It was already close to 90 degrees when we left on Tuesday morning. My Mother, of course (bless her heart), packs a suitcase, while I just bring my Jansport (backpack/bookbag/rucksack whatever). I throw my toiletries in some plastic bags and throw them in to the back of the car. Dad climbs in the backseat, Mom sat in the passenger seat while I was getting my GPS set up. I start heading east towards I-75, and my Father is getting antsy. He’s chirping at me that I need to turn the volume up on my GPS so that I know where I’m going.
“Dad, chill. I use this all the time, the voice isn’t always right. Last week it told me to stay in the right hand lane of a six lane highway and make a left,” I told him.
My Father, true to himself, sighs really loud and slaps his hands on his leg proclaiming that he could tell what kind of trip this was going to be and if he had known I was going to be such a baby, he would have driven himself. I didn’t feel like arguing with him, so I turned the volume up on my GPS and we set upon our way. Before I had left, I had downloaded this free app on my iPhone where you can find cheap gas in your area, or by whatever cell tower you’re pinging off of. By the Jacksonville/Florida line I knew that I was almost on empty. I kept telling my Father I needed to get gas and he and I got into a heated argument on how he knows the gas is cheaper in Georgia than it is in Florida. (Here’s a hint. It’s like a 5 cent difference…and depending on the station it was exactly the same).
By the time we rolled into Georgia, it was a balmy 89 degrees and about 70% humidity (read: very warm and humid). It didn’t feel like the wet blanket like Florida does usually and I really fell in love.
I fell in love with the hotel room, where a king sized bed awaited me. I set the thermostat on 70 (whereas at home, I’m lucky if they turn it down to 76). I unpacked a little and then headed over to my parents room to gather them up to take them to the River District of Savannah. Along the way we were greeted with cheery, sprawling homes on about an acre each. No garages, only carports. Live Oak trees and Magnolia trees as far as you could see (and not a Palm tree in sight. Phew.)
I parked in a little horseshoe shaped parking lot on a cobblestone street where Live Oaks provided awesome shade. My Father, because of some recent medical conditions, is able to park in the handicapped parking. Anytime he is with me I can park in the handicapped as well (as long as I have his blue tag…and him physically in the car with me). Apparently, in Savannah, even if you have a Handicapped sticker (or plate) you still have to pay to park. My Father wasn’t hearing any of it. Mother, in efforts to not get herself in the middle, kept her mouth shut. Regardless of the fact that I specifically parked in a designated Handicapped spot, and beneath the sign said “pay to park” he still argued with me saying that if you have a Handicapped Sticker, you don’t have to pay to park. He stomped off into the distance and soured my mood. Only a little.
The buildings were old, and you had to walk across what seemed like a gang-plank to get to the doors. When you looked down over the walkways, it was a two story drop to a cobblestone ground. We didn’t go in any of those, but took these old steps down and then followed it down the hill towards River Street (below). Dad found himself a nice shady bench, had his bottle of water and Mom and I headed off to do some nice shopping. We found lots of local art (I bought three pictures, which I will frame and hang once I have my apartment), handmade, local jewelry (which I bought some of). We found a store that sold only honey (yes, honey). The most amazing flavor (to me) was called “Sourwood.” I expected it to be sour (because of the name), but it was a deep flavor coupled with an amazing smoothness from the honey.
We ate at Tony Roma’s. I’d been craving Gelato from this place that was raved about online. Dad, however, wasn’t feeling well (from being hot and on some new heart medication) and we headed back to the hotel room. But, not before Mom and I found this little podunk little ice cream shop next to a pizza place and gas station. It literally was just tucked away. I had the craziest ice cream in a cone called Krazy Kookie Dough (it’s a Blue Bell flavor in case anyone wants to try it). The ice cream seriously tastes like cake batter and in the ice cream are sugar cookie dough pieces that have been dyed funky a funky blue and pink. It was so freaking good!
