Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

Before the cemetery, a few words on food.

Savannah is rightly renowned for its Southern cooking, and while I opted out of another low country boil (I enjoyed one mightily last time) I kept mostly to fish and some stereotypical Southern dishes. (Hello, butter-slathered grits.) I also splurged on this fried chicken and waffle combo, drizzled with a bourbon walnut syrup to soften the Bloody Mary on hand. There’s nothing healthy going on here, and that’s exactly how it should be for a vacation.

Andy enjoyed the food selections as well, being particularly enamored of our meal at Elizabeth’s on 37^th, which had a steak that came with the best sauce he’s ever tasted. He also delved into the bourbon, but the libations of Savannah really deserve their own post. I’ll save that for a summer day. In the meantime, we had a visit to Bonaventure Cemetery. The day was sunny and turning warm. A stroll beneath the oaks sounded divine…

Following our marvelous dinner at Elizabeth’s on 37^th, we headed back to the hotel for a change into more casual clothing for the evening plans. Those in-between moments are often what I recall with the most fondness ~ the warm lights of our hotel room, a brief survey of Savannah from the balcony while a balmy night wind swirled around us, and an extra spritz of Jo Malone all created a sweet memory of safety. Intentionally so, as we were about to visit a place of darkness…

Built atop a pile of soldier bones, the Sorrel-Weed House is one of the most haunted places in all of America. It comes with years of tragic history, and the scandalous doings of its former inhabitants seem to bleed through its very walls. While I chickened out on going into it last time, with Andy in tow I felt emboldened to schedule a night-time tour (with explicit instructions for him not to move more than one foot from my side during the entire duration of the thing).

Mulling around the courtyard, we approached the 10 PM hour that marked the start of the tour. Talk of ghosts ensued, haunting incidents were discussed, and by the time we entered the front door of the house I was thoroughly shook. Andy was amused more than anything and within minutes had violated my strict do-not-move-more-than-12-inches-from-me rule, leaving me to fend for myself against evil spirits and the not-quite-completely-gone.

Most of my sensible side was merely entertained by everything the guide told us, but there was no denying that tragedy had taken place repeatedly in that space, and I do believe that trauma like that leaves a stain. Maybe it’s the mere knowledge of something bad having happened that stirs something in us, and maybe we bring it into being. However it happens, there was a discernible chill when they brought us into the basement (which is how basements usually work).

The tour ended in the square outside the house, where the remaining history of the original tenants was told. We weren’t that far from the Mercer House. As I may have mentioned, every step of Savannah feels haunted.

That night, vivid nightmares marched through my restless sleep. I had not escaped untouched. Though it may sound strange, the idea of visiting Bonaventure Cemetery the next day sounded peaceful. Perhaps the dead sleep better when they’re properly buried…

The importance of an afternoon siesta, especially when on vacation, is something that has escaped the hustling and bustling of this country’s habit. We partake of it whenever we find ourselves on vacation, as much for Andy’s back as for its own restorative properties. In Savannah, it’s a natural fit, so after returning from the Mercer House, on an early afternoon that hinted at sunlight but hesitated at every turn, we tumbled into bed (as soon as the DeSoto deigned to clean the room ~ Southern time is ever-unrushed) and rested up for a dinner at Elizabeth’s on 37^thand a night-time tour of one of Savannah’s most haunted spots.

Along with the siesta, another hallmark of our Savannah adventure was the perfect proliferation of fancy cocktails and intoxicating libations. Southerners know the importance of a proper drink, and how to prepare them. They also allow you a to-go cup, which is permissible so long as it’s covered. What an ingenious idea! We didn’t seem to leave enough in our glasses to ever partake of the tradition, but in Savannah it felt so much classier than Las Vegas or New Orleans. (It’s how these things are done that makes all the difference.)

Certain restaurants are institutions, and in Savannah one of those is Elizabeth’s on 37^th. While the Pink House was still under renovation after a fire this past winter, Elizabeth’s was more than a substitute ~ it stands proudly on its own, its quaint setting rivaled only by its stupendous culinary offerings. Easily the best meal we would have while in town, it was also one of the most fun, thanks to a cadre of servers who were as warm and friendly as they were swift and helpful.

