Back in the Spring of 2012 I was on an Amtrak en route to Miami and sitting across the aisle were these two middle-aged women with heavy southern accents. They sounded like characters from the classic film, "Gone with the Wind". When you take that trip from New York to Miami; you see passengers gradually get off as the train heads further south and there's always that wonder of where he or she is getting off at. During the morning hours of that trip the train pulled into the Savannah, Georgia station and as I guessed to myself, the two women got off at the stop. I looked out the window and saw palm trees, green grass, plenty of sun, and some type of southern charm that was hard to resist. I made a mental note that I needed to come back here someday to see more than just the sight from the Amtrak window. For various reasons there was always something that was blocking me from getting there, and last summer I picked Memphis for my southern tour, so this summer I wanted to nail down Savannah.
Impenetrable to Russian surface-to-air missiles, I went with Greyhound as my device for this trip which would include transfers in Richmond, VA and Fayetteville, NC. Things were going smoothly for the most part, even though awaiting in Charlotte was a gentleman with a yellow laundry bag with an ID card pinned to it; meaning he probably just got out of prison and was carrying his "goods". Another curious character was this woman who had a tattoo on her thigh, just above the knee-cap (something I kept seeing more of the further south I traveled). She definitely looked rough around the edges and someone who would be willing to fight at the drop of a dime. Things got even more interesting during the middle of the night with everyone trying to sleep on the bus. It was pitch black inside as the bus was travelling at maximum speeds on the dark highway. There was barely any light from the road except the headlights from oncoming traffic. Outside the window was nothing to look at but trees after trees after trees. I might've caught a few minutes of sleep here and there, but for the most part on the bus sleeping is a seldom opportunity. One of the few times I was able to drift off I was awoken by a woman yelling, "Get your butt off me!". As I would've guessed, it was the woman with the tattoo above her knee-cap who was doing the yelling. Apparently, her seating mate was somewhat on the obese side and her hip was encroaching onto the lady. The obese lady snapped back by telling the tattoo lady to go sit in the bathroom if she wasn't happy. That inspired the shouting outburst which caused the bus driver to pull over to the side of the highway.
I thought the bus driver was going to throw one or both of the women off the bus, as is the driver's right, and this driver didn't seem so friendly either, but he was able to talk them both into coexisting until the next stop at least. Not too far after sunrise we were somewhere in South Carolina and we pulled into some real desolate gas station that was to serve as a rest stop. The gas station had a mini-mart and by the surroundings you would've thought you were in 1954, not 2014. Waiting at the front entrance was a burly blonde lady with a bulletproof tactical vest on and a 9mm proudly strapped at her hip. Mind you, South Carolina was the first state to secede from the Union back in 1860, they fought tooth and nail to keep a Confederate Flag flying in their State Capital building, and one of their congressman famously yelled out "You Lie!" during one of President Obama's State of the Union addresses a few years ago. What that all adds up to is that the confederate-slavery mentality is still imprinted in South Carolina and the cop in waiting at the gas station had it written all over her face. There was a black teen with a hoodie on and as soon as he entered the mini-mart she quickly snapped "No hoodies, you're not in New York". I have no idea if that teen actually came down with me from New York, could've very well been from North Carolina or Virginia. Even if its a state law to not wear a hoodie in a store, the overwhelming state theme is 'we keep our blacks in line down here'. As I was purchasing a cold egg-n-sausage sandwich I overheard the tattoo lady telling the cop how she wasn't allowed back onto the bus (apparently the driver was kicking her off there at the mini-mart versus leaving her on the highway). The lady pleaded that she had a funeral to get to, but the cop told her she couldn't get back on. I took my sandwich and got back onto the bus quickly before any bullets started flying. Soon enough we pulled away from the stop and the obese woman had both seats to herself.
The next scheduled stop was my destination of Savannah, Georgia. The only problem I was faced with was I didn't want to arrive too early and be stuck dragging my bags around town until the afternoon when I could finally check in. I thought I would be reaching Savannah by 12 noon, but it turns out we pulled in about 9:30am. I had until 2-3pm to check into the motel, so there was about six hours to kill. I strolled down a long block and spotted a horse and buggy ride pulling a couple of tourists, so I figured I should follow them and they should guide me to wherever the town center is. Sure enough, I saw a CVS and then a Starbuck's and knew I was heading towards a point where I could get some answers. There were a few tourist information centers and even an indoor glass structure were people can come off the muggy streets to cool off for a bit. I purchased a boat ride tour that was scheduled to depart at 4pm that afternoon and on the tourist location map I noticed the railroad museum wasn't far away. That certainly sounded like a place I could spend a few constructive hours at before I could check into the hotel. I cut through City Market which is the entertainment heart of the town with its blocks of outdoor restaurants, bars, and art shops. Overall it was about a fifteen minute walk to the museum, would have been there sooner if I wasn't lugging around a heavy carry-on bag that had three days worth of clothes and my laptop inside. Walking around the main town area feels very safe and secure, even when you're on the outskirts a bit. Unlike Memphis where even two blocks away from everything things got rugged real quick. There's the usual panhandler here and there, but there's signs all over which mention that you should've give them any money and enough cop cars around to keep a watchful eye. In fact, one of the signs mentioned that you should notify a cop immediately if any panhandler gives you a hassle.