The next morning we headed out to Tybee (pronounced: Tie-Bee) Island. I wasn’t expecting to like it. I hate the beach. I really, seriously have this hatred of the beach (surprisingly, I did not hate the beach when I lived in Jersey). In Florida I found that I hate the waves, I hate the smell, I hate the way the sand feels, I hate being hot. But wow. Tybee took my breath away. It was warm, but with this gentle, lazy breeze that took the sting out of getting overly hot. We walked first to the Pier (below).
I enjoyed the warm sun on my face and the smell of the ocean. There is something about the sound the waves make as they meet the shore that is oddly relaxing and something I’d forgotten. When I turned around to take a picture I realized that…there were no cars driving on the sand. It instantly made me smile, because even here, on the west coast of Florida, cars can still drive on the beach. It ruins the experience.
Classes, brought out by their obviously tired teachers, were stomping through the waves, picking up sea shells, learning about sea life and the birds. Hotels and houses alike shared the coastline (the houses on stilts) but nothing felt intrusive, nothing felt overwhelming. When I was in high school, we lived in a town right on the beach (if you stood at the end of my driveway and looked left, you could see the ocean). But even that town felt intrusive. Like things didn’t belong. People didn’t belong. The town belonged to the tourists. But on Tybee, you really had a sense that people belonged, and tourists just visted. The streets were clean, people said “hello” as they passed you.
We walked the beach a little bit (Dad stayed on the pier as he wasn’t feeling well from the heat again, and he was in an aggrevated mood since I paid to park when he told me not to). I collected some seashells, some sand and I intend to put them out in some kind of fashion for my apartment. Then we headed towards the lighthouse (above). It was 183 (or 138 can’t remember), steps up to the top. It was a fortune to go in and climb them, so we decided against it, but ate at this fabulous little “sea shack” right next to some Fort. One of the best meals we ate while we were there.
Once back at the River District, we decided to head a few blocks over and take a ride through the Historic District. We drove around a couple of the parks that they have, where all of these stately homes all face the square. But, it was pointless because the homes are all occupied and those who aren’t are museums that cost an arm and a leg to walk through, so we just headed back down to River Street and shopped some more. Dad called 311 to check to see if you have to pay to park and, guess who was right? Me. So, he bit his tongue as I shoved some money into the meter and Mom and I went shopping some more.
We ate at some wing place (the food was alright, and I could care less if I saw another French Fry ever again). Then, right across the square we found the Gelato place I had wanted to try the night before. We get in there and there are only like six flavors. They had stopped making the cheesecake flavor, the bananas foster, the banana pudding, the white chocolate (basically all the flavors I would have tried). I settled for Blackberry…but it wasn’t Gelato at all. It tasted more like really icy ice cream (like the kind you have had in your freezer for a couple of months that you need an ice pic to get through?). Wasn’t bad, wasn’t good and wasn’t what I expected.
We settled in for the night and headed home yesterday morning. We stopped in St. Augustine, where I purchased the cutest thing. It’s odd and end photos which each picture has a letter in it. But you have to really look at the picture to see what the letter is. Some are obvious as a letter written in sand, the others are like two Macaws beaking (it forms an ‘A’), or a cross in a cemetary (it’s a ‘T’) etc. I didn’t care much for the letter concept, and just grabbed two different shots of the Macaws and the letter J and I will spread them out on my apartment wall. If no one looks and I don’t tell anyone, they won’t know.
Mom and I went into the oldest Church and had some really awesome Gelato from Whetstone (to make up for me not enjoying the one from the day before). I also found these magnets of individual states. You are supposed to take one magnet from each state you’ve been to and put them on your refrigerator or freezer. Since my goal is to visit all 50 states someday, this will be something that I can collect over the years. So far I have Maine, New Hampshire, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, California and Hawaii. Not bad, not bad.
Okay, this post is long enough, but I will more than likely post more tomorrow.
That's Just Ducky 