The next morning we called our B&B in Charleston to find out what the situation was. Saturday we had heard on the news that no cars were being allowed onto the peninsula. The man on the other end of the line said that the inn was fine; I told him we would come in on Tuesday (two days later than scheduled) and stay through Wednesday. He seemed disappointed by my unwillingness to visit a flooded city but checked to see if there was a room available for Wednesday. There was one, he said. I told him we'd take it.
We got in the car and drove south to Savannah. We had bypassed the city on the drive up because no lodgings would allow us to book a room for just one night on the weekend - and, of course, I wanted to be in Beaufort for the shrimp festival on Saturday. This innkeepers' inflexibility soured me on the city and I had accepted the idea - reveled in it actually - that we would take a trip through the Low Country and ignore the city of good and evil.
We crossed the Talmadge Memorial Bridge over the Savannah River and looked for a hotel because I was boycotting the inns. We found a clean, well-lighted place on East Bay Street that cost us more than I had hoped we would pay.
We dropped our bags and headed down to the river. An Oktoberfest celebration was going on, and people sat at tables listening to an oompah band. The sky was overcast but the air was dry. Every few feet a dog appeared, whose acquaintance Hania immediately made. I started to feel better about Savannah.
Up at the entrance to City Market a band played for a mix of locals and tourists. The sun peeked through the clouds and Hania posed next to the statue of Johnny Mercer.
In the evening we took a street two blocks back from Bay that skirted about five squares. The Spanish moss dripping from the live oak trees looked like clotted rain. We eventually arrived at The Grey, an old Greyhound station that had been spruced up and turned into a retro-trendy restaurant. We sat at the bar and talked to a couple from Doylestown, Pennsylvania, who had returned to Savannah because a section of I-95 was closed.
Walking back to our hotel along West Bay Street, we passed the Moon River Brewing Company and saw a sign advertising evenings of "Beer & Hymns." Savannah, I thought, all is forgiven.