I made it to the Georgia State Railroad Museum with sweat dripping down off my chin. The museum is the last remnants of the Central of Georgia Railroad line which officially ended in 1963, but through other business names carried on till 1971. What's left had been converted into a museum and there's even a Children's Museum located on the grounds, but a sweaty person carrying a bag would've looked odd walking over towards a bunch of children at play, so I didn't bother entering that section. A bargain at $10 which includes a free locomotive ride and access to all the educational tours, I was even more delighted with the free air-conditioner to cool off at the front desk. In terms of size and number of trains on display, it pales in comparison to the railroad museum in Baltimore I last visited in 2007, but for only ten bucks you're getting alot of value for your money. The different type of train cars were docked under a large hut structure and there were steps and walkways to navigate through each one. The caboose I learned, served as the sleeping quarters for the train staff; mainly the conductor and engineer (driver). Also, that once raw good were needed to supply the cause for World War II, steel box cars were suspended from being manufactured so the materials could go for tanks and jeeps. That led to the rebirth of the wooden box car which occurred during the 1940's. Around the same period steam engines, which relied on a healthy mix of coal and water, were being fazed out in favor of diesel and electric-powered options. The museum still had an operating steam locomotive for their tour ride (free with admission) that's in the same working condition was when it came off the assembly line in 1912. It's run by an engineer and a "fireman" who's job it was to shovel in coal to keep the engine running. The fireman would serve as an apprentice to the driver and someday himself be in charge of an engine once he came upon age and opportunity. Inside the driver's cab the temperature would reach to degrees above 120 and even on a ten-minute tour ride these two guys running our engine had coal-stained sweat pouring down the sides of their faces.
The locomotive as well as the train cars parked in the hut were all accessible to the rail by the use of a turntable. The turntable was a large circular structure with railroad tracks pointed in all directions like spokes on a bike wheel. This thing is made out of unknown tons of steel and concrete, but yet all it takes is one person to crank it with their hand in order to make the turntable go round. Away from the train and the rails there were plenty of old buildings which contained the old Central of Georgia office, a mail room, a blacksmith garage with old equipment needed to fix train parts way back when. Then there were walls or parts of buildings that had crumbled decades and decades ago. When I was walking on the grounds there were some areas which looked like they had just finished hosting a Civil War battle. Speaking of the Civil War, across from the museum was the original loading dock that was used to unload or pack goods for the train to make its routes to places like Tennessee or up to Virginia, most of which involved cotton shipments. In addition, once the fierce Union General Sherman was burning his way through Georgia, in order to slow his advance the Confederates would bend steel rails in the shape of a necktie and place it on the tracks to derail any trains carrying Union soldiers or war materials. The obstruction became known as a "Sherman Necktie". Another interesting attraction inside the museum had little to do with history as it served as a club headquarters for some local toy train group.
They had a few nifty set-ups built, but the most impressive was a remake of the town of Savannah itself, which included the waterfront district beside the Savannah River. I hadn't eaten anything since that chilly egg sandwich in charming South Carolina, so I headed to the museum cafe, called the Whistle Stop Cafe, that offered seating inside an actual train dining car. I wanted to order something with a little Georgia flavor to it, so I had a ham sandwich which included warm caramelized onions, mozzarella cheese, and slices of peaches on top. It came with a side of homemade potato chips which weren't too greasy and it really hit the spot on a hot Georgia afternoon. In getting from the museum to the cafe there is a small memorial that recognizes the Battle of Savannah from 1779 during the American Revolutionary War. It lists the different nations which sent soldiers to fight alongside the American rebels and in addition to some of the usual European countries was the caribbean island of Haiti, something left out of most conventional history books and something I would see mentioned again the next day with statues in a public park.
With lunch done it seemed like a good time to head over to the motel to get checked in and then get back into town towards the waterfront for the 4pm riverboat tour. Usually when I plan these trips out I try to find a hotel or motel that's somewhat close by the Greyhound or Amtrak station, as well as comparably close to the main attractions of the place I'm visiting. This way its not too long a trek or cab ride to get back and forth to where I need to go. On the Google Map this Motel 6 didn't look all that far away from the Greyhound station, so I was only expecting a ten minute ride and probably a ten dollar fare. First of all, getting a cab in Savannah was looking near impossible. Cabs typical buzz around a bus or train station, but they were scarce this time around. I had to go to the Greyhound security desk and the guard dialed the number to a local company. It finally arrived about fifteen minutes later and the drive to the Motel 6 was never-ending. I must have really read something wrong on the map because it was taking nearly twenty minutes to get there. Plus, we were going through a few seedy parts of town I was worried I wouldn't be able to walk around had a situation called for me to be on foot. We didn't finally get there and the ride came out to about twenty-five bucks. If I needed to get back and forth multiple times per day this could turn out to get very expensive, so I needed to learn more about the local bus lines, but there was no time for that. I needed to check in, shower from the bus ride, get dressed, and catch another cab to get back into town. I've never experience a hotel or motel in which you couldn't check in an hour or two earlier than the standard 3pm, until I got to this place.
It was 2pm and the man behind the counter said the room wasn't ready yet. From the looks of it the motel was running the clerk, not the other way around. To be fair this was a 150-200 room facility, but first of all he was having issues with the computer, issues with the credit card machine, then a patron came in and complained his room hasn't been serviced, and I wasn't able to log onto their Wi-Fi signal to get some work done in the lobby. He explained the owner had to reboot the signal from his house. All this time there were roves of children, some of them only in underwear, running all over the place with no parental supervision. Some were even on the counter in the "kitchen" area and knocked a microwave into sink. One would think potential customers would avoid a place like this, but literally every ten minutes a car would pull up to the front entrance and someone would get out and ask the desk clerk if there were any rooms available, in which the reply was that they were all booked up. There was a pool around at the back, other than that I can't understand why everyone was flocking to this place when there were about three other motels not too far away.
When I finally got into my room it was a real beauty with the light only working on with one lamp and from whatever light shined in from the bathroom. The other lamps and bulbs must have just been there for decorative purposes. I got ready as quick as I was able to, and again with cabs seldom seen, I needed the front desk guy to call one for me. By the time it arrived and took me back towards the waterfront, I was ten minutes late and the boat had just left. I paid about $25 for the boat ride and was worried I would lose out on that money. Luckily, there was a boat tour office right there and I explained the situation. They told me the ticket could be used on any day so I could come back again and use it for tomorrow, so I was at least happy about that. With the boat tour out of the question for the day (last one was 4pm) I figured I would walk along River Street, the old cobblestone walkway along side the Savannah River and see some of the other attractions. It is touristy by design with gift shops and bars/restaurants/nicer hotels, but there are also some genuine Georgia attributes such as candy shops which specialize in pralines. They're basically a hardened dark sugar clump with nuts inside, normally cashews. It's a treat featured in many parts of the South, and like many food items in the South, the concern for calories and fat isn't as high as it is in the North and pralines serve as living proof. I was only able to take a few bites as I wanted to avoid the rush of pure brown sugar into my bloodstream. Then after a few minutes I washed it down with a cupcake on a stick. I walked back and forth across the waterfront to help burn off those megatons of calories.
