Tourists in Charleston.It was with muted enthusiasm that we set off this morning. We were not immediately headig off to our next adventure, but rather to the Harley D dealer so that the Fulton bike (codename “Bluebird”) could be repaired. There is a joke commonly told by Japanese bike riders which was on our minds: “did you know that of all the Harley D’s ever built 98% are still on the road? Only 2% made it home.”. Ho ho. The nice man said it would be $200 to run the diagnostics and he would call us with the news. Then it was time for a taxi into Charleston cental. Our taxi driver was an effervescent black lady – Sheila – and yes, she approved ‘black’ rather that African-American as the correct adjective. In her lively company depression could not live for long. She was all about “Soul”; Soul music and Soul food. With our ears ringing with her recommendations of what to see, eat, listen to, who to talk to (and more besides) we arrived in central Charleston with spirits revived and ready to go.

First up; the obligatory guided horse and carriage ride. This is the only way to see Charleston. The carriages hold about 15 people plus the guide, and we were not particularly impressed to find that we were sharing a carriage with 11 raucous, fluorescent tee-shirt clad and formidable looking ladies of a certain age on a high school reunion. Actually we know exactly what age – they graduated in 1959. The nice local guide, all long beard and character (Greg), related his first historical fact to be met with a pointed question from the bright lip-sticked battleaxe behind me. “How long have you been a guide here, and what qualifications do you have?” she sneered. Short pause…. “12 years in this job, the Charleston guide’s examination, a double major in History and a Masters in the history of the Carolinas - so stick that in your pipe, you old bat” (Actually that last bit was unsaid but we all heard it anyway!). With the Witches of Texas firmly put in their place there followed the most fascinating tour, while being towed by the most fantastically shiny horse (Jake). I wanted to take him home.

After that I guess it was a standard tourist day in Charleston. We blended in with the German tourists off the large cruise liner at the end of the street and enjoyed an interesting day in the sunshine. It was a 150 photo day for Stuart – and no tee-shirt. Highlight for me; the last slave market that had been turned into a museum which was a somewhat sobering if very educational experience.

A fantastic lunch is worthy of mention. The restaurant, as recommended by Guide Greg, was the great choice; the Crabhouse. Greg’s friend had opened it some years ago, but only last year did the knowledgeable historian tell his friend why he had always found the name of the restaurant amusing. The building had been a brothel of some repute for about 100 years. So with a straight face and some honesty I can say that Stuart got crabs at the brothel. And with Pina Coladas, and Pusser’s Rum Punch for the girls (at lunchtime) it did bring to mind a suitable song of the day; It’s 5 o’clock somewhere – check it out at:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BPCjC543llU

But the best news came with a phone call from the Harley shop – “all done for you Craig, it was a simple fix.” Pause...from me (nervously) “Erm, how much do I owe you..” Paiuse....and sound of shuffling papers. “Looks like $142 after tax.” Pause.... From me; “Errrr. Is that on top of the diagnostics.” Laughing heard. “No that’s all in.” Now, when was the last time you took a vehicle to a garage and the cost came out at significantly less than the quote? Can this holiday get any better?

And finally the taxi back – if you asked for a taxi for 4 would you be surprised to find a 7 seater arriving – with the driver, her mother in the front seat and her extremely overweight sister filling 2 of the 3 bench seats at the back. So... that leaves 3 seats for the 4 passengers? With time short we couldn’t really send them packing – so Stuart and I had to force an extra half seat out of the bench. Which resulted in me sitting uncomfortably close to my (admittedly good) friend on one side and under about 4 stone of blubber on the other. Not a great experience. For any future visitors to Charleston, may I suggest you delete “Charleston Cabs” from your list of potential transport options. Although at least you don't need to tip!

But it wasn’t enough to spoil the day and I hope that this rather uncomfortable experience will be expunged from my memory by the morning.

The best way to see Charleston:

Can I take this one home please?

Stuart's lunchtime haunt!

The 2 Musketeers

The girls stop at a random point for a photograph:

From before the days of Political Correctness when PC meant Police Chief...

For Richard....