The Hostess City

Savannah

AGMA’s been on the road. Again.

This time it was a long weekend in Savannah, Georgia. It’s an easy, albeit boring, drive from Atlanta, so AGMA’s had the chance to visit there lots of times in the past 10 years.

There’s no place quite like Savannah.

For those of you who’ve been to there or read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil – referred to in Savannah as “the book” – you know how beautiful and interesting and unique it is. Exquisitely restored Federal and Georgian homes, ancient giant oaks draped with Spanish moss, 22 beautiful shady public squares (each one different), Forsyth Park, and lots and lots of Southern charm. Quirky Southern charm. Savannah style.

I read a great description of Savannah that’s meant to be a joke, but is pretty much true.

In Atlanta, they ask you, “What you do for a living?”

In Macon, they ask you, “What church do you attend?”

In Charleston, they ask you, “To what family you belong?”

In Savannah, they ask you, “What you want to drink?”

Yup – that’s Savannah. It’s nicknamed the Hostess City for good reason.

It’s one of the few cities in the U.S. where you can openly, legally drink while walking around the city. With this crazy ass election coming up in November, maybe every city needs an open container law to help us all through the trauma of the next six months…

It’s a city that has the second largest St. Patrick’s Day blow-out in the U.S., innumerable stag and hen parties, and is one of the most haunted cities in the U.S. according to paranormal investigators from the Travel, History and Discovery channels.

In other words, it’s a real party town whether you’re alive or dead or any where in between!

And, sadly, AGMA and her 60 something friend fell in that “any where in between” category…

We took afternoon nappettes every day we were there. The first night, we watched the first two episodes of Downton Abbey in our lovely AirB&B townhouse apartment circa 1885. Then went to bed. The next two nights we enjoyed the pianists at the Planters Inn Tavern. We listened to the music of Cole Porter, Rogers & Hammerstein, Savannah’s own Johnny Mercer and…well…you get the idea. I had two adult beverages the entire weekend. My friend doesn’t drink.

AGMA n friend gone wild! Out of control. Not.

I’m worried. It was definitely an aging gracefully weekend which you know I really don’t approve of…

But I guess we’d be pretty pathetic if we tried to act like we were crazy kids in our 40’s. There’s nothing worse than 60 somethings on faux Spring Break fishing for Mardi Gras beads. And I really don’t need to get up more often at night to pee than I already do. Plus the hangovers are far more wicked at this stage of life.

So. Much. More.

Still, in a strange way, I sort of miss, a tiny bit, those semi-lost weekends of my youth. Or maybe I just miss being able to semi-successfully “pull off” those semi-lost weekends without being like the Walking Dead the next day.

AGMA was never a huge party animal, but I did have my moments.

I bet you did too.

And maybe you haven’t wimped out quite as much as AGMA and you still do.  Lucky you.  I think.

I’m holding out hope that I’ll have a active social calender in the after-life. Then I can party with all the rest of the ghosts of Savannah without having to worry about extra safaris to the bathroom or the horrible hammering in my head the next day.

Prince and I’ll be partying like it’s 1999.