Travel Journal
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Time Traveling in the Deep South:
Charleston, South Carolina
January 2023
By Sandra Bertrand
The first thing that hit me, hailing “Mr. Willy’s” taxi from the Charleston airport, was the heavy blast of humid air. No ordinary air, this, but a hot, parched tongue licking us up, suitcases and all – a ubiquitous monster that only subsided with the day’s last drop of July rain.
My senses were in instant shock. New York City’s honks and shrieks were replaced by swaying palmettos, South Carolina’s state tree, and showers of red blossoms from the jacaranda bushes lining the central divide. We were smack dab in the middle of Lowcountry. The world had suddenly become ten percent earth and ninety percent sky. Minutes later, we arrived at the wrought iron gates fronting the Barksdale House Inn, where we would find a new definition for hospitality each and every day of our stay.
The first thing that hit me, hailing “Mr. Willy’s” taxi from the Charleston airport, was the heavy blast of humid air. No ordinary air, this, but a hot, parched tongue licking us up, suitcases and all – a ubiquitous monster that only subsided with the day’s last drop of July rain.
My senses were in instant shock. New York City’s honks and shrieks were replaced by swaying palmettos, South Carolina’s state tree, and showers of red blossoms from the jacaranda bushes lining the central divide. We were smack dab in the middle of Lowcountry. The world had suddenly become ten percent earth and ninety percent sky. Minutes later, we arrived at the wrought iron gates fronting the Barksdale House Inn, where we would find a new definition for hospitality each and every day of our stay.
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My partner, Joanne, and I derive great pleasure from researching our intended destinations, sixty percent of our efforts directed toward the local cuisine. She-crab soup was at the top of my list and every meal to follow would begin with that hands-down regional favorite.
Deep within the cool interior of the Francis Marion Hotel, we located the Swamp Fox Restaurant, our first discovery strolling upper King Street. A sampling of soups, she-crab and a tomato-based Gullah-inspired okra, followed by a shared crab cake sandwich and a shrimp salad – washed down with a bottle of Crossings Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand – took away any leg stiffness from the plane ride. Our waitress, Sylvie, even led me to the mezzanine elevator when nature called with a “s’il vous plait, Madame, this way.” It blew a hole in my previous assumptions of French haughtiness, on these shores in any case.
Sometimes the first hours in a new locale are best spent just wandering with no specific destination in mind. |
Sandra at the Gate of the Barksdale House Inn
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Charleston (first Charles Towne after King Charles II) was settled in 1670, the fourth largest and wealthiest of colonial cities. Little wonder, then, that its architecture was a rich pastiche of styles – Georgian, Federal, Italianate, Greek Revivalist and Victorian – but of greatest fascination to the eyes, Charleston. Charleston single houses were the result of the original, narrow city lots. The narrow side of the house, which typically faces the street, is simply a façade; the side of the house, perpendicular to the street, is the true front. The faux street-side door leads to the piazza or porch, serving as a breezeway for a parched populace on warm days.
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That night, we happened upon the Blind Tiger Pub, where a real tiger’s head managed to stare me down while dining on smoked chicken wings and some flash-fried cheese balls with a gin and tonic chaser. But the real nightcap was a spectacular view of St. Michael’s steeple at the corner of Meeting and Broad Streets, whiter than the moon’s rays. Charleston is dubbed the Holy City, with the churches so abundant you may as well prepare yourself for an other-worldly conversion.
The next morning, we were greeted by Maureen, a buxom African American woman who spread enough cheer across the Barksdale veranda with its red checkered tablecloths to convert the most stubborn agnostic among us. I was sold before my spinach and cheddar cheese omelette arrived, grateful for a hearty breakfast before the historic 'Back Alley' tour on our day’s agenda. |
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When we met up with our guide in the colorful French Quarter, a fine mist was falling, adding to the glistening charm of cobblestone streets. It slowed our pace. It was just as well, for when we reached Philadelphia Alley, a parcel of land purchased by a certain Francis Kinloch in the mid-1700s, the real eye-opener lay directly under our feet. A series of handprints left by slave children were immediately visible on several pavement bricks. These little workers were expected to help shape the blocks as they dried in the sun.
Alleyways were only a part of our wanderings. From Rainbow Row, the largest multi-colored cluster of Georgian houses in the U.S., to the Old Slave Market where early arrivals were auctioned to the highest bidder, our eyes and ears were at the ready. History doesn’t wear rose-colored glasses when the original structures still stand for all the world to see. A block distant from the Slave Market, the French Huguenot Church lay in wait. A pink wonder to behold, it sports a series of bays divided by narrow buttresses and topped by black pinnacles. Pink was obviously a color of choice, as the Pink House, a former tavern and the oldest masonry residence on record, is a standout on Chalmers Street.
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“Firsts,” not seconds or thirds, are a given for this community, and the Dock Street Theatre is no exception. Built in 1736, it prides itself on being the first U.S. building constructed exclusively for theatrical performances. John Wilkes Booth’s father, Junius, was a familiar performer on its stage.
