to Broad Street and set off for the historic house I had selected for today's tour. It was lovely by the way. After the house and stops at one or two shops in the area, I found the proper trolley stop and waited for the return trip. I do not know if this is a pattern or just my experience that day, but waits were much longer and trolleys more crowded. Maybe it was just that all those tourists I hadn't seen in the morning were now heading home to decide which marvelous restaurant to try. In any event, the trolley was so crowded that it was difficult to keep an eye out for street signs and I missed my stop and had to trudge (trudge is what you do at the end of a day of sightseeing) back to the transfer point I needed. Waiting for the trolley I needed then took longer than anything yet had. Every other line came by the stop multiple times and if I had wanted to go to the aquarium, I could have done it several times. The young lady sitting next to me at the stop, a student at a local college, and I had about decided that they had cancelled our line for the day when one finally appeared. It gave me a look at parts of the city I hadn't seen yet and it did get me home.
Thinking back on my transportation efforts, I calculate that I spent at least half my time that day waiting for trolleys and getting where I wanted to go. I have a new appreciation for those who have to negotiate cities that don't have subway systems. I've also decided that I will do my bit with recycling but it makes more sense for me to drive to the area I want to explore and park in a parking structure. Thank heaven there are lots of those in downtown Charleston.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Friday, February 21, 2014
Not in Kansas Anymore
I was going to post about old houses and other historic stuff, but I told this story to a friend yesterday on the phone and she said I should post it. So here goes.
The place I'm renting has ample parking behind the house, but parking here does have one problem. I feel as though just about every bird in Charleston has left its mark on my car. I managed to clean most of the mess off the windshield. Although there were still remains, I wouldn't get arrested for impaired vision. But the top, the hood, the trunk, everything on my little red car was a spotted mess. BTW, this is not just me. Another renter solved the problem by spreading what appeared to be a sheet over the windshield and hood of his car and anchoring it in place.
Finally, I had to do something. This was clearly not going to wash off in the next rain. (Not that there's been much rain since the pseudo snowstorm. Charleston is all about sunshine.) So I checked good old Google for a car wash. It never occurred to me that car washes would have reviews but once again I underestimated Google. One of the closest ones included a review from a woman who had lost a ring with both sentimental and monetary value. She thought she had lost it in the car but had searched thoroughly and had not been able to find it. She took the car to this car wash and when she got into the clean car, there was the ring on the center console waiting for her. Thrilled, she found the attendant who had cleaned the interior to thank him and tell him how much it meant to her. The response was along the lines of Well, I found it and figured you had lost it and would like to have it back.
Clearly this was the place for me. Especially with my history of losing and finding and losing and finding a ring.
So I was only slightly surprised to see the sign for this place as I headed out for my next exploration and realized that I would be passing it on my way home. Looked like I needed to go there. It seemed a nice enough place, with the usual array of services (I even got to pick the scent of the air freshener to be used.) Then I paid and waited for my car. After a bit, it appeared but it wasn't placed with the other clean cars for detailing or whatever you call the hand drying and interior clean up. Instead it went on through the area and headed away to another area. A bit startled, I followed and found someone to ask what was going on. He explained that they hadn't been able to get all the gunk off my car so they were sending it through the wash again.
I walked away slowly thinking about this. I wasn't surprised that the wash hadn't taken care of everything. If I expected anything out of the ordinary, it would have been a quick comment that they had not been able to get everything off. I hadn't expected that they would do the job twice at no extra charge.
Not only am I not in Kansas, I'm sure not in Long Island anymore. Let's hear it for Southern courtesy and thoroughness.
The place I'm renting has ample parking behind the house, but parking here does have one problem. I feel as though just about every bird in Charleston has left its mark on my car. I managed to clean most of the mess off the windshield. Although there were still remains, I wouldn't get arrested for impaired vision. But the top, the hood, the trunk, everything on my little red car was a spotted mess. BTW, this is not just me. Another renter solved the problem by spreading what appeared to be a sheet over the windshield and hood of his car and anchoring it in place.
Finally, I had to do something. This was clearly not going to wash off in the next rain. (Not that there's been much rain since the pseudo snowstorm. Charleston is all about sunshine.) So I checked good old Google for a car wash. It never occurred to me that car washes would have reviews but once again I underestimated Google. One of the closest ones included a review from a woman who had lost a ring with both sentimental and monetary value. She thought she had lost it in the car but had searched thoroughly and had not been able to find it. She took the car to this car wash and when she got into the clean car, there was the ring on the center console waiting for her. Thrilled, she found the attendant who had cleaned the interior to thank him and tell him how much it meant to her. The response was along the lines of Well, I found it and figured you had lost it and would like to have it back.