In order to reach River Street there are a series of sharp stairways, most of which are still in cobblestone from the 1800's, that you use at your own risk. Most of the buildings served as offices for the cotton business, using the river to transport the shipments to other parts of the country and the world. Although the hotels and restaurants have taken over the storefronts, from afar the structure still looks the same as it did over two hundred years ago. As the sun began to go down I couldn't think of anything else I could do that night, so I walked back to the town center in hopes of catching a cab to the motel. I was still tired out from the long bus ride and all the walking I had already done that day. As I'm strolling along the Savannah streets I see there's one establishment with a line out the door. The place was called Leopold's and it appeared to be an old fashioned ice cream shop (actually it was dated back from 1919). Even though I had already my sugar bomb for the day with the praline and cupcake-on-a-stick, I figured this ice cream has to be good if there's this big a line. The wait was a reasonable fifteen minutes and I ordered a small mint chocolate chip cup. I dug my spoon in expecting greatness, but was terribly disappointed. The taste was very flat and nothing compared to a Carvel or Baskin Robbins, or even a pint of Haagen Dazs from the supermarket. Perhaps it was pure homemade ice cream without all the sugary additives, but in my mind it wasn't worth the wait on the line. I managed to find a cab and when I gave him the address of where the motel was, he seemed inconvenienced that he had to drive that far away from all the drunks spilling out of the bars that only require short trips to a different bar. Nevertheless, the driver did take me and he blew through residential streets at raging high speeds. His front window was open and the amount of air blowing into the car from going so fast made it near-deafening to hear anything else. I saw the luxurious homes of Old Savannah and in the blink of an eye it shifted to seediness and in another blink we were at the Motel 6. The cab fare was nearly the same as my previous two rides, but we had arrived in half the time. As soon as I got out he cut a turn and sped right back to the town. In all, it had been a very enlightened first day.
The first riverboat of the day was set to leave at 12 noon and there was no way I was going to miss it. I wanted to get that done early on so I could have the rest of day without the tour hanging over my hang. Taking the cabs had become expensive at $25 a pop, so I did a little research online and found a local bus line, the Chatham Area Transit (CAT), that had a stop down the block from the motel. From there it would take me directly into town towards the waterfront without any transfers needed. Though I had to wait for it a little, $1.50 a ride was much more economically feasible than the price for the cab rides. I found a diner nearby for a quick Belgian Waffle for breakfast which turned out to be nothing special and was on the bus before I knew it. I got to the departing dock in plenty of time and read that the ship rules forbid bringing firearms onto the vessel, so I was happy I left my bazooka at the motel. There's the basic tour entrance which is just the ride or for a few dollars more you are served a meal in the dining room. I took the basic tour fee and found a good seat on the top deck. Even if you don't select the dining option, there's a full bar and snack concession stand to get food, so the dining room makes no sense, plus you want to be outside watching the sights, not stuck behind glass. The riverboat tour motors down the Savannah River as the captain gives the tour over the loudspeaker. I managed to get myself a rum punch and took a seat at the edge of the boat. The tour goes back and forth on a stretch of water on the Savannah River. About six thousand vessels a year use the river which still plays a key cog in the international shipping industry and also serves as a borderline between Georgia and South Carolina. Since ships have been growing taller and taller over the years, the Talmadge Memorial Bridge needed to be raised in the early 1980's and a skeleton of the older version remains standing next to the newer version. International ships coming into American waters have to follow a few guidelines in order to gain clearance from the US Coast Guard and Department of Homeland Security. Different colored flags waiving on top of the ships will signify what type of cargo they're carrying, such as reg flags mean explosive and hazardous materials. In addition, an international ship might have an American flag waiving up top, but that is to signify the ship had been cleared by US Customs.
The Captain had a few interesting stories for the businesses and industries alongside the docks of the Savannah River. One was a company that manufactured and shipped sawdust exclusively to Germany and nowhere else. Another fact I found interesting was that Jeep Cherokee was opening a new manufacturing plant to replace one they were closing in Asia. That's the first time I ever heard of a business shutting down overseas labor in favor of creating jobs in America. Unless the economy has become so bad in America people are willing to work less than Asian slave wages. What makes the Savannah River vital for shipping is that it reaches the most westward into the United States than any other river. In fact, the most westward point is lined up vertically with Cleveland (at the cusp of the Midwest). It cheaper to ship via the Savannah River and send goods up north versus drop off a shipment in NY or Boston and transport on land west. At one end of the tour is Old Fort Jackson which was used as a defensive position for the Confederates during the Civil War. The fort itself is open to visitation, but for timing and logistic reasons I unfortunately wasn't able to drop by. It took General Sherman until 1864 to devise a plan to finally take the fort out of commission, until that point it wrecked havoc on Union maritime advances. The tour lasts for about an hour and a half and by the time we were docked I was ready for lunch. I stopped in at Bernie's Oyster House which has the surroundings on a dive bar, but specializes in oysters and other raw bar favorites. I went with the fried oysters and a beer. In Savannah, you don't have to stay to finish off your (alcoholic) drink. You can take your cup out with you and walk around with it as long as its in the cup. In fact, if you're having a drink in a glass, the bar/restaurant will pour it into a plastic cup for you so you can take it to go. Generally during the weekend and/or nightly hours you'll see plenty of pedestrians walking around with a beer or mixed drink in their hands. It's not a case that there's people passed out or acting foolish in the streets, there appears to be enough self-control that the authorities allow it to occur. Also, the streets are narrow and crowded, which yields to people either walking or taking a bus to get where they need to go versus getting behind the wheel intoxicated.
