I’ve just returned from a long weekend in Charleston, S.C. that didn’t keep to the expected itinerary. My proverbial spring break, I thought it would be like other quiet, controlled getaways I’ve planned in interesting cities. Not so much. Here’s how it went down…

Friday, April 23rd
Flew American Airlines into CHS, picked up my Hertz rental car around 6:00pm, and drove to my B&B style hotel in town. The beautiful and comfortable hotel room was just as pictured on Fulton Lane Inn’s website. By 7:30pm I was on the pavement in search of a dinner place. I walked a few blocks down King Street and, outside the door to a restaurant, I accidentally photo-bombed a gaggle of five women who were strewn across the sidewalk taking a group selfie. I apologized and in the midst of asking them if the restaurant was good, discovered they had not eaten there, or yet. They asked some questions of me, and after a few incredulous moments while they wrapped their heads around the fact that I was not only planning to eat alone, but I had also traveled alone, they asked me if I would join them for the evening. I was game (and travel weary), and did exactly that. We ended up in a hotel lobby bar with clusters of couches and had some snacks and drinks. I found out they were up from Florida (some with husbands) and having a girls’ night out. They had all known each other in myriad ways for an extended period of time. I enjoyed observing their group dynamic and saw a part of myself in each of them. I was a novelty to them, being unafraid to travel solo, and found myself answering a lot of their questions. At length, it was discovered that one of them had a now-single brother (divorced twice, father of 4 almost-grown kids, if I heard right) and she was FaceTime-ing with him at points during the evening, including when we ended up in a piano bar where the performers were doing karaoke style covers of 80s hits. She introduced me to the brother, virtually of course, and talked us both up to each other across the ethers. She assured me that I would be her sister-in-law some day, and a couple of the other ladies exhibited excitement that I would become part of their group and how someday we would all recall how it came to be one fateful night in Charleston. I will admit that it’s a nice feeling to have other women like you in that manner, especially to welcome you to the family, but it was a little overwhelming for Night One. After the second venue, we were all laughing our way in pairs down the now quieter, after-dark sidewalk. There was an incident with one that distracted most of the ladies into a hurried return to their hotel. One of the gals stayed back long enough to see me settled into the seat of one of those bicycle taxis…the guy literally showed up out of nowhere and made the offer to see me safely back to my hotel. I was settled into my room by midnight, reflecting on how head-spinning the evening had been as I fell asleep.

Saturday, April 24th
Rain, rain, and more rain. That afternoon, I was meant to take a tour of the French Quarter, but the guide called me and persuaded me to change to Sunday instead. Fun fact: I had booked Sunday, changed to Saturday at his request a couple of days prior to the trip start…so this was actually just a reversion to the original date and time. Saturday evening I struck out to a restaurant for an early dinner prior to an evening ghost hunting experience. Fun fact: I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. So, I called that guy and got things straightened out. Met him at his newly preferred meetup spot about an hour later, and we had a drink while he ate his dinner and told me about the haunted farm we would be going to. He was messaging with someone about another guest he was expecting — a musician who apparently was debating on joining us that evening. It was a band name I knew, and while I didn’t know much else, I decided not to bother looking it up so that I wouldn’t unnecessarily geek out if the time came. Fun fact: that guy decided against it…I can’t imagine why…it had only been raining, lightning and thundering all day long, with no end in sight. So it turns out this “tour” was just me and its guide (married, kids). He was very professional and I felt safe with him, which was a good thing because the farmstead where we ended up had minimal electricity (if any) and no plumbing, as there was a renovation in progress. (Due to suburban sprawl, it was in a neighborhood, not in the middle of nowhere.) He set up all the equipment and we started working on collecting EVPs and using trigger objects and stuff, trying to get something caught on video. After a few hours of that, I kept yawning, so was glad when we finally wrapped up around midnight. And yay! The rain had mostly stopped, but I had the pleasure of parking in standing water and wading through the parking lot all the way up to the sidewalk of the hotel. That’s why they call it “low country” though.

Sunday, April 25th
The sky had cleared, though was still grey, and I joined a 9:30am historic alleyways tour with a respectably-sized group. We walked for a couple of hours and saw a lot of beautiful trees, flowers, stonework, homes, wrought iron, you name it. Really nice tour, and afterward I walked along the water and took a few photos, and then purchased a few things in the open air market. But I was also glad for an opportunity to return to my hotel to switch shoes and bandage a couple of toes that had begun to complain due the discomfort of shoes which had not completely dried-out after wading through the parking lot the evening prior. At 2:00pm I was on the twice-changed French Quarter tour…alone with the guide (single?). We retraced some of my earlier steps both alone and with the morning tour, but I learned new things from him. There was a trio of young girls selling lemonade in the seaside park, and the tour guide bought a cup for me ($2.00!), then he dared me to drink it. I braved a couple of sips to confirm the lemonade had been made from powder. This guide had looked me up on LinkedIn and asked me about my work. I had a tricky time convincing him that I wasn’t a travel spy who was there to critique him. We got along pretty well, although my head spun a little the way he would zoom in and out of personal and business conversational topics. I got the feeling he was testing the water at times — for what, I know not. He knew a lot about the city’s history and was very interesting to converse with. I did regret not having more time to just chat when we reached the end of the tour, but my feet were protesting strongly by that point, and he had other things to do. He dropped me off at a recommended bar with a rooftop view and I had an early (albeit bar-food) dinner before retreating to my room for the rest of the evening.

