Beautiful Savannah, Part 1
Travel with my friends and me to beautiful Savannah, Georgia! In part one, we settle in and eat some good Mexican food before resting up for a long day ahead.
Join me and my friends as we explore the gorgeous city of Savannah, Georgia, “The Hostess City of the South,” from the stunning historic district to the bustling waterfront, from the famous avenue of live oaks at Wormsloe State Historic Site, to the spooky Bonaventure Cemetery—here we go!
Party of five
Donna and I—friends since the days when I was a driver for her flower shop in Burbank—had reunited after a seventeen-year gap when we traveled to Texas for the amazing full solar eclipse of 2024 (read about that here).
When Donna invited me to explore Savannah with her, of course I said yes.
Veronica would fly with Donna from Los Angeles. I remember Veronica from my flower shop days—when I delivered fresh bouquets to the cemetery, Veronica was there to receive them and place them in the glass-fronted refrigerator.
The Pennsylvania guys included myself, Max (who had also accompanied Donna and me on the Texas road trip), and Jake, a friend who enjoys travel and sketching.
Savannah is for artists
Before we get into details, let’s take an overview of what Savannah has to offer.
Savannah is home to the largest and best-preserved historic district in the country, also said to be the most haunted. Students from Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD)—a school I nearly attended myself—contribute to the city’s ongoing architectural preservation efforts.
As the first planned city in the United States, Savannah retains its original twenty-two public squares, offering a picturesque, shady respite every few blocks or so. Each square is unique, but generally features a mix of walkways, statuary or fountains, and shade trees to enjoy.
Forsyth Park, originally a military parade ground, lies south of the main historic district and several blocks north of where our AirBnB was located.
Off to the east you’ll find the beautiful yet eerie Bonaventure Cemetery, and further east is Tybee National Wildlife Refuge. A few miles to the south is Wormsloe State Historic Site, known for its long avenue of live oaks.
Imagine being able to stop and admire beautiful scenery virtually anywhere in or around town. Savannah is a sketch artist’s dream come true.
Adventure begins
I was the first to land at Savannah-Hilton Head, around 11 a.m. on Friday.
Jake had pulled up in his pickup outside my house at 5 a.m. and then drove the two of us to the Philadelphia airport. The drive was a good time to get to know one another better and consisted mostly of personal stories traded in a spirit of mutual trust. An unspoken benefit of travel are these opportunities to know people better, and to be better known.
Standing at my departure gate, I ushered a young man carrying a bouquet to go ahead of me as we attempted to change Jake’s flight to be the same as mine, rather than two hours later. We were unsuccessful, so I said “see you soon” to Jake and boarded the most compact plane I have ever entered—just three seats across, and at six foot one I couldn’t stand up fully straight.
My seat, as it turned out, was beside the mild-mannered young man holding the bouquet. His name was Collin. He was a pastor from Wisconsin, and he was flying to meet his girlfriend in person for the first time.
We got to talking. He said he was working on a sermon about loving and forgiving your family when it’s not easy to do so.
He told me (because I asked, without judgment) that he believed in the “young Earth theory.” I listened, then I offered a scientific version that included ancient supernovas, shock waves, gravitational forces spinning discs of stardust into light. I said—maybe that doesn’t refute the existence of God, but adds to the wonderment?
I learned that we watch many of the same shows on Netflix—gritty crime dramas like Ozark.
It was an interesting conversation. I wished Collin luck in meeting his beloved as we said goodbye and went our separate ways in the terminal.
Soon I was with Donna and Veronica at their gate exchanging greetings and hugs; after baggage claim we waited for Jake in a bright, glass-covered space called “Savannah Square,” a tribute to the city’s charming public parks.
A flowered wall with the words “adventure begins” in neon script stood at one end for photo-ops; then Jake appeared, and I introduced him to Donna and Veronica, and I tried imagining what the group dynamic would be like this weekend. We picked up our bags and walked past the flowered wall without taking a photo as we made our way to the taxi stand.
Double-fisting beers—on stilts!
Oh, Perdita—I’ll never forget her. Our taxi driver Perdita, that is.
She began by announcing her name in the singsong, local accent—Perrrrrdita (rolling the R), followed by rapid-fire recitation all her middle names, and ending with her surname.
When she was interrupted by the dispatcher, she started the name list all over again, raising her hands and doing a bobble head dance, swinging around her long hair with her eyes rolled back and partially closed.
