Breakfast was at the restaurant attached to the lobby of the Days Inn by the mall, per Savannah’s suggestion. It was really good, and it amused me just a little that we’d eaten three of our four meals in Savannah within a block of this same suburban shopping mall.
We drove around Savannah a bit more, finding a near-mint condition Alamo Plaza motel in a really scary area just west of downtown, and visiting the convention center on other side of the river for skyline shots. Then, it was off to Charleston via Highway 17. Somewhere along the way, I was reacquainted with my cold.
Sometimes you see a restaurant listing in the newspaper and you know it was the precise spot where you were MEANT to eat. Gullah was that place for us in Charleston: an unpretentious place, a little rough around the edges, and more about the food than the “fine dining experience” or whatever such rubbish. ‘Twas heaven. I had shrimp grits, collards, and gumbo. Mark had roast duck, she-crab soup, red rice, and succotash. We split an order of gator tails for an appetizer. Yer Humble Host LOVES alligator.
We drove around a bit in the historic district and were very relieved not to have eaten among its assorted metrosexuals, hipsters, and other fashion victims. I’m hoping that the severe obnoxiousness of the tourist crowd had to do with the fact that we were there for New Year’s.
