Motorhome News from North America 28

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Motorhome News from North America 28 8th - 18th November 2006
‘Nothin’ could be finer than to be in Carolina…..’

It took four days for the new toilet cables to arrive by carrier - and one and a half hours to fit them. The break from travelling allowed us to relax for a while and catch up with planning for the next month or two. Then, with all systems go, we set off south from New Bern in pouring rain, down along the coast through the Carolina flatlands reminiscent of Holland, following the chain of beautiful islands, long sandy beaches and open marshlands. There were no fireworks for us on November 5th, but we celebrated anyway. It was our 300th day on the road.

“Only 20% of America is worth seeing,” a good friend told us before we left home in January. “The problem is, you have to drive through the other 80% to get to it.” It’s taken a while, but this week we found just a tiny bit of that 80% - and some of the most marvellous parts of the 20% we came to see, along the coast of the Carolinas. The local weather forecast predicted hurricanes and storms sliding in towards the coast from the west over the next few days, fencing us in against the Atlantic shore with no means of escape. We would have to hope for the best.

George Bush may also have hoped for something different in the mid-term elections but the Democrats grained control of both House and Senate. As if life could get more complicated for poor old George. Donald Rumsfeld hit the dust running early the following morning as George’s fall guy, almost before the ink was dry on the front page of the New York Times. Just as suddenly the critics were singing, ‘we told you so,’ from their new blue hymn sheets. The ever-darkening tunnel leading out of Iraq was seen as central to the swing in voter sentiment, but trust and respect were already lost according to people we’ve met, leaving the President swimming uphill against a surging tide. Time for change.

Change brought us out of North Carolina to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, along the coastal Highway 17. Any golfer worth his handicap has heard of Myrtle Beach: 117 golf courses at the last count, almost guaranteed sunshine twelve months of the year and mile after mile of gorgeous sand. Sounds great, eh? The reality is something different. You know you’ve arrived when you first encounter the steady stream of thundering traffic, stop and go lights for nearly 20 miles, modern development, fast food outlets and towering advertising hoardings blotting out the sunlight - most of them advertising holiday and retirement property: villas, waterfront houses and condos. Every half-mile there’s another car dealer, great lines of shining autos where half the nation’s cars are parked on lots waiting to be sold or resold.
Fast Food joints galore straddle the highway, for five miles out of any town in every direction: Pizza Hut, Subway, McDonalds, TGI Friday, Dogs and Cream - Fat Man’s Dream, Kentucky Fried, Taco Bell, Arby’s, Appleby’s, Wendy’s, and restaurants enough to feed half the nation twice a day, Italian, Mongolian, Chinese, Mexican - you name it, Myrtle Beach has got it. (Alas, no Tim Horton’s)

There’s a good selection of Hotels along the shore of the gob-smackin’ beautiful sandy beach - sharp-edged blocks of concrete like angry shark’s teeth, white and stark, with sufficient space between each one to slide a filleted plaice sideways. Every half mile there’s another chance for some crazy golf putting practice; Golf Volcano, Pirate Pete’s, Thunder Mountain, Crazy Parrot -18 holes! The roadside is littered with shops and bars, realtors, factory outlets, pharmacies, banks, bargain beach wear - 50% off! Karaoke bars, happy hours, fun plazas, a Haunted House - and, wait for it, the Big Dipper! It’s the worst (or best?) of Blackpool, Benidorm or Rimini. No, it is worse. Blackpool, Benidorm and Rimini are all wonderful in comparison. To be sure you understand; this is 20 miles of architectural and planning bad taste. But, for all that, the punters flock here by the million, to build castles in the sand, eat themselves silly, to see the sights and play GOLF. This is a man’s world - and, be honest David, it’s a great place for a golf package with the boys! Janice smiled at my quote of the week, ‘I didn’t think it was going to be this bad!’ That’s the power of the developer’s money. It’s money, money, money, that drives this US machine - and it will destroy itself.

Janice, our in-house researcher and navigator, did it once again this week. Sifting through her books and lists, she found us another gem of a campsite at Huntington Beach State Park. A few minutes south of town, our site sat in the shade of evergreen live-oaks, a short walk from sweeping wild dunes and miles of silver-sand shoreline. There were just two people on the beach that evening - including us. We did get to play the silly game of chase the little white ball down the fairway, our first outing since July. The course we selected was good. The golf was bad. But we’ll be back - golf’s like that.

