Haunted Savannah

Savannah, otherwise dubbed as "crazy pirate town" or "eerie ghost central" by Dan and myself, was a perfect last stop to our road trip. On the way, we stopped for a few hours on Hilton Head Island so Dan could golf (most national golfing tournaments are held on this famed, tiny island) and to roam the beach (the sand is so hard, people ride bikes on it!)

After the pristine beauty of Charleston, I expected something similar from Savannah (as people often compare the two) but found though they are both historical, impeccably preserved cities less than two hours from each other near the coast, they are radically different. They're in different states for one (SC and GA respectively). Where Charleston is pretty and colorful, Savannah is gritty and grey. Where Charleston is bright and a step back in time, Savannah is a mixture of old and modern with a moody, dark edge. Where Charleston has pirate stories (parks where public hangings of pirates took place), Savannah feels like a rough pirate town along River Street with historical restaurants/pubs with pirate carved tunnels underneath where pirates would drag men after drugging them to waiting ships to be endentured slaves.

The squares of Savannah (21 in all - one every few blocks layed out in a perfect grid) are beautifully dreamy, exuding a lazy, old world feel with their mossy trees and fountains. To truly experience Savannah, one need merely sit in the squares and watch.

We stayed at River Street Inn, a historical 'monument' at over 200 years old, with a lovely, high-ceilinged room overlooking the Savannah River. The river water is dirty with ports along it a prime spot for overseas cargo. Lined with industrial smokestacks and barges, it was not exactly asethetic but it was more than interesting. River Street itself is touristy, lined with crappy souvenir shops capitalizing on pirates and the over-hyped "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" (both book and film take place here).

But the cobblestoned street, waterfront benches, handful of riverboats, gas lamps, brick, grey, soot-stained buildings and balconies lining the street made us feel insanely out of time. Like gritty Disneyland for grown-ups. Especially with open alcohol policy! One can roam the streets of Savannah with a beer or glass of wine in hand, no paper bag required. We had to try it and so we did with Dan's artillery punch (a crazy story about that, like so many stories here).

Our character-rich hotel had a free, nightly wine and cheese 'hour' (rather two, from 5-7pm). With a big porch lined with white rocking chairs and fans overhead, you can guess where we spent every night in Savannah before heading out to dinner. We'd sit for two hours each night, wine or champagne in hand, Dan smoking a cigar, either reading, dreaming together, talking to other visitors at the hotel, or watching the sun set and the bustling crowds go by on River St.

Street musicians were top notch, our favorite being two African American guys, one middle-aged playing a guitar, one grandfatherly with a doo rag, sunglasses (at night) and a big white beard only along the sides his face. They had deep, sonorous voices bellowing out blues in harmony. The dancing of the grandpa was almost robotic mixed with a bit of sheer groove. He 'worked it' while the other guy mastered slide solos and smooth licks. We cheered them on from our porch one night which led the younger guy to come up and ask where we were from and why we were here. When we said for our anniversary, he said we had to come down and sit in front of them so they could serenade us with an "anniversary song", as he called it. We came down and sat face to face along the water as it got dark while they sang us a medley of Billy Ocean and Lionel Richie, blues style, complete with smooth groove robot dance moves from grandpa. We tried to contain the laughter, just loving every moment.

The graveyards! Oh, the graveyards! Straight out of the movies, they are the gothic, eerie dream you envision in any Poe tale or vampire story. Moss laden, elaborate statues either morbid or angelic, headstones faded since the 1700's, one headstone grew out of a huge oak tree, the creepy Little Gracie statue, Johnny Mercer's grave ... all in the unbelievable Bonaventure Cemetary a few minutes drive from downtown. A huge acerage peacefully quiet and still, it went on and on in the grey, misty midday light, holding death of the centuries in its earth.

