Charleston, South Carolina has its own style of “Southern-ness” that almost can’t be defined. And although it has been years (almost two decades) since I have been there, I definitely recognize Charleston when I see, hear, or smell it. Charlestonians sound like no other group of Southerners: “Chawlstun,” they say with their long middle vowels – a round, musical sound I love.
As a traveler at heart, no matter where I go, my list of things to do and see is always longer than my stay. The Tom Waits song, “Take The Long Way Home,” comes to mind when I visit a new (or “old” new) place. And from afar, Charleston feels like a place where you can (should) get sidetracked, get lost, and then slowly find your way back home. The city is leading the game when it comes to delicious food (think Sean Brock, whose last meal on earth would be a sous vide roast chicken, Mike Latta, or Craig Diehl) and cocktails, like our favorite, Brooks Reitz of Jack Rudy. Our friends (and partners in cotton), Billy Reid, have a store there. All in all, it seems a deliciously sinful place to settle into for a week. I know I will never check off my entire to-do list, but perhaps Maggie and I will make it out to Bowen’s Island and spend an afternoon at the Halsey Museum.