Category Archives: Travel

Following our marvelous dinner at Elizabeth’s on 37^th, we headed back to the hotel for a change into more casual clothing for the evening plans. Those in-between moments are often what I recall with the most fondness ~ the warm lights of our hotel room, a brief survey of Savannah from the balcony while a balmy night wind swirled around us, and an extra spritz of Jo Malone all created a sweet memory of safety. Intentionally so, as we were about to visit a place of darkness…

Built atop a pile of soldier bones, the Sorrel-Weed House is one of the most haunted places in all of America. It comes with years of tragic history, and the scandalous doings of its former inhabitants seem to bleed through its very walls. While I chickened out on going into it last time, with Andy in tow I felt emboldened to schedule a night-time tour (with explicit instructions for him not to move more than one foot from my side during the entire duration of the thing).

Mulling around the courtyard, we approached the 10 PM hour that marked the start of the tour. Talk of ghosts ensued, haunting incidents were discussed, and by the time we entered the front door of the house I was thoroughly shook. Andy was amused more than anything and within minutes had violated my strict do-not-move-more-than-12-inches-from-me rule, leaving me to fend for myself against evil spirits and the not-quite-completely-gone.

Most of my sensible side was merely entertained by everything the guide told us, but there was no denying that tragedy had taken place repeatedly in that space, and I do believe that trauma like that leaves a stain. Maybe it’s the mere knowledge of something bad having happened that stirs something in us, and maybe we bring it into being. However it happens, there was a discernible chill when they brought us into the basement (which is how basements usually work).

The tour ended in the square outside the house, where the remaining history of the original tenants was told. We weren’t that far from the Mercer House. As I may have mentioned, every step of Savannah feels haunted.

That night, vivid nightmares marched through my restless sleep. I had not escaped untouched. Though it may sound strange, the idea of visiting Bonaventure Cemetery the next day sounded peaceful. Perhaps the dead sleep better when they’re properly buried…

The importance of an afternoon siesta, especially when on vacation, is something that has escaped the hustling and bustling of this country’s habit. We partake of it whenever we find ourselves on vacation, as much for Andy’s back as for its own restorative properties. In Savannah, it’s a natural fit, so after returning from the Mercer House, on an early afternoon that hinted at sunlight but hesitated at every turn, we tumbled into bed (as soon as the DeSoto deigned to clean the room ~ Southern time is ever-unrushed) and rested up for a dinner at Elizabeth’s on 37^thand a night-time tour of one of Savannah’s most haunted spots.

Along with the siesta, another hallmark of our Savannah adventure was the perfect proliferation of fancy cocktails and intoxicating libations. Southerners know the importance of a proper drink, and how to prepare them. They also allow you a to-go cup, which is permissible so long as it’s covered. What an ingenious idea! We didn’t seem to leave enough in our glasses to ever partake of the tradition, but in Savannah it felt so much classier than Las Vegas or New Orleans. (It’s how these things are done that makes all the difference.)

Certain restaurants are institutions, and in Savannah one of those is Elizabeth’s on 37^th. While the Pink House was still under renovation after a fire this past winter, Elizabeth’s was more than a substitute ~ it stands proudly on its own, its quaint setting rivaled only by its stupendous culinary offerings. Easily the best meal we would have while in town, it was also one of the most fun, thanks to a cadre of servers who were as warm and friendly as they were swift and helpful.

We sat at a table looking onto the side yard, where a fig tree was strung with Edison bulbs and the suddenly-blue sky turned to indigo…

‘Midnight in the Garden of Good And Evil’ by John Berendt was the inspiration for most of our sightseeing, as Andy has loved that movie since it came out. Our first full day in Savannah began with a breakfast at Clary’s Cafe, followed by a tour of the Mercer House. Ghosts, murder, and delicious food conspired to craft the kind of enchantment that can only be found here. Each square has its stories and fables and hauntings, and the whole city is built upon bones. It’s impossible not to feel the work of restless souls on the edge of midnight. If I died somewhere so strikingly beautiful, I might not want to leave either. Still, for all its gorgeousness, a sense of the unsettled seemed to lurk in every shadow.

After breakfast we meandered around the squares near Mercer House. A half-marathon was in progress, and the finish line was nearby at Forsyth Park. We skirted the edge of the space, then retreated to less-populous areas. A few tiny boutiques sold art and jewelry and other unique gifts. I found a bracelet made of fabric-covered beads. Passing showers made a bit of shopping preferable to sitting on wet benches, and soon it was time to tour Mercer House.

While the sensational and tragic aspects of what happened there overshadow almost everything else, the main thing one walks away with after seeing such magnificence and hearing all the history is the idea that Jim Williams saved quite a bit of Savannah, restoring Mercer House and countless other homes to their historic glory. There was artistic ambition and a love for beauty and history that permeated those verdant squares.

