We got everyone up, dressed, packed and ready to go, and by the time we got all of our bags downstairs and stashed away in the Teardrop, it was nearly 11. We said goodbye to the Embassy Suites and the Kingston Plantation resort and pulled around the corner to the Hot Stacks Pancake House for brunch. Keith was tickled to see that the restaurant was decorated with dozens of framed photographs and posters from Ironman Triathlons around the country. Our server explained that the owner is a competitive triathlete.
Back on the road, Keith decided it was time to introduce the kids to Weird Al Yankovic. Charlie and Clare were intrigued, while Natalie demonstrated the most exaggerated eye-roll I've ever witnessed and promptly plugged her earbuds in. With "Got a Boogie" as our soundtrack, we braved the cutthroat traffic, pushed past the Planet Hollywood, the wax museum designed to look like King Kong scaling the Empire State Building and the billboards touting magic shows and Medieval Times restaurants, and drove straight to Brookgreen Gardens, about 45 minutes down the road, near the village of Murrells Inlet, and about a million miles away from Myrtle Beach Crazy Town.
Set on more than 9,000 acres -- land formerly occupied by four rice plantations -- Brookfield Gardens is a a sculpture garden and wildlife preserve that opened in 1931 by American sculptor Anna Hyatt Huntington and her husband Archer Huntington, and which is now listed on the National Register of Historic Places. The sculpture garden, featuring about 1,400 pieces of mostly classically themed 20th-century American artwork and set amid 551 acres of lush, beautifully landscaped botanical gardens, is considered one of the finest outdoor collections of American sculpture in the world. In fact, it was the first public sculpture garden in the country. The wildlife preserve features several aviaries and habitats for animals indigenous to the South Carolina low country. We spent a magical afternoon wandering the pathways, taking in the artwork and enjoying the stunning setting. Keith and I were thrilled that the kids were so interested and engaged; we spent more than four hours of a hot, muggy afternoon exploring the gardens without any complaints from them.
I took more than 150 pictures, but none of them comes close to capturing the scope of the surroundings -- the gurgling fountains, the cascading flowers, the live oaks draped with Spanish moss, the cool, shady nooks and all the breathtaking sculpture -- which, at first, shocked and embarrassed Charlie with, you know, nudity. He adjusted after a short time.
It was after 5 when we finally got back in the car, and shortly after that, the oppressive humidity finally reached its saturation point. It rained -- poured, really -- most of the 90 miles to Charleston. The skies started to lighten as we dropped down through Mount Pleasant, crossed the Cooper River on the Arthur Ravenel bridge, cut across Charleston, crossed the Ashley River and made our way to James Island, which seems to be a kind of rustic, semi- suburban retreat about 10 minutes outside of downtown.
As we drove through Charleston at about 7 p.m., we realized that the kids had only eaten once today -- basically crepes and Nutella at 11 a.m. But keeping our eyes on the weather, Keith and I weren't too eager to stop for food. We wanted to get our campsite set up sooner than later, in case more rain was on its way. We'd figure out what to do for dinner after that.
Charlie remarked that Charleston looks very clean, and I agree. Maybe it's because of the rain, but the city -- okay, to be fair, what we've seen of it so far, which isn't much -- seems likes it's just been scrubbed down. The neighborhoods we've passed through are pleasant and tidy.
We're staying at James Island County Park, a place that I had set my heart on after plenty of online research. In addition to the campground, the park has a lake, a water park, a climbing wall, a dog park and tons of public space that's used for festivals and other events. When I called to make a reservation, I was put on a waiting list for a few weeks until a spot opened up; its apparent popularity aroused my interest even more.
So we pulled into the park, and immediately saw banners broadcasting a summer reggae concert series kicking off tonight with De Lions of Jah. Already, cars were lining up to get in. The guy at the gate told us that there would be plenty of food booths (great!) and beer (even better!).
The campground itself is neat and welcoming, buzzing with young families and hipster couples. This is the place to be. Keith and I took an hour to set up camp. It was dusk by the time we were done, and by then, happy, jangly reggae chords were ringing from across the park. We slung our camp chairs around our shoulders and set off for the show on a paved bike path that winds through the woods. The path emptied out into a clearing where we found hundreds of people gathered -- scruffy teen-agers, preppy college kids, parents with babies, hip-hop boys and rasta guys flinging Frisbees, walking dogs, burning incense, dancing and just chilling in chairs -- in front of a stage. Food trucks and beer tents were set up in the back, so we found a spot to sit, grabbed some grub and took it all in.
What a fantastic welcome to Charleston! This is the best place ever!
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