Charleston, South Carolina
The holiday
weekend had something promising in store for us. After seeing some really fine
Southern cities (Asheville, Louisville, Austin, just to name a few) in my
lifetime, I would finally get to see Charleston, South Carolina. I recall
visiting Charleston in 1990, but only for a cup of coffee, so to speak, passing
through on one of my Greyhound bus cross country trips. More than a quarter
century later, I would have the chance to correct that error.
Approaching Charleston, the landscape becomes flat and densely wooded. A billboard depicting a bear and an assault rifle screams out the message in large print: WE RESPECT YOUR RIGHT TO BEAR (pun intended) ARMS. I don’t need a reminder like that to discover that Charleston is more on the conservative side. Nothing wrong with that, we can’t all be San Francisco. Very quickly, though, the visitor will learn that, along with the conservative slant, is a southern charm enveloping the city that is irresistible. Charleston itself was named after Charles II, the monarch who was restored to the throne in Britain following a bloody civil war spearheaded by Oliver Cromwell that claimed the head of Charles’ father, Charles I. Historians will also recall that this is where the shots were fired that would launch the U.S. Civil War in 1861.
The first thing I notice is not the diverse architecture or the church towers stretching into the sky, but these bolts fastened to numerous houses. They take on different shapes, like in the form of a cross, a lion’s head, a star, or simply a square or circle, if the landlords lacked the funds or imagination. These are earthquake bolts, I am told. In 1886, Charleston was rocked by a doozy of an earthquake (a 7.0 on the Richter, or thereabouts), making it one of the largest earthquakes in the East Coast’s history. The tremors were felt from New York all the way to Cuba, legend has it. The bolts would be used to reinforce the buildings that either survived the earthquake or were under construction. Fortunately, the buildings in Charleston have been spared any further seismic rumblings.
Next, there are the so-called ‘Single Houses’ in Charleston. Typically, they are long and narrow, no more than one room. The two story verandas stretch along one side of the house and never face the street. Interesting, I am thinking. Usually a porch or a veranda of your typical American house faces the guest as he approaches the house. Not in Charleston. This design was perfected in the days before air conditioning in the 17th century, when the extra draft was needed to flow freely through the house. This is typical of Charleston architecture. The porches point to the south or the west to protect its occupants from the brutal late afternoon sun. Aside from the relief that this provides from the heat, there is also the issue of privacy. The door you see from the street merely leads you to the porch, where the front door will be. During the muggy Southern summers, it is not uncommon for people to sleep out on the porch.
In the evening, we walk along Concord Street and admire the hazy seaside. Charleston itself is flanked by two rivers, the Cooper and the Ashley, that both empty into the Atlantic. At the tip of the peninsula is Battery Park, which features cannons (and dozens of cannon balls), statues, a gazebo built for photo opportunities (actually used by a high school class when we reach it), and its most enduring feature, the hanging oaks. From what I understand, these oaks used to have plenty of Spanish moss hanging from them before Hurricane Hugo wiped out this cute little feature in 1989.
Approaching Charleston, the landscape becomes flat and densely wooded. A billboard depicting a bear and an assault rifle screams out the message in large print: WE RESPECT YOUR RIGHT TO BEAR (pun intended) ARMS. I don’t need a reminder like that to discover that Charleston is more on the conservative side. Nothing wrong with that, we can’t all be San Francisco. Very quickly, though, the visitor will learn that, along with the conservative slant, is a southern charm enveloping the city that is irresistible. Charleston itself was named after Charles II, the monarch who was restored to the throne in Britain following a bloody civil war spearheaded by Oliver Cromwell that claimed the head of Charles’ father, Charles I. Historians will also recall that this is where the shots were fired that would launch the U.S. Civil War in 1861.
The first thing I notice is not the diverse architecture or the church towers stretching into the sky, but these bolts fastened to numerous houses. They take on different shapes, like in the form of a cross, a lion’s head, a star, or simply a square or circle, if the landlords lacked the funds or imagination. These are earthquake bolts, I am told. In 1886, Charleston was rocked by a doozy of an earthquake (a 7.0 on the Richter, or thereabouts), making it one of the largest earthquakes in the East Coast’s history. The tremors were felt from New York all the way to Cuba, legend has it. The bolts would be used to reinforce the buildings that either survived the earthquake or were under construction. Fortunately, the buildings in Charleston have been spared any further seismic rumblings.
Next, there are the so-called ‘Single Houses’ in Charleston. Typically, they are long and narrow, no more than one room. The two story verandas stretch along one side of the house and never face the street. Interesting, I am thinking. Usually a porch or a veranda of your typical American house faces the guest as he approaches the house. Not in Charleston. This design was perfected in the days before air conditioning in the 17th century, when the extra draft was needed to flow freely through the house. This is typical of Charleston architecture. The porches point to the south or the west to protect its occupants from the brutal late afternoon sun. Aside from the relief that this provides from the heat, there is also the issue of privacy. The door you see from the street merely leads you to the porch, where the front door will be. During the muggy Southern summers, it is not uncommon for people to sleep out on the porch.
In the evening, we walk along Concord Street and admire the hazy seaside. Charleston itself is flanked by two rivers, the Cooper and the Ashley, that both empty into the Atlantic. At the tip of the peninsula is Battery Park, which features cannons (and dozens of cannon balls), statues, a gazebo built for photo opportunities (actually used by a high school class when we reach it), and its most enduring feature, the hanging oaks. From what I understand, these oaks used to have plenty of Spanish moss hanging from them before Hurricane Hugo wiped out this cute little feature in 1989.
Battery
Park is a welcome change of pace for the kids, whom we dragged all the way to
the point. Here, we play tag among the cannons and the hanging oaks until
sunset, when we head back downtown and a delicious dinner that awaits
us.
A gorgeous, gorgeous place, so far…with much more to come.
A gorgeous, gorgeous place, so far…with much more to come.
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