Road Tripping
Jun. 17th, 2002 12:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
petermarcusCuz the truth you might be running from is so small,
But it's as big as the promise,
The promise of a coming day.
-- CSN&Y - Southern Cross
Ah, the quintessential song of sail, love, and introspection. I listened to that song a lot. I also listened to a lot of mambo. You can't fall asleep driving while mambo is on the CD player.
I need a MP3 player in the car, I think.
Longish recap of the weekend follows the cut. It involves the southeastern US, Savannah Georgia, Hilton Head South Carolina, boats, fish, bottle-nosed dolphins, food, introspection, restlessness, and a bit of peace.
But before you click, just to set the mood: let's mambo!
Restlessness. The second free weekend I've had in Atlanta in almost two months, and I actually wanted to get out of town. A lot of work the past few months, involving, as it always does, a lot of schmoozing of clients. My weekends have been working vacations, involving some fun relaxation, but a lot of family, too. I have no problem with my family, we're very close actually. But the sabbatical voices have been calling, and a solo getaway is what I needed.
I had something vague planned Friday afternoon, but it merely involved heading to Savannah, as I've never been there before. I slept late Saturday morning, because I could, and headed South by 10AM.
Restlessness and, again, restlessness. I made it to Savannah in good time. I cruised around southern streets, oaks supporting airy, dripping shawls of spanish moss. Savannah was pretty. But. It was missing something I was looking for, and I couldn't put my finger on what was missing. Savannah is near the coast, but it's not on the Atlantic itself. There is a series of marshy islands and rivers in the way, the largest, and most developed, being Tybee Island. I headed out there and drove by the water, and though I've never been there before, there was something familiar about the layout. Part Ocean City, Maryland, part Jersey Shore, the rustic yet commercial development of the place was pure mid-Atlantic. And not what I was looking for.
I didn't plan to stay in Hilton Head, South Carolina. If you would have told me Friday night that I'd be eating dinner overlooking the sunset at Skull Creek, I would have laughed and shaken my head. Hilton Head -- the island of ironed polo shirts tucked neatly into ironed khaki shorts. Golf with $100 greens fees and condos on the beach with 24 hour guards manning the gates. The exclusivity of the place; a southeastern version of Martha's Vinyard or Grosse Pointe. I hadn't been there since college when a girlfriend and I drove through in a rusty VW Beetle that, once or twice a day, needed a push start.
But, there I was. It wasn't what I was looking for, either, but it was getting late and I had been in the car for something like seven hours at this point, so Hilton Head it was. I ate dinner on the northwest part of the island, at a marina overlooking salt-water marsh. I flirted casually with the bartender, however it was a half-hearted thing. I was on vacation, but I was looking for anonymity, not validation. And even though I write this experience in a more-or-less public way tonight, at the time I was in a process of examining my ego, not trying to boost it. Write about it I do, however; thus normalizing my life by forming the paradox.
Dinner was fried calamari, lightly floured, with a marinara sauce, followed by a local attempt at bouillabaisse. Eh. The calamari was excellent on its own, the marinara wasn't all that great. The bouillabaisse was far too heavy on the onions and, of all things, they went overboard on the saffron. The seafood wasn't bad, though I expected better for the outrageous price I paid for dinner.
I brought my clipper ship book on the roadtrip with me, but I wasn't in the mood for dry sailing technique. I wanted to read, but I wanted to read of adventure. It was 9PM, the local bookstore was closed, so I drove around wondering if, on the island of the exclusive, a Barnes and Noble would be around. I found one. Right between the WalMart and the Outback Steakhouse. I picked up a book about a guy who, after WWII, decided to get a sailboat and sail from Panama, back to Australia where his wife was waiting for him. Gooooood book and deserving of its own post.
I slept nine hours, with about eight straight hours of REM. I dreamed of a skyscraper I always dream about. 115 stories, and I am always afraid (in an acrophobic kinda way) to go to the upper levels. That dream, the building was a hotel and I worked there as a concierge. The hotel was owned and run by a cult religion. I was a non-believer, but I hoped I was merely cynical and that the religion was valid. I faked piety. The religion wasn't valid...I was right all along, it was merely a terrorist plot to blow up a bunch of Americans (which I helped foil), but I was more depressed than pleased.
I woke up, needing the sea.
This is getting longer than I thought. Are you still here? Really? I'm going to continue this in another post, but this really is mostly for me. You don't have to read if you don't want to! Go look and see if![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
billiam is up to no good or something.