The fried oysters were nice, but my stomach still had room for plenty more, so before heading back to the hotel for a nap I stopped by a steakhouse called Belford's and ordered up a streak sandwich with cheese and onions on top and to wash it down had a tall glass of peach tea, which of course was mixed with some type of liquor. Belford's was actually closing early that day for a wedding party, so I had to scoff down the sandwich and take the peach tea in a plastic cup to go. Once I got back to the motel and had a nap, I figured my next day was going to be quite tiring with a trip to the beach, so I stayed in for the rest of the day and took advantage of the courtesy pool out back. I was able to enjoy it for a good ten minutes until flashing lights rumbled from the skies, followed by a heavy down pour. I was still having Wi-Fi issues in my room, so once the rain let down I had to jog with my laptop to a Denny's around the corner to bum some of their signal. I ordered a cup of coffee and a bowl of fruit I really had no interest in, but getting my work done was a load of my mind so I could enjoy the third and final day of my trip at the beach on Tybee Island. I repaid my gratitude for Denny's Wi-Fi signal the next morning by giving them more business for breakfast, a sausage omelet skillet. There's a shuttle bus to Tybee Island which leaves from the main tourist headquarters, next to the Georgia State Railroad Museum. This is the spot all the Savannah Tour buses start from. This shuttle isn't a tour, its just a transport mini-bus that charges five dollars each way. I of course paid up front for a round trip. The ride to Tybee is about a half-hour and to compare its like the Georgia version of the Jersey Shore, but with rednecks instead of meatheads. The beach is free and alcoholic drinks are okay on the sand, as long as its in a cup. The water has that greenish color like New York, but the temperature is as warm as the Florida coastline. After a couple of hours on the beach I wanted to check out the local cuisine and tried out a southern favorite, low country boil. It's similar to seafood gumbo as its a soupy mix of hard-boiled potatoes, corn on the cob, sausage slices, shrimp, and rice. I couldn't leave an island without more seafood, so I also took a dozen mussels marinated with a spicy topping. I never had mussels done that way and it was certainly a delight hard not to forget.
The bus back was scheduled to leave in thirty minutes, so I wanted to take time to visit an authentic local bar to get a feel of how the residents are. I picked a place called Benny's which boasted it had the coldest beers in America out front. That claim was an extreme exaggeration, but it was very different to go inside a bar and see everyone smoking (New York banned it years ago). Outside myself, the youngest person in the place was probably in their mid-fifties and only six months away from having to walk around with an oxygen tank. Everyone seemed to know each other and there was that sense of community, but it was sad see those locals spend their time in a dark cave puffing and sipping away while the bartender went back and forth from serving drinks to operating the lotto machine. I didn't even finish my beer, I felt so out of place in there I just left with half a beer in the bottle. Not that it was much different from any other bar in America, but to hear everyone's rugged voice coughing from years of tobacco use was uneasy to sit through. When I got back to the bus there were no more seats available, so the driver offered that I sit on the steps back to Savannah. That was probably a safety hazard and another sign of the casual southern life, but I did want to get back to town asap, so I made myself as comfortable as possible on the top step and hoped the driver stayed awake. The bus let me off near Old Savannah and right across the street was an old cemetery that served as the final resting place for some Revolutionary War soldiers, so I took time to pay a visit.
Not much at all is mentioned of the Civil War in Savannah, alot of the advertising is on the heroes of the Revolutionary War. Either its case of 'focus on the positive' or hiding a past embarrassment. The cemetery itself was very scenic with plenty of oven-style graves, similar to what I saw in New Orleans. Outside the cemetery there's a police museum, which was closed at the time I was there, but at least they left a few classic law enforcement vehicles out front. Another parting observation about Savannah was the vast amount of Nazi World War II memorabilia in the antique shops. Of course, serious antique collectors will get their hands on these types of items, but the type of stuff they had, just as ID cards, uniform pieces, metals, knives, was much more personalized and in vast supply than any collections I've seen in Northern antique shops. In addition, one old-timer on one of my bus trip was speaking on how you can't criticize a person based on the conditions he was living in at the time, in reference to the slavery issue. What made it uneasy was that there were black people sitting just a few feet away as he was expressing his point and he didn't care. With things like that, an increased market for Nazi historical goods, no visible regret over the Civil War, and the warm personality from that anti-hoodie cop in South Carolina; you can spot the traces of the old plantation mentality in these Confederate states - even generations later.
I did my packing at the motel that night for my morning bus ride back to New York, but wanted to take a final dip in the pool which had been cut off due to rain the night before. The roaming children were on the loose again, not sure what room(s) they were coming from. They ran in and out of the lobby and were all over all hallways. After I got out of the pool and went back into my room, I placed my wet bathing suit on the railing outside my room to dry off. A couple of hours later I went back out to retrieve my bathing suit, but it wasn't hanging on the railing anymore. I looked over the rail and saw my trunks laying on the parking lot floor. It could've been from a gust of wind, but a wet bathing suit weighs down heavier, so it had to have been thrown off the railing from those kids. The next day I was on the bus and happily there were no further arguments or conflicts to witness. The transfer routes were the same, except this time there was a scheduled two hour layover in Fayetteville, North Carolina. I had been to that Fayetteville station several times on previous Greyhound trips, but never actually took boots to the ground outside. With time to kill and my stomach empty, I figured I could walk a few blocks and hopefully find a place to eat.
On the surface, Fayetteville looks like a dreadfully slow and boring military town. There was a historical area that had a few interesting buildings, but from what I saw there was zero pulse anywhere. I walked two blocks and saw nothing but vacant buildings and stores no longer in business. Then out of nowhere the last thing on Earth I expected to see appeared right in front of my eyes. It was an African restaurant named The Taste of West Africa, or TOWA. I went inside and there were a couple of customers sitting in the back. This was the type of surprise I was hoping for, so I sat at the counter. Minutes later a few other customers came in, both black and white, so this definitely seemed like a popular place for everyone to go in rural North Carolina. I had a beef patty for an appetizer and later on a large spicy okra soup with mango juice. One of the guys who came in saw my patty and wanted one for himself, in fact he ended up ordering a ton of food for himself, just for lunch. As he waited for his to-go order he began asking where I was from since I must have looked like an outsider and it turned out he was from the Bronx also, but his mother moved the family down there many years ago. I wish I could've stayed even longer to try other things on the exotic menu, but I couldn't risk missing the bus.