Clearly this was the place for me. Especially with my history of losing and finding and losing and finding a ring.
So I was only slightly surprised to see the sign for this place as I headed out for my next exploration and realized that I would be passing it on my way home. Looked like I needed to go there. It seemed a nice enough place, with the usual array of services (I even got to pick the scent of the air freshener to be used.) Then I paid and waited for my car. After a bit, it appeared but it wasn't placed with the other clean cars for detailing or whatever you call the hand drying and interior clean up. Instead it went on through the area and headed away to another area. A bit startled, I followed and found someone to ask what was going on. He explained that they hadn't been able to get all the gunk off my car so they were sending it through the wash again.
I walked away slowly thinking about this. I wasn't surprised that the wash hadn't taken care of everything. If I expected anything out of the ordinary, it would have been a quick comment that they had not been able to get everything off. I hadn't expected that they would do the job twice at no extra charge.
Not only am I not in Kansas, I'm sure not in Long Island anymore. Let's hear it for Southern courtesy and thoroughness.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Tours
When you're in a city for the first time, I think it always helps to take a tour. It helps you get oriented and make a mental list of things you want to come back and see. And where else can you hear all the stories that apparently only tour guides know and tell.
Example -- did you know that the only deaths in connection with the bombardment and surrender of Fort Sumter occurred after the surrender. It seems that the officer who commanded the Fort and the General to whom he surrendered knew each other quite well and carried out the whole thing like the gentlemen they were. The problem was that when a cannon salute was fired, one of the cannon exploded and two gunners at that station were killed. The only casualties of the battle.
And speaking of exploding cannons, brings us to the Civil War. The battery in Charleston was indeed a battery in those days. A battery of cannons. When Sherman was on his way, the Southern powers that be decided that they could not let these cannon fall into Sherman's hands, so they decided to blow them up. Needless to say (see above), all did not go as planned. Apparently they saved the biggest for last and when they set off the destruction of the last and largest cannon, it not only destroyed the cannon. It also sent pieces flying in all directions and a number of them into nearby houses. The largest piece -- several hundred pounds -- landed about four houses over in the attic of the house. How it failed to crash through, I don't understand. But it did. It stayed in the attic and is still there to this day. It seems that no one could figure out a way to get the thing out without pretty much demolishing the house in the process. Talk about the perfect souvenir.
Example -- did you know that the only deaths in connection with the bombardment and surrender of Fort Sumter occurred after the surrender. It seems that the officer who commanded the Fort and the General to whom he surrendered knew each other quite well and carried out the whole thing like the gentlemen they were. The problem was that when a cannon salute was fired, one of the cannon exploded and two gunners at that station were killed. The only casualties of the battle.
And speaking of exploding cannons, brings us to the Civil War. The battery in Charleston was indeed a battery in those days. A battery of cannons. When Sherman was on his way, the Southern powers that be decided that they could not let these cannon fall into Sherman's hands, so they decided to blow them up. Needless to say (see above), all did not go as planned. Apparently they saved the biggest for last and when they set off the destruction of the last and largest cannon, it not only destroyed the cannon. It also sent pieces flying in all directions and a number of them into nearby houses. The largest piece -- several hundred pounds -- landed about four houses over in the attic of the house. How it failed to crash through, I don't understand. But it did. It stayed in the attic and is still there to this day. It seems that no one could figure out a way to get the thing out without pretty much demolishing the house in the process. Talk about the perfect souvenir.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Markets
It's not only Market Street. In Charleston shopping and markets are a universal. My first exploration was the King Street I had heard so much about. Strolling down King Street, there seems to be an unending row of restaurants and shops of just about every kind. There's one of my first and favorite finds, Glazed, a gourmet doughnut shop. It has incredibly inventive flavors. The apparent favorite is maple bacon and it's not bad. Needless to say, I am on a mission to assess all the available options.
Then there are the antique shops, the cool shop with fabrics from Southeast Asia, some of which become beautiful pillows that just might end up in Amagansett. There are, of course, all of the usual upscale brands you find everywhere. But then you get to Broad Street, which is one antique shop after another. Plus, of all things, a needlepoint shop. Do you know hard it is to find a needlepoint shop these days? Definitely a good omen. There is, also of course, a real possibility that I will add at least one more project to my ever growing stash. If my knees every totally refuse to let me explore, at least I will be well prepared.
