I have always dreamed of traveling to South Carolina.
My travel list usually begins with a desire to experience something in the natural world. I’ll envision something specific—walking lavender fields at dusk, or setting out for wildflower meadows at dawn, a foraging basket and florist’s shears in tow. I’ve dreamed forever of the cool interior of a whitewashed home, with a balcony that looks out the Aegean Sea. I’ve set my heart on Alpine mountains covered in summer flora, and rendered magical with winter snow. Reveries of Ireland always take place in autumn, with copper beech trees and an endless emerald expanse. The scenes change, but they always begin with natural beauty: a beloved flower, swaying meadow grasses, a seascape at a particular time of day.
… Well, I mean, sometimes, I confess, my travel dreams aren’t so “back to nature.” Consider the one recurrent dream I have of a Swiss chalet, all wood and furs, fragrant with the smell of lemon curd pancakes and black coffee. There’s a roaring fireplace and somewhere to curl up and look out of windows caked with ice. The indoor element of this dream is important because I’ll be nowhere that requires a pair of skis, thanks very much. I digress.
These dreams have become so vivid that they feel innate, almost lived-in. Once, while working on my blog, I stumbled over a photo of a room in Santorini, and it fairly took my breath away. I felt that I had in some way been there, had dreamed that space. A cool white sanctuary with plastered walls, even the bed linens were familiar. The windows curved and revealed cypress trees, exactly as I imagined them. Dreams are surreal like that, and especially when we dream of a place for so long and finally find ourselves there. You feel a sense of wonder and unbelief mixed with something like, “Yes, of course, exactly this– it was always going to happen; I was always headed here.”
When it comes to South Carolina, my dream was a familiar one (maybe a cliché?): a dream of oak trees veiled with Spanish moss. Something about the moss drove me wild—I longed to see trees tangled with it, ethereal with their gossamer strands of gray. As a floral designer, I have always been fixated on it, longing to create a table composition with moss as the skeleton, the backbone. I just wanted to see it, to work with it, and design things around it. I’m not one for Southern gothic novels or the macabre side of the South, but I loved the ethereal beauty of these trees, and hoped someday to experience them for myself.
My trip to South Carolina was part of a multi-city trek with my family through the deep South, and Charleston was the nonnegotiable first stop. We arrived at dusk, the gloaming hour, the perfect hour to first experience Charleston. My first moments of the trip were enchanting, introducing me to the architecture I’d read so much about, the pastel houses I’d always wanted to see. A walk down Rainbow Row, with its exquisite Georgian homes, was a flurry of ice cream colors— lavender, cerulean, mint green, blush pink. My walk was a feast for the senses: the evening was thick with cicada song and the air was heavy with impending rain. Flickering lanterns lit my path and gave the evening a tinge of something European. Each home had a window-box and planter overflowing with the most eccentric and gorgeous plant groupings—salvias, coleus, maples, and mints—and façades were flanked with shutters and adorned with wrought iron balconies.
I wore a hat and a pale blue dress with birds and roses, tassels and hearts, and relaxed into the walk, the mood. It felt freeing to give my hair over to its natural wild waves and to wear the gypsy clothes and colors I love. I looked on each window-box flower arrangement and potted plant with desperation and urgency, taking mental notes of plant groupings, peculiar lines and shapes, and the riotous celebration of color. It wasn’t like transcendent, transporting love-at-first-sight (that feeling is surely only reserved for a few special places), but still, Charleston and I were vibing.
And did I mention the Spanish moss? It was everywhere, and it certainly lived up to my dreams. Driving up oak-lined streets, there were miles and miles of these trees, bending towards one another, bearing moss, creating a pathway, an aisle—it was gorgeous. The centuries-old trees were vast and magnificent, growing in winding and whimsical shapes, so curvy and wonky they looked like charming illustrations in a children’s book. The branches seemed to bow low and bend with the weight of the moss, which hung casually, like bell sleeves on a dress. Lightning bugs and fireflies flickered in the star-filled night, and together, the moss, the trees, the fireflies created a kind of symphony.
I’m a rigid planner in everyday life, but during travel, I like to give myself permission and room for spontaneity and discovery. It’s nice to cushion in time to discover things or just to have downtime. I break out into hives if someone plans a ton of trolley tours or tourist-y things… I really don’t want to be placed at the mercy of guides or experiences that last for hours. Instead, I like having the nimbleness and freedom to spend as much or as little time as I want somewhere. I find it freeing to figure out the essence of my trip and form my own personal opinions on things (art, restaurants, historic buildings, gardens, hikes, etc.). Food tours, walking tours, house tours—I mean, unless I’m in a place as resplendently historical as Paris or Rome, you can probably count me out. I think you can have a transporting experience just by taking a walk through a city. I’m of the belief that you can have a hugely significant experience simply by gazing out at the ocean, or upon a single painting, or by taking a prayer walk through a garden. For the most part, I’m cool with a pared-back experience.