Even if something looks boring, sometimes you have to go out and put the boots on the ground, you just might uncover a ton of fun.....
Impenetrable to Russian surface-to-air missiles, I went with Greyhound as my device for this trip which would include transfers in Richmond, VA and Fayetteville, NC. Things were going smoothly for the most part, even though awaiting in Charlotte was a gentleman with a yellow laundry bag with an ID card pinned to it; meaning he probably just got out of prison and was carrying his "goods". Another curious character was this woman who had a tattoo on her thigh, just above the knee-cap (something I kept seeing more of the further south I traveled). She definitely looked rough around the edges and someone who would be willing to fight at the drop of a dime. Things got even more interesting during the middle of the night with everyone trying to sleep on the bus. It was pitch black inside as the bus was travelling at maximum speeds on the dark highway. There was barely any light from the road except the headlights from oncoming traffic. Outside the window was nothing to look at but trees after trees after trees. I might've caught a few minutes of sleep here and there, but for the most part on the bus sleeping is a seldom opportunity. One of the few times I was able to drift off I was awoken by a woman yelling, "Get your butt off me!". As I would've guessed, it was the woman with the tattoo above her knee-cap who was doing the yelling. Apparently, her seating mate was somewhat on the obese side and her hip was encroaching onto the lady. The obese lady snapped back by telling the tattoo lady to go sit in the bathroom if she wasn't happy. That inspired the shouting outburst which caused the bus driver to pull over to the side of the highway.
I thought the bus driver was going to throw one or both of the women off the bus, as is the driver's right, and this driver didn't seem so friendly either, but he was able to talk them both into coexisting until the next stop at least. Not too far after sunrise we were somewhere in South Carolina and we pulled into some real desolate gas station that was to serve as a rest stop. The gas station had a mini-mart and by the surroundings you would've thought you were in 1954, not 2014. Waiting at the front entrance was a burly blonde lady with a bulletproof tactical vest on and a 9mm proudly strapped at her hip. Mind you, South Carolina was the first state to secede from the Union back in 1860, they fought tooth and nail to keep a Confederate Flag flying in their State Capital building, and one of their congressman famously yelled out "You Lie!" during one of President Obama's State of the Union addresses a few years ago. What that all adds up to is that the confederate-slavery mentality is still imprinted in South Carolina and the cop in waiting at the gas station had it written all over her face. There was a black teen with a hoodie on and as soon as he entered the mini-mart she quickly snapped "No hoodies, you're not in New York". I have no idea if that teen actually came down with me from New York, could've very well been from North Carolina or Virginia. Even if its a state law to not wear a hoodie in a store, the overwhelming state theme is 'we keep our blacks in line down here'. As I was purchasing a cold egg-n-sausage sandwich I overheard the tattoo lady telling the cop how she wasn't allowed back onto the bus (apparently the driver was kicking her off there at the mini-mart versus leaving her on the highway). The lady pleaded that she had a funeral to get to, but the cop told her she couldn't get back on. I took my sandwich and got back onto the bus quickly before any bullets started flying. Soon enough we pulled away from the stop and the obese woman had both seats to herself.
The next scheduled stop was my destination of Savannah, Georgia. The only problem I was faced with was I didn't want to arrive too early and be stuck dragging my bags around town until the afternoon when I could finally check in. I thought I would be reaching Savannah by 12 noon, but it turns out we pulled in about 9:30am. I had until 2-3pm to check into the motel, so there was about six hours to kill. I strolled down a long block and spotted a horse and buggy ride pulling a couple of tourists, so I figured I should follow them and they should guide me to wherever the town center is. Sure enough, I saw a CVS and then a Starbuck's and knew I was heading towards a point where I could get some answers. There were a few tourist information centers and even an indoor glass structure were people can come off the muggy streets to cool off for a bit. I purchased a boat ride tour that was scheduled to depart at 4pm that afternoon and on the tourist location map I noticed the railroad museum wasn't far away. That certainly sounded like a place I could spend a few constructive hours at before I could check into the hotel. I cut through City Market which is the entertainment heart of the town with its blocks of outdoor restaurants, bars, and art shops. Overall it was about a fifteen minute walk to the museum, would have been there sooner if I wasn't lugging around a heavy carry-on bag that had three days worth of clothes and my laptop inside. Walking around the main town area feels very safe and secure, even when you're on the outskirts a bit. Unlike Memphis where even two blocks away from everything things got rugged real quick. There's the usual panhandler here and there, but there's signs all over which mention that you should've give them any money and enough cop cars around to keep a watchful eye. In fact, one of the signs mentioned that you should notify a cop immediately if any panhandler gives you a hassle.
I made it to the Georgia State Railroad Museum with sweat dripping down off my chin. The museum is the last remnants of the Central of Georgia Railroad line which officially ended in 1963, but through other business names carried on till 1971. What's left had been converted into a museum and there's even a Children's Museum located on the grounds, but a sweaty person carrying a bag would've looked odd walking over towards a bunch of children at play, so I didn't bother entering that section. A bargain at $10 which includes a free locomotive ride and access to all the educational tours, I was even more delighted with the free air-conditioner to cool off at the front desk. In terms of size and number of trains on display, it pales in comparison to the railroad museum in Baltimore I last visited in 2007, but for only ten bucks you're getting alot of value for your money. The different type of train cars were docked under a large hut structure and there were steps and walkways to navigate through each one. The caboose I learned, served as the sleeping quarters for the train staff; mainly the conductor and engineer (driver). Also, that once raw good were needed to supply the cause for World War II, steel box cars were suspended from being manufactured so the materials could go for tanks and jeeps. That led to the rebirth of the wooden box car which occurred during the 1940's. Around the same period steam engines, which relied on a healthy mix of coal and water, were being fazed out in favor of diesel and electric-powered options. The museum still had an operating steam locomotive for their tour ride (free with admission) that's in the same working condition was when it came off the assembly line in 1912. It's run by an engineer and a "fireman" who's job it was to shovel in coal to keep the engine running. The fireman would serve as an apprentice to the driver and someday himself be in charge of an engine once he came upon age and opportunity. Inside the driver's cab the temperature would reach to degrees above 120 and even on a ten-minute tour ride these two guys running our engine had coal-stained sweat pouring down the sides of their faces.
