In my post about One Tree Hill Sites in Wilmington, I mentioned that we met a man walking his dog outside of “Peyton’s” house. I didn’t tell the whole story about him. I won’t tell it now, either, but I will share the advice he gave us about Charleston.
The man said the city of Charleston lies in a geographical basin prone to flooding. He said the heat settles on the city with an oppressive stillness such that one can smell a fart from two days previous. “It’s motherfucking hot,” he said. He mentioned also that prices are very high there, and he linked this fact, with colorful language, to the disposition and moral character of Charlestonians in general. He claimed they use the “n-word” in polite society, and that they are still pissed at the North about the whole slavery thing. On the whole, the man painted a flattering picture of the place we’d just told him we were to visit in a few days. All this from a man in his 60s who’d lived in Charleston for over six years.
[Of course, being a Wilmingtonian, the man used this information as a contrast to try and sell us on moving to the Port City, citing the cleaner streets, greener energy systems, friendly and diverse inhabitants, and the fact that “you can find liberals there.”]
But what was our experience of Charleston? Well, I can tell you it was hot. I didn’t smell any farts, but the stench of horse manure lingered longer than an optimist would hope. Ten minutes of rain nearly crippled traffic on I-26–which was probably for the best, because the drivers on the traffic-clogged roads around the city were about as skilled as those on the NJ side of I-78. In the city, ice cream was over $4 for one scoop no matter where we went, a sum of money that could net you almost a gallon of the good stuff at a grocery store. The people we interacted with were nice enough, and we didn’t spend any time in polite society, so we can’t comment on their historical grudges or affinity for racial slurs.
But I’d like to emphasize that it was HOT. The waterfront park was nice, as long as we stayed in the shade, but other than that, there was nowhere to hide from the death-rays shooting down at us from 93 million miles away. No hipster cafes offered a respite of AC and free wi-fi. The only retail establishments around barred us from entry with their prices: expensive seafood restaurants, expensive fudge shops, expensive gelato parlors. Who again had recommended Charleston? Whoever it was, we thought about throwing them into the overpriced furnace of the city’s streets.
At least, that was our first impression. But it takes only a little thought to remember just how myopic and unrepresentative is a few days’ experience someplace new. Better to get over unpleasant contingencies and look for the good, hoping of course that those unpleasant circumstances aren’t an indication that you’ve found a generally unpleasant place.
We love beaches, and we love the idea of coastal cities with some sort of beach life involved–which is probably why we planned an almost exclusively coastal road trip. Thankfully, Charleston is a coastal city, and it comes packaged with associated beaches. We chose to fry on a subtropical beach rather than city pavement and made for the Isle of Palms.
It was a trashy beach, literally: cigarette butts, peanut shells, and God knows what else defiled the beach all along the high tide line. The water was nice, though, warm and (apparently) clean. The sand was soft, and $4 could get you 4 hours of parking. We even found some shark teeth, which were free.
The weather soured shortly after we arrived, however, so we returned to the car and researched dinner spots. We ate at Pearlz in downtown Charleston, and the city redeemed itself in our eyes. When the storm-cooled streets glow in the sunset, and your belly is full of seafood gumbo, it’s hard to be upset about heat and prices. We realized that with more spending money, and different timing of the trip during the year, Charleston could be a really charming place.
Despite our revised view of the city, the daytime was still prohibitively hot, and our funds hadn’t grown overnight, so we elected to spend the next day on the beach. Following our Airbnb hosts’ recommendation, we chose Sullivan’s Island. (Isle of Palms didn’t even make the list of options, presumably because of the trash.) That decision was the best we’ve made so far on the trip. All other beaches in my experience pale in comparison to that tranquil, unsullied stretch of white and blue. Beachgoers populated the sand only sparsely, so we had a large area to ourselves. The beach was flat, and the waves broke farther out to sea, so the foamy ripples that reached us created an atmosphere of total calm. The water itself was the perfect temperature; no biting cold going in, no shivers coming out. And back and forth we went.
When we left the Holy City the next morning, we concluded that we’ll return in the future, at a different time of year (i.e., not during the hottest six weeks), when we’ve got more money or aren’t trying to stretch our savings for a month-long road trip. Here’s to next time, Charleston!