Monday, April 26th
Beautiful day. Perfect spring weather. I drove out to Magnolia Plantation and took the house tour, and then the slave cabins tour. Afterward, I stood in line at the snack bar for a long time, finally ending up with a caesar salad. While in line, I made an online reservation at a Mexican restaurant in town for dinner, just so I wouldn’t have to think too hard later. Then, I struck off to explore the expansive gardens that the plantation has become known for. Whilst wending my way along the riverside pathway, I happened to hear an older gent relating a funny story to a few folks who were standing nearby. I laughed and left that immediate area to continue my walk alone. A while later, the gent reappeared and engaged me in a multi-topic discussion. I wanted to keep walking and finally seemed to coax him into a stroll. We found the overlook tower and after other people had cleared out, he asked me to be quiet and for us to take in all the sounds of nature while no one else was around. So we did that (as if I was the chatterbox of the pair… just saying), and finally descended to navigate the pathways again. We meandered around and at his request took another short meditation break on a bench surrounded by moss-covered bamboo amidst the camellia plantings. We found a small maze to confuse us, and then he found a cheater’s exit. We found another bench alongside a pond and saw an egret fly in, and watched it stalk fish prey. It became clear that I was going to need to extricate myself at that point because he was making too many hints about being alone, wanting a dinner partner, etc., etc. He was a nice man, but I didn’t want him to take the liberty of putting his hand on the small of my back again. I arose and told him I was setting off for the petting zoo, and he did not follow. After seeing the peacocks and other animals, I made a beeline for my car.

At the exit of the plantation, two young women approached me and I rolled down my window. They had been dropped off by Uber earlier in the day and could get neither an Uber, Lyft, nor local taxi to retrieve them, but being in town on business, they were expected back in Charleston pronto and feeling the pressure. I told them to hop in. One of them was a talker, the other was quiet. I wondered if they had had words with each other over their predicament. As we neared town I reminded them to take a deep breath and shake it off, they had passed the hurdle of getting a ride. Dropped them off at their hotel and they insisted on giving me gas money; I accepted a token, but refused the larger sum they offered. At my hotel, I changed clothes and shoes and struck out with significantly protesting toes toward the restaurant that was one mile away, but on the same road as my hotel (and still an active part of the city). I passed other restaurants that would have suited, but kept onward. Long story short, I got to the reserved restaurant and after several minutes was neither greeted nor acknowledged by any employee, so I left on my hurting feet and returned to one of the restaurants I had passed earlier. Not the best meal I’ve ever had, but the charred pineapple mojito was delicious and the wait staff very pleasant. When I left, I must have still had half a mile to walk with my hurting toes to return to the hotel. Along the way, I passed a bicycle taxi-man who looked bored. But by the time I reached him, I could hardly even feel my toes anymore — they were so far gone — that I just kept walking. Finally, as I neared the turn for the alley leading to the front door of my hotel, a Camaro passed by, windows open, radio blaring. The song was “Heaven” by The Psychedelic Furs and I felt like bursting into tears right then and there. I knew I couldn’t go back up to my room yet, or else I might descend into despair. I no longer consulted my feet for their opinion. I simply continued walking in the direction the car had been traveling until it felt appropriate to hang a left at the corner a block or so further. It was still light outside and I could afford to walk a huge rectangle back to the hotel, collecting my thoughts.

Tuesday, April 27th
Had a restless night, but that was partly the mattresses’ fault — hotel beds have a tendency to turn on a person if one sleeps in them too long. I’d taken the bandages off my toes and promised them that I’d wear open-toed shoes for my return travel day. My connecting flights were uneventful. The airports were all busy and masked-up. It was a beautiful day for flying. I cannot complain. Oh! The joy of driving one’s own car again! I treated myself to a Starbucks mocha en route to home, and as I resettled myself after feeding the kittens their supper, I believe I narrowed down why my trip had ended fairly emotionally. It was almost as though the Universe had contrived a weekend-long speed-dating event just for me. It doesn’t even matter if the men were young, old, available or interested. Somehow, I was thrown into a mix of entanglements that were equally diverting but yet experiments in navigating human behavior. (And, for all that, none of them were my match.) I am thinking again about the ladies on Night One…and, though I have many solo trips under my belt, even I am a bit impressed by the extraordinary effort it takes when I venture out alone.