I knew this would be a challenging car ride for Donna, who would have preferred silence, but silent it was not.
For thirty minutes Donna looked out the side window while Veronica cheerfully engaged the driver in conversation; Jake in the back, and I in the front passenger seat, fell somewhere in-between.
Perdita’s cell phone was conveniently located low on the dashboard, and she scrolled through photo albums—while driving in traffic—to illustrate points about travel, pets, friends, and family.
She talked-sang about the best attractions and places to avoid. She was trying to earn her tip, that’s for sure. Sometimes she hoo-hoo’ed out the window to tease other drivers at red lights. She shrugged.
“I can’t help but flirt!”
At one point she shared a video (again, while driving) of a young construction worker double-fisting beers while parading around on stilts. “That’s my sweetie!”
Suddenly we arrived at the AirBnB, a tidy, little, Queen Anne house surrounded by other, older homes in various states of upkeep, neglect, or renovation.
As we stepped out of the cab, Perdita’s eyes darkened, and she issued a stern warning to us.
“You’re in the ghetto now. If I were you, I wouldn’t walk around here at night—please don’t walk around at night—and whatever you do, go THAT way [pointing toward Forsyth Park and the river], never THAT way [railroad tracks].”
Veronica handled the cab fee and tip, and Perdita gave me her cell number, just in case. Was she serious about our safety? Was she hoping we’d call her for more cab rides?
Looking back, we never had an incident where we felt unsafe in that neighborhood. In fact some questionable things did happen in the “safer,” more touristy areas. As for Perdita’s warning and phone number—the group decided she was really just flirting again—with me.
You see? How could I ever forget Perdita?
Max
Last to join the group (but first to arrive in Savannah) was Max, who had driven all the way from Pennsylvania. He was parked outside the house, constructing a Lego rose for a special lady back home.
I was happy to see how comfortable Donna was just going up to him (I had introduced them last year, in Texas) and hopping in for quick ride to the gas station for cigarettes.
The rest of us waited on the porch trying to figure out how to open the physical lockbox (which we did) and the electronic combination lock (which we didn’t).
Inside, Jake and I grabbed the couches, and the others took the upstairs bedrooms—one red, one blue, and one green. We washed faces and headed back out for our first meal in Savannah: Mexican food—located conveniently within walking distance—and well within “Perdita’s safety zone.”
The best Mexican restaurant—rajas and picadillo
The two-hour flight from Pennsylvania to Georgia really ended up being a seven-hour journey for me (driving, parking and shuttles, TSA, flight… Perdita). But Donna and Veronica had been traveling from California all night without sleep.
By the time we sat down in Tequila’s Town Restaurant (2025 Best Mexican Food in Savannah!) we had all worked up quite an appetite.
Since Veronica is Mexican-American, I went with her recommendations. We each had a taco with rajas, another with picadillo, and horchata. Of the three I only knew horchata—a creamy, rice-and-cinnamon-based drink.
Rajas consists of strips of vegetables, mainly poblano peppers and onions, served with Mexican sour cream. Picadillo includes minced beef, potatoes, tomatoes, and onions. Both tacos were so tasty and satisfying, as was the horchata.
I looked around the table and realized that I was the only person who knew everyone else in the group.
Jake and Max had never met Veronica; Jake and Donna had never met, either. And yet here we were relaxing, joking, getting to know one another. Details of the conversation are lost to history, but it was easy and good-humored, and I was happy to see it.
The bill came, and Jake picked up the tab. Each time we were out, someone would jump in and take care of the meal, tickets, cab ride, or whatever.
Donna, who had only just met my Pennsylvania friends, covered what would have been one of the biggest costs for all of us, the AirBnB (thanks, too, to Donna’s boyfriend Mikey back in Los Angeles).
A restful end to the day
Back at the house we put up our feet and discussed science and philosophy (according to my notes we sound so fancy), and then Donna and the guys found a little outdoor bar where we sat on folding wooden chairs beneath some overhead heaters (it was cool enough for jackets) and imagined what wonders the first full day in Savannah would hold for us.
Coming up…
We spend Saturday exploring the historic district and waterfront of Savannah; the group splits up; and Jake gets stuffed into the trunk of a car.
good times, only two short weeks ago
Great blog entry! I have a wonderful picture of that fountain in my files from years ago. I may just pull it out and pant it. The homes on the waterfront are beautiful. We loved Savannah and the surrounding countryside including the "Swamp Garden" Thanks for the memories