A long birthday weekend in Charleston. The Lowcountry has its own kind of slow magic — porches, shrimp and grits, the way the moss hangs from the live oaks, the brick alleys downtown.
I was at a hotel that was completely empty the first night — like four cars in the parking lot at midnight. The next morning the lobby had something like 100 elderly people standing in it. A bus had arrived. The whole hotel went from ghost town to senior tour stop in about an hour.
Stayed in the historic district. Walked everywhere. Ate at the kind of restaurants where the menu changes weekly because the boats came in with whatever they came in with. The flight home was rough — the captain warned us before takeoff that they were going to fly lower than the southbound flight because the weather was bad. Still made it back; my apartment is fifteen minutes from the airport, which is one of the small daily wins of living where I live.
JetBlue approach over the Charleston marshes
Charleston Airbnb
Napkin bow tie energy