There was a darkness as well, like in the rich aubergine hue of the gentlemen’s drawing room walls, which Mr. Williams mixed himself. He also painted the faux-marble borders in finely convincing fashion. Such attention to detail, such painstaking intricacies ~ they point to an obsession with perfection and a fussiness for the fancy things in life. It is, largely, a way of life we seem to be losing, a carefulness that tends to get carelessly tossed away, or vulgarized to the point of becoming a tourist attraction. We each had a hand in it, I suppose.

That didn’t dull the beauty or detract from the wonder.

We made our way back to the hotel, while flowers winked and fountains whispered…

Ever since I returned to Savannah last year I’ve been wanting to bring Andy back to experience the charm that this beautiful city exudes at every turn. (And with our newly-approved TSA Precheck status, we were anxious to try out an expedited airport experience.) We arrived at the DeSoto Hotel in the middle of the gorgeous Historic District early in the day. While Andy settled in for a siesta, I made a quick run to the Broughton Street shopping area to find a signature scent for this Savannah trip. Every trip begins with a scent selection and an itinerary. Andy and I both do well with a relatively structured plan ~ it appeals to my Virgo nature and his police background. For this vacation I made a little peach-blossom itinerary card and set some tentative dinner and excursion ideas down.

As soon as we arrived, the magic of Savannah was in effect ~ azaleas were in bloom everywhere, and the low-country smell of the river ~ a very distinct odor that borders on good and bad, and which I’ve come to adore, rolled over the breezy warm weather. Rainstorms had been forecast for every.single.day. we were scheduled to be there, so I kept my expectations low. Somehow I had to believe that Savannah’s enchantment would not be dampened by rain. As I looked out toward the river, the wind kicked up, but it was warm, and there was no rain.

At the fragrance store, I couldn’t decide between two very distinct Jo Malone bottles ~ a Southern-tinged ‘Honeysuckle & Davana’ or a Limited Edition ‘Willow & Amber.’ I’d favor the Willow and save the Honeysuckle as a gift for my Mom.

The walk back to the hotel was filled with trees hanging heavily with Spanish moss, some also lined with swaths of little ferns. Everywhere life hung and peeked, and in the multitude of squares that led through the historic area, camellias of all kinds were in full bloom.

We took our cocktails at the top of the Bohemian Hotel ~ an outside balcony ran around the edge, where revelers were already celebrating the weekend and the sunny, warm weather. Dinner reservations weren’t for another hour, so we settled in at the bar and enjoyed the bourbon and all that sweet Southern hospitality.

Our Georgia journey had begun…

Our trip to Savannah is quickly approaching (I just had our itinerary printed out on the cutest peach-blossom stationary) and so the day warrants a look back at my last visit to that magical city of the South. With its Spanish moss, beautifully-manicured squares, and historic ghosts, Savannah is a land of delicious enchantment. Like many people, I first succumbed to its siren call after reading John Berendt’s ‘Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil’ – simply known as ‘The Book’ to locals. This was back in the 90’s, and Lady Chablis was still holding court at her club. Sadly, I never made it to one of her shows, and now she is no longer with us, but her legacy endures, and she has not been forgotten. As much as I enjoyed the novel, it was the city that ultimately captured my fancy, seducing with its charm and character, bending perception and experience with its beguiling ways. From the food and drink to the convivial atmosphere and friendly denizens, Savannah was like an eccentric old friend who welcomes one without outward judgment. 

Last time around we booked our accommodations at the Mansion on Forsyth; this time we’ll be staying at the DeSoto Hotel, a little closer to the action. I’ve also booked dinners at The Grey and Elizabeth’s on 37^th, because so much of Savannah’s allure is in its culinary sorcery. The libations on offer are pretty nifty too. This marks Andy’s first trip to Georgia, so I’m hoping it’s extra-special; Savannah can’t help but work her magic on the most winter-weary visitor.

~ Savannah Part One

~ Savannah Part Two

~ Savannah Part Three

~ Savannah Part Four

This weekend Andy and I are headed to New York with Mom and Dad to see ‘Come From Away,’ while trying out the only New York Kimpton Hotel we haven’t stayed at yet – the Ink 48. I’m not sure which I’m more excited about: seeing the show, staying at the hotel, or having a weekend away with three of my favorite people. The Kimpton company has always been our favorite host when traveling, and after excellent stays at the Muse and the Hotel Eventi I cant wait to see what this property offers.

