My Weekend Getaway to (Up)Chucktown

The Original Cheesy Chicken Sandwich from Sticky Fingers in Charleston, SC is so delicious that I would drive the 10 hours and 8 minutes south just to devour one. That is a true story.

It was the case several weeks ago, however, that said OCCS was the icing on my proverbial weekend getaway cake. Well, sort of. It ended up being the only thing I kept down in 24 hours...so I guess it was more like hitting the proverbial duodenal lottery.

I'm getting ahead of myself. I should mention that my weekend getaway just happened to fall on the weekend before finals. In my defense, I carried my genetics textbook and notes along for the ride. In theory, I had plenty of time to study, as my outgoing flight from BWI was delayed by three hours. Yeah, I said in theory. I did open the book...as I sipped my Corona, gnashed on my nachos, and people watched for three hours.

I arrived in Charleston around 11:30pm, exhausted and slightly grumpy. I rented a car and took an unintentional hour-long detour through Charleston suburbs on the way to my evening accommodations. It is amazing to me how dependent I've become on my GPS. I'm literally and figuratively lost without it.

I was told that when I arrived at my friend's house, I would be greeted by an overly friendly black lab. Do not be alarmed, I was told. The door is unlocked, go in and let her out to pee. Mkay, no problem. I can handle dogs that jump and lick (clearly, if you've ever been to my house). Squinting through the downpour of rain on the poorly lit street, I arrive at what I believe to be the correct house. After checking the mailbox number against the house number against the directions I stored in my text message, oh, six or seven times, I proceed inside. Bag in hand, I stand just inside the threshold, waiting to be annihilated by the killer dog.

Nothing. The house is, in fact, eerily quiet.

I quietly tip-toe outside to the mailbox again and re-check the house number against my message...and against the house number, you know, just in case something changed in the two minutes I was inside. I text messaged my friend to confirm. Are you sure you live here? Yes, he assured me. Back inside I go. This time, after roughly 30 seconds inside the doorway, a black lab strolls down the stairs, glances in my direction, stretches and yawns. I text my friend again. Are you sure I'm at the right house? (I can only imagine, in retrospect, how much my neurosis is misunderstood by these laid back southern natives.)

The rest of the evening is a blur, but I can tell you this: there was a run-in with a rodent, which cost me any sleep I might have enjoyed. I remember not freaking out, as would be my normal response to such an event, but simply shaking my head and mumbling, "Of course there will be a mouse in my room". He was a mean-spirited mouse, too. He didn't just scoot across the floor; he tormented me. I do believe I saw a tiny little smirk on his tiny little mouse face. What a jerk. Needless to say, I laid on the edge of the bed with the light on the entire night. Around 4am I gave up and got dressed.

I was invited down to lovely Chucktown by my former co-workers to participate in the Charleston Dragon Boat Races. The event was set up Dave-Matthews-tailgate-style along the Ashley River. It was a perfect weather day, and the fine people of Charleston were pumped up, to say the least. The very real possibility of death-by-drowning (I can't swim, especially in a current), and the fact that I had never rowed a dragon boat in my life, did not remotely affect the fact that I was totally stoked to be there.

My first heat was late morning, and the current was strong. After an abbreviated dragon boat 101 lesson, I filed down to the pier with my group and boarded our boat. Apparently in dragon boat races, it is important to balance your boat, left-to-right side. I sat very still as our boat nearly tipped over, mumbling, "Of course we'll fall in the water my first time ever inside a dragon boat". Alas, our steerer (who apparently has a vested interest in the future of our boat) saved our lives, but not without stern condemnation...something along the lines of, "What is wrong with you people?!" In my defense, I really didn't know what was wrong with us people. I just started my dragon boating career, like, five seconds earlier.

Let me tell you, I felt like a dragon boating super star. For a rookie, I was pretty coordinated with our little drummer lady, and we won both races in which I was a participant. What I failed to do was keep my mouth shut. Literally. I think I swallowed Ashley River water. By around four o'clock, my intestinal situation was Code Red. Without going into gory detail, by the end of the day I was spewing Ashley River water from all orifices of my body. As if that wasn't bad enough, I had the mother of all migraines. I was prepared to die a lonely death in Charleston, SC. It. Was. Awful.

I was due to fly out on Sunday afternoon. Weak and disappointed, I drug myself out of bed at the arse-crack of dawn on Sunday morning, determined to salvage the weekend. I decided on the perfect loop around Charleston, ending at the airport: first, downtown Charleston (a little mental health shopping was called for, I think); second, Sticky Fingers for lunch (a big gamble, considering); third, an afternoon on the beach (a little more sun won't hurt a dehydrated and weak body, right?).

Sundays in downtown Charleston are...closed. Literally, nothing opens until mid-day sometime. Who knew? Window shopping isn't quite as therapeutic as one might think...and doesn't last quite as long as the real deal, either. With lunch still a few hours away, I took a stroll through my old stomping grounds at College of Charleston. It really was lovely and quiet, and just what my intestines needed. I really love the campus, the buildings, the sculptures. I've always had an affinity for the torso sculpture, and on this day he made me especially happy. I think he reminds me a little of me.

And we're full circle. Lunch at Sticky Fingers was equally as satisfying as my stroll downtown, as was my walk along the beach at Isle of Palms. (This time I was sure to keep my mouth closed tight.) After a few hours lounging on the beach attempting to read my book club selection (I'm sorry, Picoult, you suck), I ventured to the airport for my return flight to Baltimore.

The flight was delayed three hours due to storms in Baltimore. Of course.

I'm neurotic today because...
...I earned two A's and a B+ this semester. The B+ had nothing to do with my weekend getaway, incidentally, but everything to do with how adorable my genetics professor was. He had an uncanny ability to get me googly-eyed over his termite research, what can I say?