The locomotive as well as the train cars parked in the hut were all accessible to the rail by the use of a turntable. The turntable was a large circular structure with railroad tracks pointed in all directions like spokes on a bike wheel. This thing is made out of unknown tons of steel and concrete, but yet all it takes is one person to crank it with their hand in order to make the turntable go round. Away from the train and the rails there were plenty of old buildings which contained the old Central of Georgia office, a mail room, a blacksmith garage with old equipment needed to fix train parts way back when. Then there were walls or parts of buildings that had crumbled decades and decades ago. When I was walking on the grounds there were some areas which looked like they had just finished hosting a Civil War battle. Speaking of the Civil War, across from the museum was the original loading dock that was used to unload or pack goods for the train to make its routes to places like Tennessee or up to Virginia, most of which involved cotton shipments. In addition, once the fierce Union General Sherman was burning his way through Georgia, in order to slow his advance the Confederates would bend steel rails in the shape of a necktie and place it on the tracks to derail any trains carrying Union soldiers or war materials. The obstruction became known as a "Sherman Necktie". Another interesting attraction inside the museum had little to do with history as it served as a club headquarters for some local toy train group.
They had a few nifty set-ups built, but the most impressive was a remake of the town of Savannah itself, which included the waterfront district beside the Savannah River. I hadn't eaten anything since that chilly egg sandwich in charming South Carolina, so I headed to the museum cafe, called the Whistle Stop Cafe, that offered seating inside an actual train dining car. I wanted to order something with a little Georgia flavor to it, so I had a ham sandwich which included warm caramelized onions, mozzarella cheese, and slices of peaches on top. It came with a side of homemade potato chips which weren't too greasy and it really hit the spot on a hot Georgia afternoon. In getting from the museum to the cafe there is a small memorial that recognizes the Battle of Savannah from 1779 during the American Revolutionary War. It lists the different nations which sent soldiers to fight alongside the American rebels and in addition to some of the usual European countries was the caribbean island of Haiti, something left out of most conventional history books and something I would see mentioned again the next day with statues in a public park.
With lunch done it seemed like a good time to head over to the motel to get checked in and then get back into town towards the waterfront for the 4pm riverboat tour. Usually when I plan these trips out I try to find a hotel or motel that's somewhat close by the Greyhound or Amtrak station, as well as comparably close to the main attractions of the place I'm visiting. This way its not too long a trek or cab ride to get back and forth to where I need to go. On the Google Map this Motel 6 didn't look all that far away from the Greyhound station, so I was only expecting a ten minute ride and probably a ten dollar fare. First of all, getting a cab in Savannah was looking near impossible. Cabs typical buzz around a bus or train station, but they were scarce this time around. I had to go to the Greyhound security desk and the guard dialed the number to a local company. It finally arrived about fifteen minutes later and the drive to the Motel 6 was never-ending. I must have really read something wrong on the map because it was taking nearly twenty minutes to get there. Plus, we were going through a few seedy parts of town I was worried I wouldn't be able to walk around had a situation called for me to be on foot. We didn't finally get there and the ride came out to about twenty-five bucks. If I needed to get back and forth multiple times per day this could turn out to get very expensive, so I needed to learn more about the local bus lines, but there was no time for that. I needed to check in, shower from the bus ride, get dressed, and catch another cab to get back into town. I've never experience a hotel or motel in which you couldn't check in an hour or two earlier than the standard 3pm, until I got to this place.
It was 2pm and the man behind the counter said the room wasn't ready yet. From the looks of it the motel was running the clerk, not the other way around. To be fair this was a 150-200 room facility, but first of all he was having issues with the computer, issues with the credit card machine, then a patron came in and complained his room hasn't been serviced, and I wasn't able to log onto their Wi-Fi signal to get some work done in the lobby. He explained the owner had to reboot the signal from his house. All this time there were roves of children, some of them only in underwear, running all over the place with no parental supervision. Some were even on the counter in the "kitchen" area and knocked a microwave into sink. One would think potential customers would avoid a place like this, but literally every ten minutes a car would pull up to the front entrance and someone would get out and ask the desk clerk if there were any rooms available, in which the reply was that they were all booked up. There was a pool around at the back, other than that I can't understand why everyone was flocking to this place when there were about three other motels not too far away.
When I finally got into my room it was a real beauty with the light only working on with one lamp and from whatever light shined in from the bathroom. The other lamps and bulbs must have just been there for decorative purposes. I got ready as quick as I was able to, and again with cabs seldom seen, I needed the front desk guy to call one for me. By the time it arrived and took me back towards the waterfront, I was ten minutes late and the boat had just left. I paid about $25 for the boat ride and was worried I would lose out on that money. Luckily, there was a boat tour office right there and I explained the situation. They told me the ticket could be used on any day so I could come back again and use it for tomorrow, so I was at least happy about that. With the boat tour out of the question for the day (last one was 4pm) I figured I would walk along River Street, the old cobblestone walkway along side the Savannah River and see some of the other attractions. It is touristy by design with gift shops and bars/restaurants/nicer hotels, but there are also some genuine Georgia attributes such as candy shops which specialize in pralines. They're basically a hardened dark sugar clump with nuts inside, normally cashews. It's a treat featured in many parts of the South, and like many food items in the South, the concern for calories and fat isn't as high as it is in the North and pralines serve as living proof. I was only able to take a few bites as I wanted to avoid the rush of pure brown sugar into my bloodstream. Then after a few minutes I washed it down with a cupcake on a stick. I walked back and forth across the waterfront to help burn off those megatons of calories.