Many people claim that when staying in New York the hotel doesn’t matter as much as what you’ll be doing. In my younger years, that definitely proved to be true, especially considering some sketchy stays I survived in Chelsea, but as I’ve grown older I find the hotel matters a little bit more. A good view, a decadent bathroom, and room to breathe are more important than nights out until 3 AM. Thankfully, Kimpton has proven adept at supplying both comfort and entertainment, so I’m confident we will all enjoy our first stay at the Ink 48.

Sea had stayed at bay during the night. I’d kept the windows closed as it had cooled down considerably. Upon waking and walking to Cafe Madeleine, however, I noticed Sea was still around, a bit more sulky, perhaps, and she would follow me to Cape Cod, sifting through the sky and pouring down once I reached my destination. JoAnn and I sat near the bay window of her little mermaid home on Shore Road as the rain poured down, a worrisome state of affairs for Tressie’s graduation later that afternoon. The radar showed it moving off shore in the coming hours, though, and I remained hopeful it would clear. As JoAnn and I caught up, the sky lightened. Sea had thrown her fit and let Eel Pond take over for a bit.

I took a short walk to the Lobster Trap for a seafood fix, where I had the fortune to run into JoAnn’s sister Kate and her daughter Madison. They were good enough to join me for lunch, and celebrating Kate’s birthday as well, which is just how the universe sometimes works. The guests were gathering for the party. Excitement was in the air like the Sea.

On the walk home, I rounded the house and went a few more blocks out of the way to extend the beauty of the Cape. Privet and beach roses were in full bloom, sweetly scenting the misty air. Sea ran in channels all about the area, and I breathed her in alongside the oceanic cologne that wafted off the lichens and moss and wet-loving organisms.

Sky was gray, but her sister Blue had found habitation among the iconic Cape Cod hydrangeas. They don’t get any bluer than here. Subtler shades were found in the wet wreckage of the roadside vegetation, but there were accents of bright color if you got closer and slowed down to see.

Back in JoAnn’s backyard, her work on the gardens over the last couple of years was coming into beautiful fruition. Proper cultivation brought about bigger blooms, brighter colors and a pleasant richness that usually begins in a garden’s third or fourth year. The lessons of a garden were working their own magic – patience, persistence, perpetual failure followed by moments of redemption and gorgeous success. She’s a relatively new gardener, but she’s doing well and finding her way. It came about at just the right time, in just the manner the world intended it to be. A bit of grace, perhaps, in a mad world.

Hope was to be found in the future at hand as well, and celebrating Tressie’s graduation from college was a happy way of bringing everyone together, which is what JoAnn does best. I’ve had the pleasure of being her friend for almost twenty years, and in that time I’ve had the occasional favor of getting to peep in on parties and gatherings where her family members would enter and exit at various stages in our lives.

This was one of those times when everyone seemed to be at a good place. That rarely happens in such fortuitous fashion, not when there are so many of us treading so many different paths, but for one afternoon in June, when the rain held off and the breeze wasn’t too cool, a group of hopeful college grads christened us all with the bit of hope that we needed so badly.

Early the next morning, I departed for my niece’s dance recital, continuing on the circle of life. The day began uncool, gray fashion, and I was leaving Sea behind for the moment. We will be back to see her before the summer is over.

Sea whispered to me when I arrived in Boston. She peaked around corners, she skulked in the shadows, she stepped alongside me in the sun. Everywhere I walked, I felt she was there. She tickled my nose with her salty seduction, teasing and tempting with her mineral-laden scent. On certain summer days, that’s what Sea did best, and as I began my perambulation of Boston, she was in the air.

The weekend would be informed by Sea, who had a strong backing wind, one that brought her all the way to Braddock Park and the South End, and one that would follow in the misty air as I made my way to Cape Cod the next day. First, though, a few glimpses of the flowers that were in striking form along the streets of Boston.

Roses tumbled out of every little square of dirt – full, multi-branched mini-bouquets of roses, arching and weighing down their thorny boughs, reaching out to entice all passers-by with their prettiness and perfume. It was a beautiful afternoon, but I could still sense Sea, could feel her in the humid, murky descent of evening. I made my way through the cobblestone streets of the oldest parts of the city. Some of the steps were haunted, by Sea and by History. Her story too. I was scoping out scenes for the upcoming BroSox Adventure with Skip, and found some new possibilities in the night. It will be a summer weekend when we go, but the autumn may beckon a bit, hinting of mystery and impending coziness. August plays out that way. But I’m getting ahead of myself, and early summer is not the time to do that.

I did not have the option of making it a late night, having to get up at dawn to beat the traffic over the bridge to Cape Cod. Besides, when Sea is in the air, memories and spirits move easier among worlds, especially at night. It’s better to hide in slumber at such times. I hurried home to the condo, ran up the steps, and locked the door behind me.