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    Departing Savannah

    October 10, 2016

    Because of a very late Saturday night -- really Sunday -- I did not wake up until close to the noon hour. 

     

    I had two days left in Savannah, and I was feeling sad.

     

    Sad to say goodbye to the new friendships made during the hurricane.

     

    Sad because I knew what awaited me:  Florida.

     

    After a quick breakfast/lunch, I walked around to see what was open.

     

    Not much to speak of on this particular Sunday. 

     

    The Sentient Bean was open, but I had already had my caffeine for the day; instead, I sulked.

     

    After a few hours of walking around, and seeing everything still boarded up and closed, I decided to head back to the airbnb.

     

    I had already taken countless photos of the damage, so what else was there to do in a beautiful, but empty city?

     

    I decided to work around the airbnb house. 

     

    I cleared debris from the front porch area and swept the leaves and mossy mess located in the front of the house. 

     

    Grabbing some trash bags, I placed all the debris into them, and placed them in the dumpsters located in the alley.  Next, I swept the back porch area and cleared large branches which had fallen in the empty guest parking spots.

     

    Following my debris clean-up, I made some needed phone calls with family and friends.

     

    I caught up extensively with my youngest sister, Yolanda, and I was able to hear about my friend Kimmy's adventures abroad. 

     

    A few shorter calls were made, too. 

     

    Next thing I knew the clock said 5 p.m.

     

    I found myself tired, so I decided to take a short nap.

     

    Bad idea!

     

    Wide awake, I heard the neighbors on their front porch talking about the storm.

     

    I checked my phone:  it was just after midnight.

     

    Talk about ruining a sleep schedule.

     

    Hungry, but worried I would awaken the house, I stayed in my room and checked my phone for weather updates,

     

    When I saw that I had missed the debate, I opted to spend my time awake watching the entire Bravoesque-style show go up in flames.

     

    If only they had asked the last question first.  Perhaps, it would have set a different tone to the entire town hall format? 

     

    Embarrassed at how our candidates looked, I checked to see how my family and friends responded via Facebook. 

     

    Then, I grew tired. 

     

    Too avoid any new strange sleep schedules, I set my alarm for 7 a.m.

     

    At this point, I had slept plenty.

    I was tired when my alarm rang; however, I forced myself to get up and shower.

     

    Knowing some businesses would be open, I decided to have a small breakfast at the airbnb; then, I headed down Anderson toward Bull.

     

    My goal was to see if this popular placed called Back in the Day Bakery was open.

     

    It was not.

     

    Instead, I ended up at a place called Foxy Loxy sometime near the lunch hour.

     

    Hungry, I ordered two tacos, a bowl of soup, and a tres leches.

     

    No coffee; no tea.

     

    Downstairs looked pretty routine: it was full of young people catching up on what I assume was SCAD work and/or their social media accounts. 

     

    When I opted to sit upstairs, I felt awkward. 

     

    Eyes looked up as I stumbled my way up the narrow staircase and fumbled with my table top number. 

     

    It was far more quiet than downstairs; everyone was hooked onto some sort of technical device.

     

    Welcome to feeling NOT like a foxy lady and more like an old lady.

     

    I laughed aloud (which garnered more looks) as I thought about how Paul would experience this scene with me.

     

    We would have been cracking up the whole time and making all the 20-somethings feel uncomfortable with our in real time face-to-face interaction.

     

    My food arrived.

     

    I ate it as the engrossed in their devices youngsters heard me crunch away on those tacos and slurp up that butternut squash and bacon soup.

     

    When I finished, I walked downstairs and asked to have my tres leches to go. 

     

    D- had sent me a text to meet him and J- at their favorite spot: The Sentient Bean, so I made a left from where I was.

     

    The boys were having coffee outside on a small and round wrought iron table.

     

    We spoke about their next airbnb endeavor, and my involvement with it. 

    D- was going to give me a tour of the house they had recently purchased which was located very close to where I had just been. 

     

    We chatted about how clean-up was going.  Later, I met a motorcycle friend from their group, and I met J-'s yoga instructor.

     

    Within a half-hour, J- left on some business. 

     

     

    Before walking over to the about to be remodeled new place, D- showed me the "bean" from the inside, and explained all its cool activities. 

     

    Definitely a happening place.

     

    How cute... I thought.

     

    I watched as D- tried his best to sell me Savannah.

     

    Later, we walked over to the up and coming house, and I was given a first-hand tour.  

     

    Within the hour, we said goodbye, and I told him I would seriously consider their caretaker offer.

     

    As I walked back to the airbnb, I decided to take one final walking tour of the city. 

     

    It was the same walk I did when I first arrived -- that meant jumping back on Broad, and walking over to Broughton. 

     

    I ended up running into the entrepreneur of that SCAD-alumni owned business called 13 Bricks; he was locking up the door to his place.  We spoke on the sidewalk; it was nice to come full circle.

     

    When I left him, I sent text messages back and forth with my favorite New Yorker couple; their flight had departed around 4 p.m.

     

    Later, I walked on Broughton, and found myself turning left onto Whitaker.

     

    Hungry, I entered a restaurant called Tequila's Town.

     

    More tacos...

     

    I stuck with the Mexican theme of the day.

     

    There, I met the bartender and the manager (perhaps owner?).

     

    Because the place was one of only a handful of restaurants open, it was hopping.

     

    The bartender, manager, and I discussed the debate in detail.

     

    I learned how both men ended up in Savannah. 

     

    The manager's story was the funniest.

     

    He thought Atlanta was Atlantic City when he arrived here from Los Angeles.  By then, it was too late because with the help of his brother, he found himself in a quaint city called Savannah.

     

    He's been here for decades, and the rest is history.  

     

    I left the restaurant early, so I could begin packing and get a solid night's sleep.

     

    On my way back, I took a few more wannabe artistic photos.

     

    Then, I found myself at the Grayson House:  my Hurricane Matthew refuge. 

     

    I'm pretty sure I took this photo just after the storm. 

     

    If you look closely, you will see a piece of the house number -- "2" -- missing. 

     

    Blame that on the storm. 

     

    I said good night to Janeen and met a few new arriving guests before heading up to my room. 

     

    My next stop would be Jacksonville, Florida, and I needed all the beauty rest I could get since I had not been on the road for nearly a week.

     

    I fell asleep just after 9 p.m. wondering whether I would make Savannah my new home. 

    Until we meet again, my friend.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

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