Travel Blog

Robert Benchley, on his first visit to Venice, sent a telegram to friends in New York: "Streets full of water. Please advise."

So within minutes of arriving in Charleston I tweeted: "Streets NOT full of water. Please advise."

The city, I had learned even before arriving there, easily floods and rapidly empties. (Though west of our B&B, two blocks of Wentworth Street were still closed to traffic.) In fact, it looked less affected by weather than on my last visit in 1989, a few weeks after Hurricane Hugo. (I didn't mention this trip to any Charlestonians for fear that I'd be banned for life.)

It was interesting to see how different Charleston is from its Low Country twin. Both are gracious Southern cities, but while Savannah is orderly and symmetrical, Charleston is raggedy and haphazard. "Wherever the cows made a path," a Georgian friend told me, a bit condescendingly, "they put a street." King Street, the main shopping street, has a tight, winding feel compared to the wide straight line of Savannah's Broughton Street. Savannah has more trees (and bookstores); Charleston is more defined by water (the reason we were two days late).

Walking down Calhoun Street, we found Emanuel AME Church, despite being misinformed by two local twentysomethings. How could they not know the location of the sanctuary where nine people at a Bible study class were shot dead in June; where, paying his respects, President Obama sang Amazing Grace? I asked a parishioner who was leaving the church if we could have a look inside, and he said no, the church was closed. "But you're welcome to join us for Bible study at 6."

Hania and I don't look like assassins, but I was still immeasurably touched by the man's magnanimity. City full of grace. Please advise.