Some of the best parts of this (or any other trip) weren’t the things I “did”—there’s a more intangible side of travel, an essence that comes from just being someplace. Take these suggestions as you will, and know that you can have a magical time somewhere simply by “doing” very little and being richly grounded in the moment.
Rainbow Row– My introduction to Charleston on Rainbow Row gave me my most enduring memories of the city. Rainbow Row, the historic stretch of houses spanning 83-107 East Bay Street, is the most photogenic, Instagrammable place in Charleston. You’ll want to capture every vibrant flowerbox, take in every charming corner, and you’ll absolutely want to plan your outfit for maximum pastel aesthetic vibes. I actually didn’t, but I had a vague conception of Charleston as being a pastel-painted city, and dressed accordingly, so things worked out for me as far as that was concerned. ; ) Charleston’s architecture, history, and beauty is perfectly compressed on this street, which looks gorgeous against its pink-hued sunsets, punctuated with palm trees.
Shopping & walking on King Street- For more pastel goodness and pretty architecture, spend an easy afternoon on King Street, carving out time for walking, perusing, dining, and shopping. I was honestly content just to look at the color palette and the beautifully aged buildings—a jewelry department painted the perfect shade of pale Ladurée green, a mauve boutique, an egg-yolk yellow bakery.
Sullivan’s Island – One of my great regrets of this trip is that we did not have time to see Sullivan’s Island (or St. Simon’s, which I’ll cover in my Georgia post) which came with the high recommendations from my South Carolina friend– and undisputed Queen of the Carolinas– Megan. (Hey girl!) The tiny beachfront town of Sullivan’s Island is known for its pristine beauty, water sport attractions, and wide, clean beaches. Dotted with charming shops and restaurants, it’s ideal for a romantic weekend or at least a day on your Charleston itinerary.
Historic Charleston City Market- This is the place for design-lovers, scavengers, and people who like to re-upholster furniture and collect handmade pottery to display on their open shelves. ; ) Look for artisanal jewelry, ceramics, artwork, and more to add a layered, well-traveled look to your home or wardrobe.
Poogan’s Porch- Poogan’s, a charmingly restored Victorian home on Queen Street, epitomizes Lowcountry cooking and a kind of Southern Living experience. I love the restored old house motif (Van Buren House, anyone?) and enjoyed our dining experience in what appeared to be the original living room, with its demure lilac wallpaper and quaint fireplace. The dual staircases and first- and second- story porches tell a story of years gone by, of faded photographs, and secret stories. The menu is all down-home Southern cuisine—biscuits with honey, fried chicken, crab cakes, she-crab soup, and barbequed mahi, along with lighter fare—fresh fish, farm-fresh produce. And any dog-lover will get a little weepy at the restaurant’s description of its namesake and original mascot, Poogan, the neighborhood stray who made the house on Queen Street his home. Poogan, as the story goes, would sleep on the front porch and when the home was converted into a restaurant, he presided over all the renovations. Beloved by kitchen staff and eager to greet restaurant guests, Poogan became a hometown hero, and Poogan’s Porch became his memorial.
Hall’s- The hospitality was warm and wonderful at Hall’s, the fish succulently sweet and fresh, the wine lovely. I only wish Sunday Brunch, with the famed Gullah women’s choir, had been open to the public—alas, COVID rendered that impossible.
Husk- We made and then canceled reservations at Husk (read: we had lunch at Poogan’s at therefore met our quota) but heard wonderful things about the farm-to-table fare there. Some nights you need to take a walk, do yoga, detoxify, and diffuse essential oils, things I do at home and used to feel guilty about doing while traveling because I ‘should’ be seeing everything. It’s always ok to say ‘no’ to something in favor of another, simpler experience. Anyway, please go here and tell me what to order next time I’m there.
Ye Olde Ice Cream Shoppe– Every trip should include one delicious dive, and this was it. I felt as though I’d time traveled to the ’50s at this cute diner, with its throwback menu of sundaes & scoops. I mean, I didn’t actually eat anything (anyone who knows me well knows that I’m a bit of a clean eating snob, more Gwyneth than greasy) but it was a fun experience and the whole concept of the place was genius. (Someone needs to open one of these in Texas!).
