The Charms of Savannah

: Savannah Historic District:
: Savannah Historic District: (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
English: The Eugene Talmadge Memorial Bridge o...
English: The Eugene Talmadge Memorial Bridge over the Savannah River at Savannah, Georgia, USA. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Sorrel Weed House
Sorrel Weed House (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
: Savannah Historic District: City hall
: Savannah Historic District: City hall (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
: Savannah Historic District:
: Savannah Historic District: (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

   One of the most endearing aspects of Savannah, Georgia is its people, at least the ones we encountered in the Historic District.   One late afternoon, as my daughter and I strolled along West Congress, we happened upon a tiny bookshop tucked inside the door on the first floor of an old building.  Since Savannah was established in 1733, there are quite a few antique buildings in the Historic District.

The miniscule bookshop was shaped like a slice of pie.  Books were displayed both outside the shop on a short bookcase, and on three walls with shelves high up inside the shop.  It was as if the books had climbed ladders to place themselves on high.  A handsome gentleman arranging books turned out to be the proprietor.  He quickly lifted the hinged part of the counter and popped up inside the store.  Although his name escapes me, as does the name of his charming emporium, his lilting Southern drawl and quirky demeanor charmed the socks off of us.  He was, he explained, a photographer and a great reader of books.  In making reading recommendations, he often quoted from the books displayed.  He showed us the dust jacket of his coffee table book of photographs of Savannah’s flora and fauna.  We were willing to purchase his book, but alas, he told us, he was awaiting a shipment of it, and delivery had proved to be tediously slow.  It appeared such a lovely book of photography that we understood how he had sold out of it quickly.

My daughter had not read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, by John Berendt. The bookseller admonished her that it was an integral part of Savannahian reading.  He shared with her a few Savannah sites purported to be haunted, and urged us to visit them together.  Cheerfully we paid him his due for the book, and promised to return to Savannah, not a difficult promise to keep.   Like the horses clip-clopping down the street drawing their carriages, we too walked on to enjoy a glass of wine and Italian food with our friends, having spent another leisurely day savoring the bliss that is Savannah.

Ciao for now.

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