In order to reach River Street there are a series of sharp stairways, most of which are still in cobblestone from the 1800's, that you use at your own risk. Most of the buildings served as offices for the cotton business, using the river to transport the shipments to other parts of the country and the world. Although the hotels and restaurants have taken over the storefronts, from afar the structure still looks the same as it did over two hundred years ago. As the sun began to go down I couldn't think of anything else I could do that night, so I walked back to the town center in hopes of catching a cab to the motel. I was still tired out from the long bus ride and all the walking I had already done that day. As I'm strolling along the Savannah streets I see there's one establishment with a line out the door. The place was called Leopold's and it appeared to be an old fashioned ice cream shop (actually it was dated back from 1919). Even though I had already my sugar bomb for the day with the praline and cupcake-on-a-stick, I figured this ice cream has to be good if there's this big a line. The wait was a reasonable fifteen minutes and I ordered a small mint chocolate chip cup. I dug my spoon in expecting greatness, but was terribly disappointed. The taste was very flat and nothing compared to a Carvel or Baskin Robbins, or even a pint of Haagen Dazs from the supermarket. Perhaps it was pure homemade ice cream without all the sugary additives, but in my mind it wasn't worth the wait on the line. I managed to find a cab and when I gave him the address of where the motel was, he seemed inconvenienced that he had to drive that far away from all the drunks spilling out of the bars that only require short trips to a different bar. Nevertheless, the driver did take me and he blew through residential streets at raging high speeds. His front window was open and the amount of air blowing into the car from going so fast made it near-deafening to hear anything else. I saw the luxurious homes of Old Savannah and in the blink of an eye it shifted to seediness and in another blink we were at the Motel 6. The cab fare was nearly the same as my previous two rides, but we had arrived in half the time. As soon as I got out he cut a turn and sped right back to the town. In all, it had been a very enlightened first day.
The first riverboat of the day was set to leave at 12 noon and there was no way I was going to miss it. I wanted to get that done early on so I could have the rest of day without the tour hanging over my hang. Taking the cabs had become expensive at $25 a pop, so I did a little research online and found a local bus line, the Chatham Area Transit (CAT), that had a stop down the block from the motel. From there it would take me directly into town towards the waterfront without any transfers needed. Though I had to wait for it a little, $1.50 a ride was much more economically feasible than the price for the cab rides. I found a diner nearby for a quick Belgian Waffle for breakfast which turned out to be nothing special and was on the bus before I knew it. I got to the departing dock in plenty of time and read that the ship rules forbid bringing firearms onto the vessel, so I was happy I left my bazooka at the motel. There's the basic tour entrance which is just the ride or for a few dollars more you are served a meal in the dining room. I took the basic tour fee and found a good seat on the top deck. Even if you don't select the dining option, there's a full bar and snack concession stand to get food, so the dining room makes no sense, plus you want to be outside watching the sights, not stuck behind glass. The riverboat tour motors down the Savannah River as the captain gives the tour over the loudspeaker. I managed to get myself a rum punch and took a seat at the edge of the boat. The tour goes back and forth on a stretch of water on the Savannah River. About six thousand vessels a year use the river which still plays a key cog in the international shipping industry and also serves as a borderline between Georgia and South Carolina. Since ships have been growing taller and taller over the years, the Talmadge Memorial Bridge needed to be raised in the early 1980's and a skeleton of the older version remains standing next to the newer version. International ships coming into American waters have to follow a few guidelines in order to gain clearance from the US Coast Guard and Department of Homeland Security. Different colored flags waiving on top of the ships will signify what type of cargo they're carrying, such as reg flags mean explosive and hazardous materials. In addition, an international ship might have an American flag waiving up top, but that is to signify the ship had been cleared by US Customs.
The Captain had a few interesting stories for the businesses and industries alongside the docks of the Savannah River. One was a company that manufactured and shipped sawdust exclusively to Germany and nowhere else. Another fact I found interesting was that Jeep Cherokee was opening a new manufacturing plant to replace one they were closing in Asia. That's the first time I ever heard of a business shutting down overseas labor in favor of creating jobs in America. Unless the economy has become so bad in America people are willing to work less than Asian slave wages. What makes the Savannah River vital for shipping is that it reaches the most westward into the United States than any other river. In fact, the most westward point is lined up vertically with Cleveland (at the cusp of the Midwest). It cheaper to ship via the Savannah River and send goods up north versus drop off a shipment in NY or Boston and transport on land west. At one end of the tour is Old Fort Jackson which was used as a defensive position for the Confederates during the Civil War. The fort itself is open to visitation, but for timing and logistic reasons I unfortunately wasn't able to drop by. It took General Sherman until 1864 to devise a plan to finally take the fort out of commission, until that point it wrecked havoc on Union maritime advances. The tour lasts for about an hour and a half and by the time we were docked I was ready for lunch. I stopped in at Bernie's Oyster House which has the surroundings on a dive bar, but specializes in oysters and other raw bar favorites. I went with the fried oysters and a beer. In Savannah, you don't have to stay to finish off your (alcoholic) drink. You can take your cup out with you and walk around with it as long as its in the cup. In fact, if you're having a drink in a glass, the bar/restaurant will pour it into a plastic cup for you so you can take it to go. Generally during the weekend and/or nightly hours you'll see plenty of pedestrians walking around with a beer or mixed drink in their hands. It's not a case that there's people passed out or acting foolish in the streets, there appears to be enough self-control that the authorities allow it to occur. Also, the streets are narrow and crowded, which yields to people either walking or taking a bus to get where they need to go versus getting behind the wheel intoxicated.