And now, I save the best for last—a whole section devoted to Kiawah Island. Where do I begin? It really is worth all of the extravagant praise—lushly tropical, exquisitely beautiful, luxurious, and generous with ocean views. Of all the places we saw, Kiawah was the crown jewel of the trip, the experience I will return to in my memories. Walking along the ocean– what a powerful and poignant encounter with God’s majesty and vastness, His sovereign control and tender care over creation.
Driving to Kiawah, you experience the essence of Lowcountry beauty—marshland and dune grass and beautiful water at every turn. There is no way to describe it: the cicadas, the swaying grasses, the distinctly Southern beauty all come together in a charged way. A simple walk or a bike ride would be a sublime way to experience Kiawah. Golf, tennis, beachgoing—there’s so much to do, but simply to soak in the beauty of Kiawah would be enough. And if you’re into a less outdoors-y experience, the little square of shops and restaurants would be a lovely place to spend a sun-drenched afternoon.
Twice, we spent the afternoon and evening at Kiawah, checking into the Ryder Cup country club to dine at the ocean course. There is no view like the view here. Endless miles of pale blue sky and sea, uninterrupted. Dune grass tossed by the wind, and panoramic views of sky and shore. It was pristine. Go for the view, and the view alone—you will, I assure you, keep it in your memory bank forever.
The Ocean Course at Kiawah epitomized a brand of mannerly, classy Southern beauty: pale blue paint, white trim, columns, and wide porches. What a luxury it is to lounge on a deck or sit on a porch and hear the waves crash. The golf course was impeccable (I don’t play golf but as a total golf lay person, this much was clear). It is no secret that I go weak for this aesthetic—pastel paint, stately columns, relaxed elegance and beauty.
For all the luxury at the club, the paths that led to the shore beckoned all the more. I have to admit that I have such a thing for dune grass—something about it just calls to me, beckons me, sometimes as much as the ocean does. Is that strange? It must harken back to my fascination with meadows and their tall, swaying grasses—the sense of perfect peace and calm I feel in their presence. It was so calming and peaceful to walk through these grasses and find, on the other side, the endless ocean. On my walk to the shore, I collected shells, and felt a kind of childlike thrill. Upon arrival, I immediately kicked off my shoes, and waded waist- high into the water. It didn’t matter that my dress was soaked. I had to be in it.
Unbelievably, my family and I were the only people on the beach. To experience this beauty without interruption, and enjoy solitude in God’s creation—what a gift.
I just felt so overwhelmed that God would allow my eyes to take in something so sweeping, majestic, and beautiful. In the face of such power and beauty, the heart can do nothing but swell with praise and thanksgiving. As the waves crashed and receded, I left my cares in God’s hands and felt my heart return to a gentler rhythm. It had been awhile since I felt unfettered joy. In God’s Presence, praying and praising and just walking next to the Lord Jesus, I felt cleansed.
This, this is why I am so drawn to nature’s beauty—it draws me nearer to the heart of the Creator, filling my heart with wonder over what He has made. It’s true: it’s important to walk through everyday life with a sense of gratitude and awe— as Christians, our lives are filled with the miraculous wonder of God’s Presence with us (Matt. 1:23)—and to not rely too heavily on mountaintop moments. Even so, these moments of exceptional beauty should be received for what they are: a reflection of God’s lovingkindness. A gift. An overflow of His grace: His undeserved, unmerited, unconditional, unlimited favor.
This, to me, is the great gift of travel: seeing a new, undiscovered facets of God’s creation and of His and faultless character. Through His creation, God declares His goodness and radiance and perfection, and the riches He pours out onto the heart who trusts in Jesus.
In such an uncertain time, my heart needed anchoring to the truths I found here. Looking out at the ocean, I was so poignantly reminded that God is powerful, sovereign, and in complete control. In Him, we have a peace that is independent of our circumstances, a peace eternal, unchanging, unalterable. Christ Himself is our peace (Ephesians 2:14). So many powerful psalms and verses came to my heart: “The earth is the Lord’s, and all its fullness, The world and all who dwell therein. For He has founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the waters.” (Psalm 24:1-2). Seeing such a tangible reminder of the power of God—it pacified and reassured my soul. Why should I fear, when I have committed my life to One so mighty, capable, and strong? I meditated also on the concept of our sin being buried in the deepest ocean—forgotten, remembered no more– as believers in Christ, our salvation made eternal and secure (Romans 5:1-11). These are the most powerful, miraculous meditations, and it did me good to set my mind upon them.
Next time, I’ll be sharing a little guide to Savannah, GA, and all the places to see and things to do in this beautiful, character-filled city. <3
