Thursday, February 16, 2012

Being A Tourist in Savannah, GA

I've never liked the term "tourist".  The name congers up images of an old man wearing bermuda shorts, a colorful Hawaiian shirt, black knee socks, sandals, a floppy wide brimmed hat, and a camera slung around his neck.  OK, that would be me, except Pamela would never let me off the boat dressed like that.  I did, however, have a camera slung around my neck, which still waves the tourist flag to all the locals.

We walked from Isle of Hope Marina to the Walmarts, a distance of a couple of miles, where we caught bus #31 to downtown Savannah.  I haven't ridden a bus since 1966.  For those of you who have also foresaken riding a bus, not much has changed.  But for $3 each for an all day pass compared to $50 for a cab ride, we took the bus.

After many turns and detours into myriad places such as the old folks' home, we were deposited on Broughton Street.  That was fine, but where in the heck  is Broughton Street compared to, well, anything?  We started wandering around, and before too long found River Street, a quaint cobble stone street lined with ancient buildings housing modern souvenir shops, bars, and restaurants.

Even cobblestone streets need fixin', I guess. I heard the old guy tell the young'uns "Not too close together.  They don't need to be too close together".

Steep grade.

We found the monument below which is a tribute to 500 black soldiers from Saint Domingue (now Haiti) who fought in the American Revolution.

We've found that the best way to tour a place in a short amount of time is to take the carriage tour. Buses move too fast, and walking is too slow. A carriage tour is just right.

These folks in the pic above took their dog.  He was very well behaved.  If we took Ruby and Chevy, they'd be whining and crying about every squirrel they'd see along the way and completely ignore the historical narrative of the tour guide.  They don't seem to care a whit about history.

We really like the south's Live Oaks and Spanish Moss.  They form a green tunnel over the quaint red brick streets.  Those old bricks are original, by the way.  The guy who made the bricks (I don't recall his name) took the closely guarded recipe for them to his grave.

The day was grinding to an end, and we had dogs back on the boat that we needed to get back to.  Or did we? 

We took the bus back to the Walmarts and walked the coupla miles back to the boat, arriving just at dusk, where the dogs greeted us enthusiastically.  We got them off and walked them in the fenced part of the marina where boats are stored.  The dogs did their business, ran and played and chased squirrels, and then mosied back to the boat.  I picked up my cell phone, which I never carry and which no one ever calls, and there was a 12:36 voice mail from the marina.  Our dogs had gotten off the boat and the marina staff had them.  They wanted to know what we'd like to do with them.   We never called them back, of course.  They decided to just put them back on the boat.

This is very strange.  The dogs never get off the boat when we're gone...   hmmmmm....


  1. Still love reading your blog,look forward to it every day.Snowing up here and can only look at the boat under shrink wrap. Severe cabin fever setting in. Thanks for your rays of sunshine. K. Holman

  2. Very entertaining! Ok, enough with making like a tourist! That whaler is calling you......back to work.

  3. Ruby and Chevy are having a ball on this trip down south. Meanwhile, Daisy just lays around all day in the sun. Not much energy left at this marina.