The fried oysters were nice, but my stomach still had room for plenty more, so before heading back to the hotel for a nap I stopped by a steakhouse called Belford's and ordered up a streak sandwich with cheese and onions on top and to wash it down had a tall glass of peach tea, which of course was mixed with some type of liquor. Belford's was actually closing early that day for a wedding party, so I had to scoff down the sandwich and take the peach tea in a plastic cup to go. Once I got back to the motel and had a nap, I figured my next day was going to be quite tiring with a trip to the beach, so I stayed in for the rest of the day and took advantage of the courtesy pool out back. I was able to enjoy it for a good ten minutes until flashing lights rumbled from the skies, followed by a heavy down pour. I was still having Wi-Fi issues in my room, so once the rain let down I had to jog with my laptop to a Denny's around the corner to bum some of their signal. I ordered a cup of coffee and a bowl of fruit I really had no interest in, but getting my work done was a load of my mind so I could enjoy the third and final day of my trip at the beach on Tybee Island. I repaid my gratitude for Denny's Wi-Fi signal the next morning by giving them more business for breakfast, a sausage omelet skillet. There's a shuttle bus to Tybee Island which leaves from the main tourist headquarters, next to the Georgia State Railroad Museum. This is the spot all the Savannah Tour buses start from. This shuttle isn't a tour, its just a transport mini-bus that charges five dollars each way. I of course paid up front for a round trip. The ride to Tybee is about a half-hour and to compare its like the Georgia version of the Jersey Shore, but with rednecks instead of meatheads. The beach is free and alcoholic drinks are okay on the sand, as long as its in a cup. The water has that greenish color like New York, but the temperature is as warm as the Florida coastline. After a couple of hours on the beach I wanted to check out the local cuisine and tried out a southern favorite, low country boil. It's similar to seafood gumbo as its a soupy mix of hard-boiled potatoes, corn on the cob, sausage slices, shrimp, and rice. I couldn't leave an island without more seafood, so I also took a dozen mussels marinated with a spicy topping. I never had mussels done that way and it was certainly a delight hard not to forget.
The bus back was scheduled to leave in thirty minutes, so I wanted to take time to visit an authentic local bar to get a feel of how the residents are. I picked a place called Benny's which boasted it had the coldest beers in America out front. That claim was an extreme exaggeration, but it was very different to go inside a bar and see everyone smoking (New York banned it years ago). Outside myself, the youngest person in the place was probably in their mid-fifties and only six months away from having to walk around with an oxygen tank. Everyone seemed to know each other and there was that sense of community, but it was sad see those locals spend their time in a dark cave puffing and sipping away while the bartender went back and forth from serving drinks to operating the lotto machine. I didn't even finish my beer, I felt so out of place in there I just left with half a beer in the bottle. Not that it was much different from any other bar in America, but to hear everyone's rugged voice coughing from years of tobacco use was uneasy to sit through. When I got back to the bus there were no more seats available, so the driver offered that I sit on the steps back to Savannah. That was probably a safety hazard and another sign of the casual southern life, but I did want to get back to town asap, so I made myself as comfortable as possible on the top step and hoped the driver stayed awake. The bus let me off near Old Savannah and right across the street was an old cemetery that served as the final resting place for some Revolutionary War soldiers, so I took time to pay a visit.
Not much at all is mentioned of the Civil War in Savannah, alot of the advertising is on the heroes of the Revolutionary War. Either its case of 'focus on the positive' or hiding a past embarrassment. The cemetery itself was very scenic with plenty of oven-style graves, similar to what I saw in New Orleans. Outside the cemetery there's a police museum, which was closed at the time I was there, but at least they left a few classic law enforcement vehicles out front. Another parting observation about Savannah was the vast amount of Nazi World War II memorabilia in the antique shops. Of course, serious antique collectors will get their hands on these types of items, but the type of stuff they had, just as ID cards, uniform pieces, metals, knives, was much more personalized and in vast supply than any collections I've seen in Northern antique shops. In addition, one old-timer on one of my bus trip was speaking on how you can't criticize a person based on the conditions he was living in at the time, in reference to the slavery issue. What made it uneasy was that there were black people sitting just a few feet away as he was expressing his point and he didn't care. With things like that, an increased market for Nazi historical goods, no visible regret over the Civil War, and the warm personality from that anti-hoodie cop in South Carolina; you can spot the traces of the old plantation mentality in these Confederate states - even generations later.
I did my packing at the motel that night for my morning bus ride back to New York, but wanted to take a final dip in the pool which had been cut off due to rain the night before. The roaming children were on the loose again, not sure what room(s) they were coming from. They ran in and out of the lobby and were all over all hallways. After I got out of the pool and went back into my room, I placed my wet bathing suit on the railing outside my room to dry off. A couple of hours later I went back out to retrieve my bathing suit, but it wasn't hanging on the railing anymore. I looked over the rail and saw my trunks laying on the parking lot floor. It could've been from a gust of wind, but a wet bathing suit weighs down heavier, so it had to have been thrown off the railing from those kids. The next day I was on the bus and happily there were no further arguments or conflicts to witness. The transfer routes were the same, except this time there was a scheduled two hour layover in Fayetteville, North Carolina. I had been to that Fayetteville station several times on previous Greyhound trips, but never actually took boots to the ground outside. With time to kill and my stomach empty, I figured I could walk a few blocks and hopefully find a place to eat.
On the surface, Fayetteville looks like a dreadfully slow and boring military town. There was a historical area that had a few interesting buildings, but from what I saw there was zero pulse anywhere. I walked two blocks and saw nothing but vacant buildings and stores no longer in business. Then out of nowhere the last thing on Earth I expected to see appeared right in front of my eyes. It was an African restaurant named The Taste of West Africa, or TOWA. I went inside and there were a couple of customers sitting in the back. This was the type of surprise I was hoping for, so I sat at the counter. Minutes later a few other customers came in, both black and white, so this definitely seemed like a popular place for everyone to go in rural North Carolina. I had a beef patty for an appetizer and later on a large spicy okra soup with mango juice. One of the guys who came in saw my patty and wanted one for himself, in fact he ended up ordering a ton of food for himself, just for lunch. As he waited for his to-go order he began asking where I was from since I must have looked like an outsider and it turned out he was from the Bronx also, but his mother moved the family down there many years ago. I wish I could've stayed even longer to try other things on the exotic menu, but I couldn't risk missing the bus.
Even if something looks boring, sometimes you have to go out and put the boots on the ground, you just might uncover a ton of fun.....