It was threatening to be another scorcher in Georgetown a few miles south. By 9.50 the roadside illuminated signs were reading 64 degrees and rising. It’s no wonder they are able to grow most things here. Day after day we have to suffer in the overbearing heat under the bluest of blue skies. It seems they have rain to order, around once every five or six days. They grew ‘Carolina Gold’ rice and indigo on the plantations in the early years after the English, Scots and French first arrived, assisted by a large labour force of African slaves who cleared the swamps, planted the crops, built the roads, and made fortunes for the few. These crops have now been replaced with lumber, paper and the likes of pecan nuts, vegetable crops and tourism. Georgetown is one of those instantly likeable, friendly and attractive towns, enticing travellers with its own share of historic timbered homes, a broad main street of interesting shops - just as a town should be, and a picturesque marina. A sign on the marina boardwalk warned, ‘Danger Alligators’. The sign saying, ‘No Swimming’ was missing. A backdrop of rusting steel mills and the paper factory belching its clouds of foul smelling steam into the summer sky is rather sad, but then, some people have to work.

Our birding escapades take us to some exciting places, remote spots where we can enjoy the countryside, feel the wind in our faces, hear the call of the red-tailed hawk overhead and watch the white-tailed deer in the shadows. A thirty-minute ferry ride took us out to Cape Romain National Wildlife Refuge in a flat bottomed craft through the shallow spartina grass marshland to Bull Island and our first sight of semi-tropical paradise: dense palm and oak shaded footpaths alive with warblers, little blue heron, oystercatchers on the mudflats, ospreys circling, fox squirrels we’d never seen before - and alligators, not Janice’s favourite animal, in the swamp. There will be many such fascinating areas as we continue south towards Florida over the next few weeks. We’re in heaven - or fairly close!

Lest we forget in our busy schedule, November 11th is Veterans Day in the USA (our Remembrance Day), a public holiday, in memory of those who have given their lives in the service of their country. We shared two minutes silence with a large gathering at Boone Hall Plantation, near Charleston, hats removed and right hand over the heart.
Boone Hall is typical of a plantation house as portrayed by Hollywood: a grand neo-classical house with a high Corinthian pillared entrance, set romantically beyond a shady avenue of moss-draped oaks planted back in 1743. The house was built as recently as 1936 for a Canadian Ambassador, replacing the original, more modest, structure. Nine small slave cabins still exist near the house from the early plantation days when they produced bricks and tiles, indigo, rice, and cotton. That era of great wealth and harsh poverty is remembered here, but not forgotten. It was slavery and political differences that fuelled the division of north and south in 1861, driving conflict, secession and finally, Civil war. We happened to arrive at Bone Hall on the day of a re-enactment of the local Battle of Secessionville, an early triumph for the Confederate South, repelling a Union army six times its strength.

There are many such re-enactments in the area each year, reliving the past. We chanced to meet a lady from North Carolina, there with her twenty -something nephew for the weekend. He was dressed in full Union uniform waiting to join the battle. She was there proudly promenading the avenue like a peacock, in her exquisitely authentic attire, blue bonnet with long ribbons, white puffed sleeves with lace cuffs, wide skirts, military buttoned jacket and black parasol. I asked her why she was there in costume. “One of my ancestors was killed in the Civil War,” she told me. “It’s an expensive hobby, but it’s enjoyable and helping to keep our history alive for future generations. We both travel to these events whenever we possibly can.” Nearly half the people there were in costume, preening themselves, relishing the moment, the atmosphere and the opportunity to live anther life in another time - and to dream another dream.
Vendors lined the avenue selling sweet-grass baskets, antiques of the era, military costumes for Union and Federal troops, genuine and reproduction muskets, pistols, swords, belts, boots and regimental buttons, hats, gloves - and lace for the ladies, crinolines and fine silk dresses, brooches, parasols and hairpins.
Battle commenced at 3pm. More than five hundred soldiers advanced and retreated across the battlefield to the thunder of canon and the crack of muskets, the rally of bugles and banging of drums, through great clouds of smoke with much shouting, cheering and flag waving. All the kids under 90 loved it! There are still underlying political divides between north and south, driven by the romance of that war and the determination to ensure the nation does not forget the Southern States were once united in battle against the Yankees.

We came to Charleston, not to dance, but to savour the gentle ambience of a smart city unwilling to accept that change could ever be for the better. Charleston has suffered battle scars from two wars over the centuries, floods, smallpox and malaria, hurricanes, earthquakes and devastating fire since the English first settled here in1670. Its dual rivers, the Ashley and the Cooper, flow placidly into the Atlantic where the port was once guarded by Fort Sumter and where the first shots of the War Between the States (The American Civil War) were fired in 1861. By the end of the war the city was in ruins. Today it is a city of 100,000 population, with a mild climate, (a touch too hot in summer perhaps) where you can drive directly into the centre without frustration from most directions, where people are pleased to meet you and greet you - and are happy to serve. South Carolina’s motto of ‘Smiling Faces, Beautiful Places’ says much about the culture of Charleston. We stepped off the kerb to cross the road and a lady stopped her car for us. She wound down her window and smiled a good southern smile. “Welcome to Charleston,” she called. “Enjoy our beautiful city.” You betcha we will!