We sat at a table looking onto the side yard, where a fig tree was strung with Edison bulbs and the suddenly-blue sky turned to indigo…

‘Midnight in the Garden of Good And Evil’ by John Berendt was the inspiration for most of our sightseeing, as Andy has loved that movie since it came out. Our first full day in Savannah began with a breakfast at Clary’s Cafe, followed by a tour of the Mercer House. Ghosts, murder, and delicious food conspired to craft the kind of enchantment that can only be found here. Each square has its stories and fables and hauntings, and the whole city is built upon bones. It’s impossible not to feel the work of restless souls on the edge of midnight. If I died somewhere so strikingly beautiful, I might not want to leave either. Still, for all its gorgeousness, a sense of the unsettled seemed to lurk in every shadow.

After breakfast we meandered around the squares near Mercer House. A half-marathon was in progress, and the finish line was nearby at Forsyth Park. We skirted the edge of the space, then retreated to less-populous areas. A few tiny boutiques sold art and jewelry and other unique gifts. I found a bracelet made of fabric-covered beads. Passing showers made a bit of shopping preferable to sitting on wet benches, and soon it was time to tour Mercer House.

While the sensational and tragic aspects of what happened there overshadow almost everything else, the main thing one walks away with after seeing such magnificence and hearing all the history is the idea that Jim Williams saved quite a bit of Savannah, restoring Mercer House and countless other homes to their historic glory. There was artistic ambition and a love for beauty and history that permeated those verdant squares.

There was a darkness as well, like in the rich aubergine hue of the gentlemen’s drawing room walls, which Mr. Williams mixed himself. He also painted the faux-marble borders in finely convincing fashion. Such attention to detail, such painstaking intricacies ~ they point to an obsession with perfection and a fussiness for the fancy things in life. It is, largely, a way of life we seem to be losing, a carefulness that tends to get carelessly tossed away, or vulgarized to the point of becoming a tourist attraction. We each had a hand in it, I suppose.

That didn’t dull the beauty or detract from the wonder.

We made our way back to the hotel, while flowers winked and fountains whispered…

Ever since I returned to Savannah last year I’ve been wanting to bring Andy back to experience the charm that this beautiful city exudes at every turn. (And with our newly-approved TSA Precheck status, we were anxious to try out an expedited airport experience.) We arrived at the DeSoto Hotel in the middle of the gorgeous Historic District early in the day. While Andy settled in for a siesta, I made a quick run to the Broughton Street shopping area to find a signature scent for this Savannah trip. Every trip begins with a scent selection and an itinerary. Andy and I both do well with a relatively structured plan ~ it appeals to my Virgo nature and his police background. For this vacation I made a little peach-blossom itinerary card and set some tentative dinner and excursion ideas down.

As soon as we arrived, the magic of Savannah was in effect ~ azaleas were in bloom everywhere, and the low-country smell of the river ~ a very distinct odor that borders on good and bad, and which I’ve come to adore, rolled over the breezy warm weather. Rainstorms had been forecast for every.single.day. we were scheduled to be there, so I kept my expectations low. Somehow I had to believe that Savannah’s enchantment would not be dampened by rain. As I looked out toward the river, the wind kicked up, but it was warm, and there was no rain.

At the fragrance store, I couldn’t decide between two very distinct Jo Malone bottles ~ a Southern-tinged ‘Honeysuckle & Davana’ or a Limited Edition ‘Willow & Amber.’ I’d favor the Willow and save the Honeysuckle as a gift for my Mom.

The walk back to the hotel was filled with trees hanging heavily with Spanish moss, some also lined with swaths of little ferns. Everywhere life hung and peeked, and in the multitude of squares that led through the historic area, camellias of all kinds were in full bloom.

We took our cocktails at the top of the Bohemian Hotel ~ an outside balcony ran around the edge, where revelers were already celebrating the weekend and the sunny, warm weather. Dinner reservations weren’t for another hour, so we settled in at the bar and enjoyed the bourbon and all that sweet Southern hospitality.

Our Georgia journey had begun…