But it's as big as the promise,
The promise of a coming day.
-- CSN&Y - Southern Cross
Ah, the quintessential song of sail, love, and introspection. I listened to that song a lot. I also listened to a lot of mambo. You can't fall asleep driving while mambo is on the CD player.
I need a MP3 player in the car, I think.
Longish recap of the weekend follows the cut. It involves the southeastern US, Savannah Georgia, Hilton Head South Carolina, boats, fish, bottle-nosed dolphins, food, introspection, restlessness, and a bit of peace.
But before you click, just to set the mood: let's mambo!
Restlessness. The second free weekend I've had in Atlanta in almost two months, and I actually wanted to get out of town. A lot of work the past few months, involving, as it always does, a lot of schmoozing of clients. My weekends have been working vacations, involving some fun relaxation, but a lot of family, too. I have no problem with my family, we're very close actually. But the sabbatical voices have been calling, and a solo getaway is what I needed.
I had something vague planned Friday afternoon, but it merely involved heading to Savannah, as I've never been there before. I slept late Saturday morning, because I could, and headed South by 10AM.
Restlessness and, again, restlessness. I made it to Savannah in good time. I cruised around southern streets, oaks supporting airy, dripping shawls of spanish moss. Savannah was pretty. But. It was missing something I was looking for, and I couldn't put my finger on what was missing. Savannah is near the coast, but it's not on the Atlantic itself. There is a series of marshy islands and rivers in the way, the largest, and most developed, being Tybee Island. I headed out there and drove by the water, and though I've never been there before, there was something familiar about the layout. Part Ocean City, Maryland, part Jersey Shore, the rustic yet commercial development of the place was pure mid-Atlantic. And not what I was looking for.
I didn't plan to stay in Hilton Head, South Carolina. If you would have told me Friday night that I'd be eating dinner overlooking the sunset at Skull Creek, I would have laughed and shaken my head. Hilton Head -- the island of ironed polo shirts tucked neatly into ironed khaki shorts. Golf with $100 greens fees and condos on the beach with 24 hour guards manning the gates. The exclusivity of the place; a southeastern version of Martha's Vinyard or Grosse Pointe. I hadn't been there since college when a girlfriend and I drove through in a rusty VW Beetle that, once or twice a day, needed a push start.
But, there I was. It wasn't what I was looking for, either, but it was getting late and I had been in the car for something like seven hours at this point, so Hilton Head it was. I ate dinner on the northwest part of the island, at a marina overlooking salt-water marsh. I flirted casually with the bartender, however it was a half-hearted thing. I was on vacation, but I was looking for anonymity, not validation. And even though I write this experience in a more-or-less public way tonight, at the time I was in a process of examining my ego, not trying to boost it. Write about it I do, however; thus normalizing my life by forming the paradox.
Dinner was fried calamari, lightly floured, with a marinara sauce, followed by a local attempt at bouillabaisse. Eh. The calamari was excellent on its own, the marinara wasn't all that great. The bouillabaisse was far too heavy on the onions and, of all things, they went overboard on the saffron. The seafood wasn't bad, though I expected better for the outrageous price I paid for dinner.
I brought my clipper ship book on the roadtrip with me, but I wasn't in the mood for dry sailing technique. I wanted to read, but I wanted to read of adventure. It was 9PM, the local bookstore was closed, so I drove around wondering if, on the island of the exclusive, a Barnes and Noble would be around. I found one. Right between the WalMart and the Outback Steakhouse. I picked up a book about a guy who, after WWII, decided to get a sailboat and sail from Panama, back to Australia where his wife was waiting for him. Gooooood book and deserving of its own post.
I slept nine hours, with about eight straight hours of REM. I dreamed of a skyscraper I always dream about. 115 stories, and I am always afraid (in an acrophobic kinda way) to go to the upper levels. That dream, the building was a hotel and I worked there as a concierge. The hotel was owned and run by a cult religion. I was a non-believer, but I hoped I was merely cynical and that the religion was valid. I faked piety. The religion wasn't valid...I was right all along, it was merely a terrorist plot to blow up a bunch of Americans (which I helped foil), but I was more depressed than pleased.
I woke up, needing the sea.
This is getting longer than I thought. Are you still here? Really? I'm going to continue this in another post, but this really is mostly for me. You don't have to read if you don't want to! Go look and see if
billiam is up to no good or something.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2002-06-16 11:44 pm (UTC)*looks for more hehehe *
no subject
Date: 2002-06-17 08:21 pm (UTC)They play some fun music :)