For the churchgoing obsessed, Charleston is 'ground zero.' St. Philips Episcopal for its ghosts and the neo-gothic circular church for its singular beauty are must-sees. But the aforementioned St. Michael’s steeple, hovering over the landscape, is unforgettable. Our tour guide confided that when the all-powerful 1886 earthquake struck the city, it nearly toppled the spire, its slightly erratic angle still visible to the careful eye.
Fleet Landing Restaurant & Bar was an easy walk at tour’s end for an early lunch. The outside tables open onto the harbor with a spate of water taxis for the island commuters. Shrimp and grits chased down with tall glasses of iced tea prepared us for the healthy walk back to our Barksdale lodgings. Pausing to admire the single-style houses on the way was becoming a favorite habit – one more dressed in its Sunday best than the next.
For the churchgoing obsessed, Charleston is 'ground zero.' St. Philips Episcopal for its ghosts and the neo-gothic circular church for its singular beauty are must-sees. But the aforementioned St. Michael’s steeple, hovering over the landscape, is unforgettable. Our tour guide confided that when the all-powerful 1886 earthquake struck the city, it nearly toppled the spire, its slightly erratic angle still visible to the careful eye.
Fleet Landing Restaurant & Bar was an easy walk at tour’s end for an early lunch. The outside tables open onto the harbor with a spate of water taxis for the island commuters. Shrimp and grits chased down with tall glasses of iced tea prepared us for the healthy walk back to our Barksdale lodgings. Pausing to admire the single-style houses on the way was becoming a favorite habit – one more dressed in its Sunday best than the next.
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Signage spotting holds the same persistent joy as uncovering the perfect curio in a neighborhood flea market. Found on the Trinity United Methodist Church yard plaque: “To be almost saved is to be totally lost.” Maybe that should have been a warning to the owners of a nearby café that welcomed feline-loving customers with the following come on: “Live Nude Cats” and a $15 Lap Dance for the more adventurous. With two spoiled felines back in Manhattan awaiting our return, we decided to pass.
Tucked within the original carriage house of Wentworth Mansion, behind a period picket fence, Circa 1886 proved to be any food lover’s epitome of fine dining. Two Beefeater martinis (it was Joanne’s birthday, after all) preceded a spicy squash bisque, a rabbit confit salad, followed by a tenderloin steak for me and a grilled grouper for her, then finished off with a strawberry soufflé with a dollop of Grand Marnier ice cream. Our bottle of Errazunz Max Reserva Pinot Noir from Chile’s Aconcagua Valley (I save the credit card receipts) was the perfect pairing for both entrees.
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The McLeod Plantation site lies about two miles from downtown Charleston on James Island, easily accessible by bus. It stands as the best example of the world of the Gullah/Geechee peoples, the African Creole slaves who labored in the rice, indigo and sea cotton economies. By 1860, the cotton belt from the Carolinas to Texas produced two-thirds of the world’s cotton. Two magnificent oak-lined corridors lead to the main house, largely vacant of the trappings and finery found in other romanticized plantation sites. Once the threats of a thunderstorm subsided, we were free to roam the grounds. We stood in awe of the McLeod Oak’s massive trunk – 600 years old, it’s perhaps closest to the kind of religious experience found in California’s Sequoia forests. Nearby pathways led us to the Cotton Gin House and the Dairy and Kitchen structures; then, farther afield, the “transition row” cabins built for the enslaved and, after the Civil War, the freed people who continued to work on the property. It’s a sobering experience, peering inside cramped spaces that sometimes held up to twenty residents. Still, wandering McLeod’s grounds wasn’t the only way to feel the peeling away of centuries.
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The Halsey Institute of Contemporary Art at the College of Charleston was mounting an exhibition that provided an exquisite example of one culture co-existing precariously with another. Cusco-born artist Kukuli Velarde creates clay and gold-leaf figures of indigenous entities, mischievously surviving beneath the guise of Spanish saints. It was a gorgeous show that proves that the Inca culture could not be entirely trampled under Christianity’s mandates. It proved to be the highlight of our museum hopping.
Back on King Street, a visit to CO, an Asian eatery with mango rolls and Hunan noodles with shrimp, was a tasty solution to keeping thoughts of foreign shores alive. Another pleasure worth considering is the Gibbes Museum. Established as the Carolina Art Association in 1858, it is housed in a Beaux Arts building that does justice to a lovely collection. A favorite was the sweetgrass basketry of Mary Jackson. A room of modern art has been dedicated to this internationally recognized artist. (Helpful hint: Charleston’s City Market has versions of this craft art worth the prices.) |
Forte Jazz Club on King proved that we didn’t have to make the trek to the New Orleans’ French Quarter to find Big City sounds with a Southern flavor. Deep-set lounges and a charcuterie menu kept us comfy for three sets with a standout sax player named Eric Short, who Stan Getz should make note of in musical heaven.
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Fort Sumter is best experienced in the early morning, before the full blast of the day’s heat makes inspecting the cannons in the main yard a chore better left to the under-12 set. The scenic 30-minute, round-trip cruise skirts Charleston Harbor, with friendly National Park Rangers awaiting your arrival. Civil War buffs will remember that on April 12, 1861, the first shots of the war were fired on the Fort, with Confederate soldiers surrendering 34 hours later. For those so inclined, a souvenir shop completes the visit.
