First time in Savannah

Look at that country bumpkin with a Team Suzuki shirt and John Deere hat.

We’re all about holding random knick knacks from the 70% off section at Cracker Barrel.  The John Deere shirt is pretty funny and says Step into my office with a big tractor above it.

Only Cracker Barrel could combine the worst things around to create a monstrosity far worse than the original components (buzz word = synergy):

copper tea pot + different colored tin cups + smaller knick knacks + fishing line = horrendous wind chime

This is our maiden voyage to Savannah.

H is for Savannah

I should be a valet.  I like the way they park the cars.

On the way down I tell Jason, I hope Savannah doesn’t have those old historic buildings like Charleston.  Oopsie!

I do enjoy the shade of the many Spanish Moss trees.

In order to be a guy in Savannah, you must wear the following:

• pink Polo shirt
• khaki shorts
• Rainbow flip flops

The cobblestone roads are hard to walk on and I can only imagine that much harder to ride a motorcycle on.  It reminds me of the Richlands ride.

We run into some inebriated college students.  This one particular fella managed to wear his shorts backward and upon closer inspection, I believe they may have been his girlfriend’s shorts considering they don’t have a zipper.

Another first for me is enjoying a dinner on a riverboat cruise.  It has a very Titanic feel when I enter the dining room.

This table is for Mr. and Mrs. Buckman… whoever they are.

I enjoy the view from the window before departure.  I notice that the balconies don’t have bottoms.  I would hate to step out on a nice summer day to look at the river and discover that!

Jason tells me to check out the DJ and I ask where?  I manage to overlook that our DJ was the lady in a t-shirt with a small laptop next to bread rolls and sweet tea with her moroccos.  Her selection of Miley Cyrus and country music was interesting to say the least.

Not the blue lagoon but the blue la goones (technically les goones)

I experience another first as the waitress brings us our high dollar wine.  She plops it down on the table and announces since it’s a screw top, we can open it and pour it ourselves.  Friendly southern service at its best!

The benches outside are a nice place to soak in the nice Georgia humidity.

This dilapidated bridge is a Georgia Stonehenge.

The view is lovely with the construction cranes and the sun setting.

The sun provides a nice back drop and you’ve got to love the boat flying the Confederate Flag.

The crowds are out in force.

This man proposes to his girlfriend Carlene and I wonder where the O is.

You can find an inflatable anything and everything these days.

Fireworks!

The local art school brings out the street performers.  It’s hard to find a good banjo player.

Savannah is famous for being the home of Paula Deen and her restaurant, Lady and Sons.  We attempt to get a reservation but it’s full.  Rumor from the locals is the place is not very good but gets a lot of tourist hype.

I don’t think I can ever do ape hangers.

I’m fascinated with these raised HVAC units that are raised above the sidewalks on shelves.

One of the best parts of traveling is eating whatever you want and the calories not counting.  They have salt water taffy in every flavor you can imagine.

I’m not a candied apple fan but the peanut brittle is more my speed.

Dachshund owners are a different breed like the dachshund.  I am amazed to see an entire storefront display of nothing but dachshund and chihuahua knick knacks.

Nothing is cooler than a Hayabusa t-shirt that says I like rolling on River Street unless you add a completely random yellow eagle on top.  Clip art FTW!

I worry about putting this moss art in my yard.  From past experiences, moss art seems to attract gnats and eventually mold before it becomes a rotten soggy mess.

Dancing hippies is great.  I imitate the different postures.

We enjoy one last breeze on River Street.

The highlight for Jason is when we leave Savannah.  As we’re crossing back over the bridge, I ask about the island where the fireworks were being shot.  We take a quick detour and veer off onto the island.  As we’re driving, J notices red and white curbing like a race track.  He keeps following the path and soon discovers he’s driving on a private road course that has inadvertently been left open.  Pretty soon (as he calls it) the white whale is doing well over a 100mph.  It is a controlled environment after all and you can feel the power strong enough to sling those magnets off the back (not really). 

It sure is nice to get away from the hustle bustle!