Some our favorite meals were in Savannah: Bistro Savannah on Congress St. was the quintessential gourmet, neighborhood restaurant. Perfection. It would succeed brilliantly in San Fran as it was probably the best, most creative meal we had our whole trip. My duck with confit (juicy, flavorful, tender) had sweet potato squares, dried cherries, walnuts and a rich cherry sauce drizzled atop it along with fried collard greens (crispy and melt-in-your-mouth). It was heavenly. Dan's chicken was likewise tender and stuffed with gorgonzola, prosciutto and arugula. Our crab cake starter was all crab meat (no bread) and in a spicy green curry sauce with mango relish on top. Oh, I am dying to go back as I remember it! Sapphire Grill was our anniversary night dinner and almost as excellent as Bistro Savannah. I had a perfectly crusted halibut with lobster dumplings and an addictive sauce. Surprisingly the calamari appetizer was the best we'd ever had: fried ever so lightly, with a ginger coriander pesto ponzu, spicy peanuts & fresh lime juice. The Lady and Sons, of Food Network queen, Paula Deen, fame, was such an experience, it would require a separate story (the long early morning lines just to get a same day reservation, the cattle call to get in, the "come and get it!" lady, the overly buttered, but heavenly tasting Southern food that was probably the best traditional Southern cuisine we had the whole trip). Hoecakes, garlic cheese biscuits, fried green tomatoes, chicken pot pie (with huge phyllo mountains atop), massive crab cake, rice and beans cooked in ham hocks... it was all 'heart attack central' AND worth the hype. Gryphon Tea Room was an 1800's dining room with stained glass ceiling, modern decor and impeccable teas and coffees. We whiled away a couple hours journaling there.

For drinks and live jazz, we found two most incredible spots I wish I could take home with me. I would frequent the incomparable Planters Tavern in the basement of the Olde Pink House, built in 1771 with a pink stucco exterior and colonial British, partially underground bar. Low ceilinged, fire places on either end of the room, brick, wood, antique furniture and couches... it thrilled me immediately.

We sat on a couch by the fire listening to local legend, Gail Thurmond, who has been playing there almost nightly for over 15 years. A local book describes her as "endearingly elegant" but Dan and I would say more 'endearingly quirky' with such a smooth, elegant tenor to her vocals that belies her appearance. She's grey-haired and comfortably plump, looking like a midwest mom, except for her shaded heart-shaped glasses and red dress hinting at her inner 'sass'. Her voice flows out in soothing, clearly-articulated waves ... her piano stylings are completely her own. I could have watched her all night. As it was, with nowhere to be other than where we wanted to be, we sat there with our wine and Jack & Coke (guess who had which?) for a couple hours savoring Gail's gifted, unique interpretations of many of my favorite jazz standards as well as as jazz renditions of Beatles tunes and other eclectic offerings. She had a hilarious way of raising her fingers when she would recieve intermittent applause after her songs. When she raised two fingers (gazing out over her glasses) it was with a smile and nod as if to say "thank you kindly". When she raised one finger, she had a more serious look as if to say: "Hold off - I'm not done", or "Wait..." Odd and delightful. In the course of the hours, Dan and I became expert at interpreting her minimally alerted expressions ("this is something, this is nothing" as the SNL skit goes). I had to pull myself away from the cozy cellar tavern that will remain fondly preserved in my memory.

The second spot was the unreal Mansion at Forsyth Park ("this is where we're staying next time!" says Dan): Casmir's Lounge, upstairs in the 700 Drayton restaurant - it must be seen to be appreciated. A stunning mansion full of history, grand staircases, chandeliers, ridiculously high ceilings... like an art museum full of massive, eclectic paintings, decorated modern with tactile velvet, fur, marble and gold. Extensive leopard print appeared in pillows and paintings, accompanied by reds, purples, browns, greens. Each room proclaimed itself lush, unique, striking! (a small taste of the bar: www.mansiononforsythpark.com/700drayton/casimirs.asp - it looks much more intriguing in person, candlelit at night). The jazz band playing that night was superb: trombone led, with drums, upright bass and a brilliant, young pianist. Half white/half black, the band had chops AND style. There was a cozy patio outside on the second floor off the Lounge, packed with smokers and men in suits. We explored the house, marveling at the decor and layout. Downstairs was a Bosendorfer Lounge with three Bosendorfers in a wood paneled, nautical modern, water running down glass walls, tree branch decor bar with brown, hip couches. Dan was giddy about the Bosendorfers - but we missed the nightly music as it plays early as opposed to the late night upstairs jazz.

The night at the Forsyth Park mansion was our anniversary and it was haunting and beautiful... just like this city built over graveyards, full of quirks, oddities and a checkered past. We would gladly return.