Perhaps the most pleasant way to absorb our colorful and checkered Early American history are the house tours, and Charleston can pride itself on some of the best. Highly recommended are the Heyward Washington House and the Joseph Manigault residence, both owned by the Charleston Museum where tickets can be purchased for both tours. Prepping ourselves for some vigorous walking ahead, we stopped by Virginia’s on King, a delightful destination for the “ladies who lunch.” While we waited for our crab cakes and fried green tomatoes, we sampled a Peachy Keen Rose cocktail for me and a Blackberry Bourbon Lemonade for Joanne. One thing I noticed is that the gentler sex seems to take up table residence here for the entire afternoon. |
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But it was onward for these intrepid Northerners.
Thomas Heyward Jr. was one of four South Carolina signers of the Declaration of Independence. Built in 1772, the Georgian-style double house sports a 1740s kitchen wonderfully preserved. A lovingly painted pianoforte is a drawing room favorite. Another claim to fame is George Washington’s week-long stay in May 1791. Built in 1803, the Manigault house is not to be missed. Gabriel Manigault (the brother of Joseph) also designed City Hall. The standout feature of this antebellum masterpiece is a “flying” spiral staircase (It does rest a few inches from the floor) topped by an eye-popping chandelier. The Manigaults were wealthy rice plantation owners, and the manicured grounds with a Greek gate temple attest to the opulence. We finished with a visit to the Edmondston-Alston House on East Bay Street, with a commanding view of the harborside promenade. Our host, a former New Yorker, was only too happy to share his stories with us porchside, where we rocked to our heart’s content before heading indoors for the tour. |
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I mentioned earlier that our forages for the local cuisine counted for sixty percent of our efforts. You might consider it even higher if I insist on describing two more dining experiences of note. The Darling, another find on King Street, boasted a raw bar where we feasted on clams on the half shell and James River oysters that demanded the house Pinot Grigio. A spicy creole shrimp casserole and grilled scallops followed. Clam chowder was thankfully discouraged by our young waitress, who confessed she hailed from Massachusetts and Darling’s variety would not be her first choice. Honesty is always the best policy, especially in the wait staff.
The other find for our final dinner outing was Poogan’s Porch. Touted as the place “where Southern traditions are made fresh daily,” we managed after our second try of the week to get a porch table fronting this Victorian dollhouse on Queen Street. Adjacent to the structure is a huge billboard of Renoir’s Luncheon of the Boating Party just to make sure we arrived in a party mood. Or maybe that was just our excuse for ordering lavender-scented martinis. (It was our send-off night, after all). Fried okra and she-crab soup were starters, followed by a chicken-fried pork chop with mashed potatoes for me and a grilled mahi-mahi in a pimento cheese sauce for Joanne. |
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The next morning, greeting our hostess Maureen over strawberry waffles, I almost forgot that the Barksdale Inn wasn’t our permanent home. I’d even forgotten to charge my Fitbit. I knew I had fallen victim to Charleston time, like a wall clock I’d noticed on one of our tours, its hands stuck on a bygone hour.
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PLACES OF INTEREST Charleston, SC The Barksdale House Inn 27 George Street Charleston, SC Charleston Lowcountry Walking Tours 45 Pinckney St, Charleston, SC The Pink House 17 Chalmers Street Charleston, SC Old Slave Mart Museum 6 Chalmers Street Charleston, SC Dock Street Theatre 135 Church Street Charleston, SC Charleston City Market 188 Meeting Street Charleston, SC St. Michael’s Anglican Church 71 Broad Street Charleston, SC Circular Congregational Church 150 Meeting Street Charleston, SC St. Philips Church 142 Church Street Charleston, SC |
PLACES OF INTEREST Charleston, SC The French Huguenot Church 136 Church Street Charleston, SC Fort Sumter Visitor Education Center 340 Concord Street Charleston, SC McCleod Plantation 325 Country Club Drive Charleston, SC Edmondston-Alston House 21 East Battery Charleston, SC Heyward Washington House 87 Church Street Charleston, SC Joseph Manigault House 350 Meeting Street Charleston, SC Forte Jazz Lounge 477 King Street Charleston, SC The Charleston Museum 360 Meeting Street Charleston, SC The Gibbes Museum of Art 135 Meeting Street Charleston, SC |
RESTAURANTS Charleston, SC Circa 1886 Restaurant 149 Wentworth Street Charleston, SC CO 340 King Street Charleston, SC The Darling Oyster Bar 513 King Street Charleston, SC Fleet Landing Restaurant and Bar 186 Concord Street Charleston, SC 29401 Poogan’s Porch 72 Queen Street Charleston, SC Swamp Fox Restaurant Francis Marion Hotel 387 King Street Charleston, SC Virginia’s on King 412 King Street Charleston, SC |
Sandra Bertrand is an award-winning playwright and painter. She is Chief Art Critic for Highbrow Magazine and a contributing writer for GALO Magazine. Prior to working for Sanctuary as Culture & Travel Editor, Sandra was a Featured Artist in May 2019.
