Journalist By Nature: Charleston History and Architecture

Driving northeast from Savannah, Georgia along the Atlantic seacoast we entered the historic city of Charleston, South Carolina. Founded in 1670 and named for King Charles I, it was a land grant to the king's buddies. They designed and developed it to be a great port town and banked on extensive shipping traffic to grow the population and wealth of the city. As a coastal metropolis, Charleston was also subject to attack by sea and had to defend itself against English, French and Spanish military assaults as well as protect its western back from Indian attacks. The current location of the city is on a peninsula of land at the confluence of the Ashley and Cooper Rivers as they meet in Charleston Harbor and flow into the Atlantic Ocean.

The Civil War was particularly devastating to Charleston, both economically and structurally. Without much money, the people had to restore the buildings and homes that survived. This proved to be of significant benefit as many of the historic places were thus preserved and are standing today! According to the National Parks Service "(these) buildings help to make Charleston one of the most complete historic districts in the country, with more than 1400 historically significant buildings." Tourism now contributes to the city's coffers and employs many in the service industries.

We decided to explore Charleston on foot rather than utilize the horse-drawn tour carts and buggies or the motorized buses with drivers rapidly pointing out notable sights. Strolling has the virtue of time and variable route, although the downside is blisters, thirst and seat-searching. Nonetheless, we embarked on a discovery tour of the historic district with vignettes of history posted along the way in the form of plaques, signs and statues.

Charleston is a foot BELOW sea level and is part of the area called the Lowcountry, which stretches from the ocean shores inland for about 50 miles. Indigenous Indians were growing corn, grits (a dried, coarsely ground cornmeal), squash and beans when the first white explorers arrived. Spanish explorers brought figs, pigs and peaches with them as well as the cooking methods of frying and blackening. French Hugenots came for religious freedom and introduced "fancy" five-course meals, the thickening agent roux (flour and butter paste), she crab soup, china place settings and company at the dining table. English traders introduced rice as a cash crop, having experimented with wheat and finding the soil too damp for it. This cereal crop made many large land holders rich and came to be known as "Carolina Gold". The workforce needed to plant, maintain and harvest this money-maker paid a high price of their own as the long hours in the sun, dangers from wild animals and reptiles and backbreaking labor cut many lives short.

Enslaved West Africans, "Gullah" or "Geechi" as they came to be called in their pigeon language, brought their own cultural additions to the area. They made one pot meals, primarily for convenience for cooking over a fire and limited cookware, and introduced okra in their gumbo as a thickener. There will be more about okra in the Charleston Food blog. The hush puppy or fried dough traditionally got its name because the cooks would tear off bits of the dough and toss them to the dogs hanging around the place in order to keep them quiet: hush puppy!

Sweet grass and reed grass were used by the Gullah for basket weaving, for which they are now famous. The weaving was done by taking thick strands of sweet grass and coiling them into basket shapes, securing the coils with darker strands of reeds sewn at right angles to the coils. They began as cheap containers for household and crop items but developed into objects of art as the weavers created colored designs and shapes on the baskets. Today at the Charleston Market there are basket stands on every corner and tourists purchase them as souvenirs of their travels. The baskets are extremely expensive now but are said to last a lifetime with proper care. When I asked if I could photograph one weaver, she refused but countered with an offer of either buying one of her baskets first, to the tune of about $60, or else buying an expensive and warm chocolate bar for her church coffers. I found another location and opportunity for free.

The Market row is a four or five block long roofed but open air display of all sorts of souvenir crafts and whatnots, mostly for the tourist trade. It is a modern rendition of the original market place where merchants came to sell their produce, meats and hand-made products. Fire and earthquake destroyed the early versions so that today's market has only a faint wiff of smokey barbeque, cheeses, sweets and basketry supplies.

Walking away from the bustling commercial district we entered more of the historic neighborhoods with their brightly painted, shuttered exteriors, multi-storied floor plans fronted by wrought iron balconies, brick-walled yards and lovely landscapes. I was soon besotted by the colonial architecture, each house more appealing than the last, cobblestone streets connecting front porches and iron trimmings deliciously appointing open shutters, door latches, garden gates and hand rails.

At one point as I leaned a bit too far into a pillared driveway entrance to photograph a beautiful paint-plant-gate combo, and inadvertently, innocently if you will, tripped an alarm and was startled back onto the center of the sidewalk in embarrassment. When no gendarme appeared amid flashing lights and sirens to arrest me, I put on a casual face and slowly sauntered away, trying to look as local as possible. Eventually the alarm ceased and I realized that the citizens no doubt tire of curious and perhaps invasive tourists poking around in their personal space. The alarm serves to keep them moving along quickly!

Eventually we began to feel as if we were drowning in the Southern architectural charm of Georgian, Federal, Greek Revival, Italianate and Queen Anne. None of the homes are small. They all reflect a certain economic and social status that peers down on you from third story dormers and palladian attic windows, suggesting the lowness of your social position as tourist. Arriving at the Battery walkway, we were met by warm, sweet ocean breezes and a waterway filled with Sunday sailors skimming along, their white canvases taut in the wind, the sun glittering on the choppy water. Puffy, alabaster clouds floated above the blue sea and birds played tag in mid-air. Dolphins cavorted further out among the boats, perhaps joining them in their route around the point. Ambling along the wide, Pennsylvania blue stone walkway that rims the Battery we encountered Waterfront Park, complete with statues of Commander Moultrie and other Southern war heroes, a gazebo decorated for a succession of weddings lined up on the lawn and cannons pointed in defense towards the open sea. Backing the park was a line of what is locally called Rainbow Row for the variety of paint colors on the huge homes there.

The weariness of trekking five miles over cobblestones and cement heightened the appeal of yet another wonderful Southern dinner. We headed back to the commercial district to arrive for our evening reservation and fodder for the next blog. Stay tuned foodies! It's going to be deliciously exquisite.