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Letters from America
An Evening in Savannah
By Greg Evans
Special Correspondent
Savannah, George is America’s most haunted city.
The U.S. is full of interesting locations, hidden gems off the various interstates. One of these is Savannah, Georgia. We spend a lot of time on the road and decided to make a pit-stop one evening in America’s most haunted city.— Editor's Note

It has been rumored that Savannah is America’s most haunted city, and believe this, the most apparitional spot is a brewery. Where have you been all my life! If ever there was a city to spend a foggy evening wandering around getting lost in history, it is Savannah.

My girlfriend Tiara and I arrived at dusk. It was romantic under an indigo sky, the trees dripping in Spanish Moss. Couples were out strolling. Home after home, beautiful old architecture, you feel like you have traveled back in time. It wasn’t eerie; it was a familiar aesthetic beauty.

We pulled into an eatery at the edge of a neighborhood, with a line stretching down the entrance walkway. “This place looks popular,” Tiara said. “It had a busy, chic atmosphere with smells that immediately let us know we were in the right place. We ordered Laotian-influenced dishes washed down with cold beer. It was perfect after a long drive.

After dinner Tiara was intent on Leopold’s Ice Cream dessert. I wanted to see some ghosts.

How can a place that looks like this be haunted? I kept thinking to myself.

I had been in Savannah before, years earlier, but this time was different. I kept getting the impression that I was here at a different time, a forgone century. I couldn’t tell Tiara this because she already thinks that I am crazy. We drove in the direction of River Street. It was crowded with other ghost, beer, and ice cream enthusiasts.

We parked in a well-lit garage on State Street and headed out on the town, destination, Broughton Street. We just wandered taking in the history, enjoying the smells and sounds.

Leopold’s Ice Cream parlor was unmistakable with a line twenty couples deep. The service was quick, and we were back on the street walking. Moments later we reached Bay Street. Starboard was the Savannah River with a ferry gliding by glowing like the fourth of July.

The Moon River Brewing Company, formally the City Hotel, constructed on Bay Street in 1821, was off-limits to me. Tiara said “no way, no how” are we going somewhere that a ghost might jump out and try to steal your ice cream cone.

“I think that is the entire city dear,” I said.

“Do you want to walk home?” she said. The look in her eye was enough to forego the haunted spots and perambulate down to River Street and walked east, on, in my opinion, the tiniest sidewalk in North America. It is hard to go single file coming and going, and you are nearly shoved into the various boutiques that span the river. I love stepping outside of the modern world. In a way it was genius; it is almost impossible not to go into some of the shops and you can’t leave Savannah without a souvenir.

I love the old, cobbled streets. The air was chilly, and the lights dim. The fact that Savannah is not super-lit at night gives it a certain texture, a characteristic that is hard to describe if you have never been there underneath the moss. The city is bathed in an orange hue as if alit with torches or whale-oil lanterns.

Alas, much to my dismay, I encountered nothing phantasmal. There were no union soldiers out on patrol wondering what the glowing screens are in the hands of all the weirdly dressed people jumping out of the way of peculiar-looking carriages that appeared able to move without being pulled by horses, not even the wraith of a dog appeared, nothing.

But in fact, it is such a charming town I soon forgot I was looking for ghosts and began photographing it, eyeing to capture its bewitching aura as if I was George Foltz himself. As the hour grew late, we realized that we would have to pull ourselves away and return to the parking garage. There was still so much to see. The energy was electric. The vibe, mellow. A longer excursion would have to be scheduled, no less than a week, and even that might be too short.

We’ll see you again soon, Savanna



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Greg Evans, associate director of communications of King University in Bristol TN, in the US, serves as a special correspondent for The Seoul Times. The seasoned journalist has been writing for such papers as the Mooresville Tribune, Lake Norman Citizen, the Bristol Herald Courier, and the Sentinel-Progress (Easley, SC). He can be reached at gaevans1@king.edu

 

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