We left Knoxville, Tennessee early the next morning, after watching Bryn romp outside our hotel room chasing a knotted rope and prancing through the winter-long lawn grass while we drank hot black coffee and gobbled a couple of hardboiled eggs. It was freezing!
Seven hours later, in mid-afternoon, we arrived in Charleston. Our GPS lady directed us to historic King Street, and the 1853 Kings Courtyard Inn, with its centuries-old interior, cobblestone courtyards and large fountain.
The FIDO booking lady I mentioned in last week’s column recommended this charming place, as it welcomed pets of any size, and was located in the middle of historic downtown Charleston and its elegant shops, and fun, inexpensive places to dine outside- with Bryn!
We drove past the inn’s front entrance twice, as it was quite understated. Just two potted plants marked the nearly hidden arched entranceway. I hopped out, went in and found the concierge, who directed us to the inn’s parking area around back.
Bryn watched us unpack our few things-and her food- in the attractive room, which contained two comfortable double beds, a couple of chairs and a small table, a generous, mirrored armoire with small TV- and a nice bath. Best of all, it was quiet.
The concierge gave us list of ten dog parks in and around Charleston and pointed out the nearest one, just a few blocks away, (The Hazel Parker Dog Run Downtown) a block from the ocean and part of a green, treed park with a baseball field at one end.
We bundled up- brrrr! -and walked Bryn to this park. It was huge, treed, and the grass was a vivid green. She jubilantly played with seven dogs of various sizes and shapes until after dusk, when we led her tired self down East Bay Street to a nice bar that served delicious food- outside. Staff even brought out a little bowl of water for thirsty Bryn, who then settled at our feet to watch the world go by. We ordered a delicious fish soup, and answered questions about our dog from admiring passersby.
A quick walk back home and she downed some kibbles, drank deeply again and went to her nest between our beds.
“OK, Bryn, we’re going out again for a bit; you stay- and be a good girl.” Her eyes drooped from a healthy tiredness as she settled. All our stuff was there. She knew we’d be back.
Charleston at night is lovely. Tiny white holiday lights decorated the inn’s courtyard, and winked up and down the street. Some hardier flowers mixed with vinca and ivy bloomed in big pots that were scattered about. But by now we were very tired, and opted for the toasty fire in the lounge. Free tawny and ruby port and wine and cheese were offered (evenings from 5-7), and we enjoyed this treat every evening, read our novels and relaxed.
Now for some verbal ‘snapshots:’
-Everyone was friendly! Restaurants and little pubs were stuffed with smiling folks and wait staff who seemed happy just to be there, a part of things. And the food is outstanding. The word ‘frozen’ is anathema here. Everything is absolutely fresh, and Charleston chefs use only locally grown spices and herbs as they prepare delicious fare-especiallyfish- in creative ways.
-Charleston temps were in the low teens at times. Wind chill made it even worse. One morning it was -5, briefly. Therefore, the bikes we’d dragged all that way would never be used. Our faces would freeze if we tried to ride. Luckily I’d brought along my Eskimo coat, a thick scarf and fur-lined boots.
-It soon became clear we’d have to change how we spent our time here. The first night it was just warm enough (39 degrees) to sit outside a pub with Bryn, order a delicious fish soup, and plan. We decided to walk every day, until Joe’s recovering knee objected, drive to interesting dog parks (as they gave our Bryn much joy), try fascinating dishes, and sip good wine. We’d learn the historic area’s topography.
-In the morning we gathered Bryn and strolled down East Bay Street, which borders Charleston Harbor. The grass was a rich green, the huge fountain gushed water and Southern charm, the view of the bay was stunning--but it was windy, overcast and very cold.
We’d hoped to visit the USS Yorktown, a WWII battleship, but the wind and freezing air made that an unpleasant thought. (I’ve rarely been colder than when we toured the very cool destroyer moored in Bay City, Michigan: it took hours to warm up. So, next time, we promised ourselves.
-We simply walked the streets, checked out shops, fascinating alleyways, parks and monuments, and gazed at antebellum mansions. On the forth and last full day we signed up for a 2.5 hour culinary walking tour at 2 p.m. It cost $60 each. We’d starved ourselves, anticipating petite examples of some of Charleston’s finest fare- something more than one bite of some handmade candies, a tablespoon of pulled pork, collards and grits and a free bottle of spring water. At its beginning, when so-so coffee was served in Styrofoam cups, I realized that hope would be dashed. The elderly lady in charge of the six people that comprised our group was a native who knew all Charleston’s history. She was lively, and the information was really interesting. At its end, though, we were pretty hungry, and somewhat dispirited. Never mind: we made lemonade out of lemons and took ourselves to Ruth’s Chris Steak House, a place we’d passed on the tour that we had always wanted to try. Their steak wasn’t priced sky-high, and tasted delicious!
The funnest part:
We visited half the dog parks, marking them off, one at a time, from our list. All are beautiful, one was thimble-small, and one, especially, just across the bridge, in the James Island County Park, was so vast we could see no fence. We had to pay a couple of bucks to drive into the Park itself. The ranger then directed us to the dog park.
WOW! Double WOW! The setting was idyllic. A thick carpet of hilly grass that could feed a big herd of horses for a long time led down to a beautiful, small lagoon, bordered by a wonderful sandy beach and lovely trees. The sun actually came out to create the perfect afternoon. But when we arrived at the outer gate a large sign- with a vivid orange background and bright red and black letters- read:
I stood frozen, imagining my beloved dog chasing a ball, throwing herself into that beautiful, glass-calm little lake, and then- There Be Monsters. And a horrible death- with Bryn a mere snack. As I would charge in to rescue her, and damn the consequences, I’d be dinner.
I noticed that there WERE dogs doing what I’ve just described. Swimming far out, snatching up the ball, and swimming back again, over and over.
It was too much. I ran down to the shore and yelled at Bryn: she was not to jump in! No!!!! (I know; it’s probably too cold for these reptiles right now, but the water felt warm-------and would you risk it?)
Bryn was baffled. What? It’s lovely out there, Boss; I want to swim, too...She’d heard my tone, though, and knew this body of water was well and truly forbidden. So she waited until the shepherd swam back and then snatched the ball away and ran over the hills, with the other dog in hot, friendly pursuit.
I kept herding her away from the thickly treed lagoon’s edges, knowing alligator habits from our visits to Florida. One guy said, “Yes mam, gators like ta swim through that area over there”- (he pointed to a thickly treed area where the wide, natural canal opened into this lagoon)- “and they swim around out there... No dawgs bin snatched lately, though...”
Gulp.
Bryn loved that hilly, green, lush park. She ran the perimeter, and couldn’t believe the vast space.
Here was a green Paradise- with the inevitable serpent...but for me? Forget the dog days of summer in this park. No way.
We left lovely Charleston very early on the fourth morning, as weather sweeping in from the Pacific made us nervous. Rain and snow was predicted in a couple of days, and the Smoky Mountains could be daunting.
We’d not ridden in a carriage, or toured a plantation, or seen the USS Yorktown, but we’d had a wonderful time anyway, and would be back. There was still so much to enjoy!