Then there is the well known Charleston Market. It's been around since the beginning of Charleston and is a mostly open air market extending for blocks and blocks. People are sure to to tell you that it was never a slave market. The land was donated way back when for the sale of meat, grains and produce. Now it is basically a craft market. The sweetgrass baskets are supposed to be the big draw and they are lovely and every seller has or is someone sitting there weaving a basket. The thing that intrigues me is that the designs of the baskets are the same at every seller. Is there something about sweetgrass that mandates the way you can shape it or am I just being cynical?
And last but not least there is a charming little cheese shop just off Broad. Everyone is very knowledgeable and helpful and the shop has not only cheese, but wine and other goodies to go with it. I had no intention of resisting. Something tells me this could get to be a regular stop.
And did I mention that Broad manages to fit in some good restaurants? I had lunch at a pub called the Blind Tiger. (Blind Tiger was a euphemism for a speakeasy in Prohibition,) Good local beers and a hamburger that could make my personal 10 best list.
Then there are the antique shops, the cool shop with fabrics from Southeast Asia, some of which become beautiful pillows that just might end up in Amagansett. There are, of course, all of the usual upscale brands you find everywhere. But then you get to Broad Street, which is one antique shop after another. Plus, of all things, a needlepoint shop. Do you know hard it is to find a needlepoint shop these days? Definitely a good omen. There is, also of course, a real possibility that I will add at least one more project to my ever growing stash. If my knees every totally refuse to let me explore, at least I will be well prepared.
Then there is the well known Charleston Market. It's been around since the beginning of Charleston and is a mostly open air market extending for blocks and blocks. People are sure to to tell you that it was never a slave market. The land was donated way back when for the sale of meat, grains and produce. Now it is basically a craft market. The sweetgrass baskets are supposed to be the big draw and they are lovely and every seller has or is someone sitting there weaving a basket. The thing that intrigues me is that the designs of the baskets are the same at every seller. Is there something about sweetgrass that mandates the way you can shape it or am I just being cynical?
And last but not least there is a charming little cheese shop just off Broad. Everyone is very knowledgeable and helpful and the shop has not only cheese, but wine and other goodies to go with it. I had no intention of resisting. Something tells me this could get to be a regular stop.
And did I mention that Broad manages to fit in some good restaurants? I had lunch at a pub called the Blind Tiger. (Blind Tiger was a euphemism for a speakeasy in Prohibition,) Good local beers and a hamburger that could make my personal 10 best list.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Just in Time
As I drove South I realized that I had timed my departure to miss two major problems -- the Superbowl traffic and the next snowstorm. Not bad for a start. Then it got better. It started getting warmer. The winter jacket was in the backseat as I hit Virginia. The sweatshirt joined it in North Carolina. By the time I was unpacking in Charleston, I was looking for a cotton shirt and by the time I got to a late lunch. I was rolling up the sleeves. This may not last but it sure was a nice welcome.
The place I'm staying is an old house and appears to be in a gentrifying neighborhood, according to one newspaper description of what a cool neighborhood this is. Fortunately, gentrification has already included some great restaurants within a couple of blocks. The Hominy Grill was amazing. A fried green tomato BLT. Really? Not to mention curried kale with sweet potatoes. Check out Facebook for pictures. And I almost forgot to order iced tea. It wouldn't be a Southern meal without that. I'm already making lists to be sure I don't miss any of these great opportunities.
Next up will be a walkabout to see what I find. The excuse is that I forgot to buy coffee at the grocery store so I expect I will be keeping my eye out to see what coffee shops are like hereabouts.
The place I'm staying is an old house and appears to be in a gentrifying neighborhood, according to one newspaper description of what a cool neighborhood this is. Fortunately, gentrification has already included some great restaurants within a couple of blocks. The Hominy Grill was amazing. A fried green tomato BLT. Really? Not to mention curried kale with sweet potatoes. Check out Facebook for pictures. And I almost forgot to order iced tea. It wouldn't be a Southern meal without that. I'm already making lists to be sure I don't miss any of these great opportunities.
Next up will be a walkabout to see what I find. The excuse is that I forgot to buy coffee at the grocery store so I expect I will be keeping my eye out to see what coffee shops are like hereabouts.
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