By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
My trip to Savannah was a very imprudent one, called forth in order to escape the stress of college for a day. I decided to take a gander and follow the roads one day, looking for signs to destinations that interested me on the road. One in particular was a town called Savannah. I’ve heard of it before, it being the sister city to my own old Charleston, but I’ve never been there before. I decided to stick along my route, taking in the sights of the low-country with me. The air felt different in Savannah, the time as well. As soon as I crossed the historic Talmadge Memorial Bridge I knew this was a special city. The sweet city beside the river carried in abundance an essence of old history encaptivated in its very own red brick walls and high stairs. Ivy swung around the picturesque buildings just as the sounds of live jazz and heady smelling food. In essence the city was full. Full of color, full of fun, and especially full of ghosts. Savannah prides themselves for their ghost tours which I am to say they don’t disappoint. The old carriage ride through crooked cobblestone streets and under the ancient oak trees seemed to call the history of the city straight through the conductors mouth. The history embedded in each stone of the city was present, from the pirates that threatened, voodoo masters, the great indigenous clans, and also the articulation of Savannah’s very own dialect. Everything was there, and most you could touch. And with the bountiful bold fragrance of food in the air, you could almost taste it. But alas, I decided to save the taste of Savannah for another day and instead sipped on the already sweet memory as I made my way home.