Clockwise from top left:
Unmilked Mexican coffee
Shadowy Vines in the Battery
Folly tidepool
School Spirit on King Street
Quiet moments are often what I remember most when I travel.
Quiet moments can find you on the busiest, loudest street of New York when the enormous magesty and agitating lights overwhelm the nosie and the people and suddenly you are alone and it's silent. It's quite cinematic.
In some places, however, quiet moments come easily. This was true of Charleston, where it felt as if the city was resting after a few hundred years of Revolutionary and Civil battles. In Charleston, there were small quiet streets that cornered into cobblestones and porches and graveyards of Spanish moss. There were empty porches you could imagine yourself sitting on with a tall glass of grits (HA! you thought I was going to say iced tea there, didn't you?). There was a small coffee shop with delicious Mexican coffee into which I stirred copious amounts of whole milk. Sitting there every morning, looking over our itinerary of past, present and future pie, markets, strolls and collard greens, I felt I was in a familiar place. That solitary and quiet place that is familiar to traveling.
