Trekking northward

One’s experience of a city can be considerably shaped by one’s couchsurfing host, so perhaps I got a rather warped view of Savannah, Georgia, which was my first stop after leaving Florida. I arrived drenched to the bone in a tropical thunderstorm. My curious hosts lived in an enchanting wooden-walled mansion, swarming with folk who didn’t really seem to notice me at first. At least half of them were young children.

I had arrived at a community (definitely NOT a commune, they insisted) of the “Twelve Tribes”. Also known as “The Commonwealth of Israel", this is a spiritual group based on community living and good, old-fashioned values....And probably hypnotism (just kidding!). Anyhow, it was an extremely interesting thing to be part of, kind of a mix between the Amish and a hippy collective. They claimed not to be Christian, but they did read the Bible and sing songs about God (who they called Yahweh rather than Jesus or Lord). They did use mobile phones and dishwashers, but the women wore old-fashioned dresses and the men all had centre-partings. Everyone seemed to think that their little corner of tranquility was the last bastion of niceness in a ridiculously evil and hell-bound world.

The whole thing took me completely by surprise as I had been a bit rushed and hadn’t properly read their couchsurfing profile, on which all this was explicitly stated. Thankfully, everyone was extraordinarily kind and hospitable, and as soon as they knew who I was they took a great interest in my travels and didn’t try to convert me at all. They gave me tons of free food, and even though I kept a wary eye out for any Kool-Aid they might offer, there was nothing but warmth and friendship showed to me.

All of which put Savannah itself in an interesting light, but in no way lessened the grandeur and loveliness of the place. Savannah is a historic city, apparently spared from destruction in the Civil War by the early surrender of its fun-loving inhabitants, meaning that it is one of the best preserved examples of Southern refinery and original glory.

Old but immaculately preserved colonial wooden houses, every other one seemingly the one-time residence of some key player in the jigsaw of history, were exquisitely painted and set around charming, tree-filled squares. I saw one couple that had apparently been so smitten by the atmosphere that they were getting married on the spot next to a particularly fine fountain.

Abandoning the interesting corner of spiritual co-living that I had stumbled across, I headed north through Georgia (no red dirt, no cotton), arriving in Atlanta in time to go with my next host, Ken, to watch the Atlanta Braves baseball team lose ingloriously. The last time I had been to a baseball game I had somehow been given free tickets to excellent seats for the Oakland As against the Seattle Mariners, back in 2007. The As, playing at home, had lost 0-4, in a hopelessly boring and low-scoring game, and this time the Braves did even worse, losing 0-3. I seem to attract poor games. Still, attending a baseball match is a great experience for any Brit, and again I had great seats with all the crazy fans, expensive baseball food, and of course the bizarre tradition of singing the national anthem before EVERY sports game, even when the teams are both American.

Ken was a fun host – he worked at Georgia Tech, was doing research for a Masters at Georgia State and was also in training for the army, expecting a posting to Afghanistan within a year or so. On day two we went to a shooting range with his own pistol and his friend’s big army rifle. I hadn’t fired a gun since I was about 12, when I did shooting club at my prep school. The club was run by the legendary Mr. Gardiner, an ancient WWII vet, who would swear in German and tell unbelievable stories. He must have been a good shooting teacher, because I fired some very respectable rounds, achieving better accuracy and grouping than the gun-owners themselves. *grins smugly*

While in Atlanta I took a look at two great schools: science hot-spot Georgia Tech, and also a great little private school called Emory that seemed as good as its excellent reputation would suggest. I also visited Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthplace, and his grave which is just down the road. Has anyone noticed that his initials (including the Jr) are in exact reverse alphabetical order? Weird. Another cool place in Atlanta is the former home of Margaret Mitchell, journalist and famed author of Gone with the Wind, which I found quite exciting and had lots of cool information about her early life and career.

Leaving Atlanta I sped into the Carolinas, changing buses in Charlotte where I had originally touched down to catch my flight to Seattle. I spent two days in Chapel Hill, a small but awesome college town and home of the University of North Carolina, which I really, really liked. I think it might be my favourite school so far. To find out why, read my review which I should be getting up on the site within the next few days.

Having completed my whistle-stop canter through the South, I said a tearful goodbye and headed into an exciting new land known only as…(drumroll)…the North East! Stay tuned to see what happens to yours truly in those blasphemous liberal tree-hugging elitist baby-killing blue states. Damn Yankees.