Savannah Would Be Better for You. You'll Just Get in Trouble in Atlanta

True words from Mammy. I heeded them and stayed away from Atlanta on this trip to Georgia, veering instead to the more elegant, genteel Georgia coastal town of Savannah.

I spent this warm, sunny day at the helm of the USS Cheesemobile (aka the Camaro), leaving Gainesville relatively early and making it up to Savannah in time to get a few hours’ walking time before sunset. It was about a three hour trip (eerily similar to the three hour cruise that Gilligan and his posse took). On the bright side, the road is mostly backwoods highway, meaning that I’d get to see some “off the beaten path” scenery not accessibly on IH-95. That turned out largely to be the case. US 17 trades off and on with 95, running through woods and marshland, affording a great view of really fine natural beauty. On the other hand, it also runs through Meth-ville. Some of these little towns you have to slow down while traveling through are really impressive. I hate to keep coming off like such a snob (well, not really), but in some of these places there’s like 14 teeth. Total. In the whole area. An overabundance of cellulite and smoker’s cough replaces teeth I guess.

Enhancing the experience was the fact that I could enjoy the Breakfast with the Beatles program on XM satellite radio. It’s a regular Sunday morning feature; this day was devoted to John Lennon-penned Beatles songs (and some solo stuff just released on his remastered CDs). Even though I’ve heard every Beatles song probably more than 100 times, I can’t get over how nearly every time I listen to the Beatles, I still discover some new (to me) wrinkle or layer. The songs were like three minute symphonies. John Lennon. What hasn’t already been said about him, at great length? Let me deviate briefly to talk about that and offer a contrarian view. Mick Jagger once called John Lennon the rudest person he’d ever met. Lennon was by all accounts an insufferable human being, and nearly every interview or clip of his I’ve ever read or heard confirms that. A total egomaniac, he basically was a street punk until the Beatles hit, then thought himself very far above it all. His many masterpieces owed as much to his competition with (and against) McCartney as to organic talent and creativity. Abusive to friends and particularly women, and bothered by not having his way, Lennon must have chafed at having to defer, somewhat, to the other Beatles, which probably accounts for the reports that he wanted to leave the Beatles by as early as 1965. In Yoko Ono, he found someone to provide a mother figure, whose love he’d always craved. Yoko provided the final bit of missing confidence that he could stand alone and apart from the other Beatles and have an artistic life outside the group. Without the moderating influence of the group, and having become a virtual idol of millions, Lennon became completely insufferable. A limousine liberal spouting goofy Utopianism (while abusing heroin during part of the early 70s during his LA period), he spent the 70s trying to live up to and in many ways take back what he’d accomplished in the 60s. The lyrics to Imagine or Working Class Hero, for example, separated from their matching music, are cringe-worthy. Hence, all the peace, love and agitation, followed by giving up, withdrawing and becoming a house-husband, and then in the end embracing his career and coming back with some of his best solo work. But despite all this, Lennon made the Beatles—without him there would never have been a Beatles as we knew them. Lennon was the preeminent songwriter of the rock era, ahead of McCartney, ahead of Dylan, ahead of Jagger/Richard, ahead of Brian Wilson, Lieber and Stoller, the Brill Building teams, Holland, Dozier and Holland…you name it, Lennon stood on top of Rock Mountain.

Back to Savannah. I’ve often said that other than New Orleans, every town in America looks exactly the same as everywhere else. Chock full of KFCs, Home Depots, WalMarts, Applebees, Olive Gardens, and other chains and strip malls that make it difficult to tell whether you’re in Jacksonville, Florida or Jacksonville, Texas. Its what I demonize as the homogenizing of America.

Of course, that’s not totally true. Some towns are a little unique. San Francisco certainly. The old parts of Santa Fe. Nantucket. Pasadena. And as it turns out, Savannah, Georgia and Charleston, South Carolina. They look different, though that’s mainly the carefully preserved and regulated historic downtowns. I arrived around 2, and was prepared for it to disappoint. Just like the Strand, which is overrun with awful tourists (“good tourists” don’t do the things that “awful tourists” do, namely, stand in the middle of the street looking at a map or peering through a camera, ask for directions to a location right in front of them, driving two miles per hour in a parking garage, wait more than an hour to eat at theme- or chain-restaurants, take horse-drawn carriage rides on busy downtown streets, and wear shorts that were too tight 20 years ago with mismatched socks). Savannah resembles the quieter parts of the French Quarter. Some chain bars and restaurants, but some good locals. Mostly, the obnoxious touristy area (i.e. the Galveston district) is limited to the two block city market area. There's no national chains (except Thomas Kinkade), and its not really that obnoxious. There's no Buffalo Wild Wings.

The town is laid out on a grid with alternating streets and boulevards. Interspersed is a set of 22 squares, which the city has meticulously preserved. Each is slightly different, but all well landscaped and tended, excellent for strolling or lounging. Incredible oaks with spanish moss line the streets, providing shady canopy. This reminds me of the Rice University area. The spanish moss adds a ghostly quality to many streets. The town area is really alive, and many streets are bustling with cars and pedestrians. Great Southern Gothic architecture dominates, and very well preserved antebellum homes line most streets. Along the Savannah River (at River Street), the city has renovated the old shipping buildings and cotton warehouses, which are now occupied by bars and restaurants and shops. The streets are brick, with cobblestones lining approaches and alleys. Ships used these as ballast until loaded, then emptied them, leaving them behind for Savannah to use in their roads. This reminds me of Old Montreal or the Natchitoches Front Street. There are plenty of younger people and some hipsters, no doubt attending Savannah College of Art and Design (“SCAD” a/k/a Waste of Time U, see tomorrow’s post). Some obvious tourist types are milling about and taking tours on Sunday afternoon and evening, but these folks are a little more well heeled than in similar places. Maybe people staying at home. Even Sunday night. Dinner at some quasi-brewpub was pretty wretched; though local, it allowed smoking. Some SCAD student sat right next to me and lit up her cigarette. Awesome. At dinner a woman came in who looks just like Joanie from Happy Days (and Joanie loves Chachie). That was the highlight of the night.

Next-touring Savannah.