Historic Charleston is heavily laden with classic homes dating from the 18th and 19th centuries, all magnificently restored and lovingly preserved. Finely detailed wrought ironwork abounds on steps and stairs, gates and doorways, Greek and Romanesque Revival, Adam and Georgian architecture are evident at every turn - we were almost dizzy with delight! Narrow cobbled alleys, tree-lined streets, courtyards and gardens, are all shady havens of splendid trees and colourful shrubs. Gardeners and builders bustle side-by-side adding polish and pride to this serene and gorgeous city. The real money lives right here in town in Charleston, not in the suburbs. Every other car is a Jaguar, Mercedes or BMW and every other home is a million dollars - plus some. It is a truly lovely place - and they know it. The houses are all white, the hands of the painters all black. Things won’t change a lot until the minimum wage improves. It currently stands at $5.17, around £2.72, about half that of the UK.
We came to Charleston quite unprepared for the charm and spectacle of such architectural splendour, unsurpassed in any previous city visited on this trip. If you’ve not been, put it on your list. You’ll not be disappointed.

Magnolia Plantation, just north of town, gave us a more authentic view of a ‘typical’ plantation home. It also presented us with the rare opportunity to join a local birding group for a morning stroll through the magnificent parkland and the Audubon Swamp Garden on the estate, collecting a respectable 53 species (three new ones: rusty blackbird, anhinga, and black vulture) and lots of tips on other bird hot-spots to visit as we head south. The benefits of eight pairs of eyes instead of two are obvious, but as we share so much time in our own company we also valued the opportunity for personal interaction. (Of interesting note, the plantation has been in the hands of the Drayton family since 1676 and Drayton Hall stands nearby, cared for by the National Trust. We were unable to ascertain whether there is any connection with Drayton Hall in Norwich.)

Almost daily, one of us will be heard to exclaim, “I’ve never seen anything like that before!” and it’s now a standing joke. We turned up for another birding meeting at Caw Caw Interpretive Centre on our way out of town. Caw Caw gave us two surprises that morning. An American Bittern, the most secretive of all birds, stood some twenty feet away, watching us watching him, for more than fifteen minutes! It’s unlikely that will happen again in my lifetime - and my camera was in the motorhome of course. There’s a picture of this master of disguise for you to see, taken with Janice’s camera through the telescope. Shortly after, the group spotted two bottle -nosed dolphins frantically fishing in a narrow drainage dyke, only 10 feet wide - 15 miles from the sea! I’ve never seen anything like that before!

A loud clap of thunder woke us in the early hours of Thursday, followed closely by bright flashes of lightning illuminating the motorhome through the blinds. Storm winds rose, whipping acorns and the last of the leaves from the oaks trees, bringing heavy spots of rain rattling on the roof. The forecast hurricane had arrived!

Within minutes it was gone, as quickly as it came - silence, waiting for crashing trees, the rising waters, the cries for help…….nothing. A damp squib.

The lights came on for us at James Island County Park where we camped. There were two reasons for selecting James Island. Firstly, they provide a shuttle bus into Charleston, saving parking charges and leaving Winnie in a secure campsite for the day. Secondly, there’s the excitement of ‘The Festival of Lights’, an annual ‘Holiday Season’ event. There’s a three-mile drive along the paved road through the park, where tens of thousands of visitors come to gape at the spectacle of hundreds, yes, literally hundreds, of animated scenes sponsored by local business. I’ve never seen anything like that before. It was magic! Before you know it, Janice will have me in Disney World - but first, it’s Savannah, Georgia, to see what the Peanut and Cotton State has to offer.


David and Janice. The grey-haired-nomads

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Photos

Toilet capers
Now, where does that piece go?

Myrtle Beach
Suitable signs from which to hang a few planners

Huntington Beach
It's a tough life for some

Alligators!
Snap of a pair of alligators

Birding on Cape Romain National Wildlife Refuge
Bull Island

Cape Romain
The flat-bottommed ferry

Boone Hall
The Plantation house

Boone Hall
Slave Houses on the plantation

Boone Hall Plantation
The pure art of dressing up

Charleston
A beautiful city

The Festival of Lights, James Island
The Fire Brigade!

Spiders!
Count the legs.