I awake early this morning after a deep sleep worthy of the dead. I’m not really sure what to do with myself after yesterday, as I have a feeling the best experiences to have in Savannah won’t be written in any guide books or internet reviews.
I decide my first priority is breakfast and spying a leaflet in the kitchen advertising a whole range of goodness, I hop on the 27 bus to the Historic District.
Mimosas (note the plural) and salted flounder fritters, along with a vat of strong coffee, and I’m happy enough to wander slightly liquor laden and see where the day takes me.
I pass trolley tours along with horse and carriages as I work my way up Bull Street. Hanging onto the famous River Street full of gaudy bars, and it’s not hard to imagine this place looking like a Deansgate Locks or Canal Street scene come nighttime.
I head back on Bull Street passing miniature squares announcing historic statues and suddenly, out of nowhere, there’s a giant Cathedral slap bang in the middle of town.
Chancing my luck at a tourist site I take a tour of cotton merchant Andrew Low’s House. Inside it’s a colonial mansion with decor from early 18th century England. I’m slightly bemused watching American tourists fawn over interiors which decidedly remind me of the carpets and bedspreads of my grandma’s house.
Slightly under-awed I head back to take an afternoon nap via the beautiful Forsyth Park.
Napping done and I’m craving some much needed excitement after yesterday’s thrill ride. Perfectly timed, Waldorf pops over to the house and I’m back on the BMW as we whisk our way to The Savannah National Wildlife Refuge. We drive past marshes homing exotic birds, and spot baby Alligators lurking beneath the water surface. There’s no one else around and dragon flies fill the air.
On our journey back we stop by an isolated church where a sign tells me the Pastor’s middle names include both ‘Kitty’ and ‘Elvis’. An overgrown graveyard indicates the interment of locals as the tombstones crumble and tilt above the uneven ground. Cicada chirping is the only sound as I happen upon a blackened burnt out tree stub, and I’m feeling decidedly kooky.
it’s early evening and so we zoom our way over the bridge, and it’s definitely food and liquor time as we drop back into town. Frozen Margaritas and Scorpion Tea consumed, and we take a stroll along the river watching tug boats go by.
The evening draws to a close and I head to bed happy I got to see a side of the real Deep South, and slightly saddened that tomorrow will be my last day in not so sleepy Savannah.