We met up with Beth at a welcoming small pub off one of Savannah’s 20-odd leafy squares for lunch. Beth was arriving from NYC via Savannah airport and we from Hilton Head via a National Wildlife Refuge just north of Savannah in South Carolina. We met a bald eagle on our way to the Savannah River, and – once in Georgia – passed an enormous Weyerhauser paper mill and miles and miles of container shipping docks as we made our way down river on a two-lane highway filled with humongous trucks. The area we were driving through was called Garden City. No gardens in sight.
The approach was almost a metaphor for what we found in the historic district itself. Really, one should visit Savannah before Charleston. The city, laid out by Oglethorpe in the 18th century, with its squares and leafy boulevards has beautiful vistas here and there. It has 21 squares with gorgeous live oaks and shade, which in many ways give a shape to the historic area. Jones Street is likely the most consistently beautiful stretch of houses in town. Lovely monuments, here and there. Lots of history, here and there. Much evidence of the flourishing and property-rich Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD), more here than there. And a brand-new modern art museum that is small, newly opened and stupendous. 
The city’s historical district is full of interesting landmarks, separated by parking lots, hotels, utilitarian buildings and municipal offices. We were underwhelmed by the size and quality of the city. But that is probably more our fault than Savannah’s. We were coming from the Beauforts and Charleston; Savannah is Savannah. A bit rougher, less defined geographically, and perhaps, less “educated” in a general way. The island beach, 10 miles away – Tybee Island – is a poor person’s version of Wrightsville beach: lovely sands with tire tracks on them: cheek-by-jowl housing, and a lot of beach joints on the strip of macadam down the middle.
Complaints registered, we have had a ball testing Tybee Island and Savannah’s food offerings. 
Almost every foray out for nourishment (when we weren’t feeding ourselves in the very comfortable old “Captain’s Quarters” we rented together) has been a gas. Particularly memorable for unabashed Camp was the Crab Shack extravaganza on the causeway to Tybee Island and the 1950’s style road house, Johnnie Harris’ 
on the way back into town. But we also had good meals and good fun at Garibaldi’s – as well as a serious and funny adventure with bad service at the Pink House Inn. In between, we have done our Savannah tour, visited a few house museums – the best of which was the tiny childhood home of the writer Flannery O’Conner – strolled along the waterfront, visited Fort Pulaski, learned our way around the city in our trusty old Avalon. People are very friendly. We suspect that many are quite content that there is no news on television and no where much to go. Ambivalent in the Garden of Good and less Good seems to be where we are until we head south again on Wednesday morning. Scenes around town: this is a hard town to catch in photos, so these are just to offer a sketch.
More Savannah images here.
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