Savannah
Part
3: That secret garden
The
secrets of Savannah lie with the dead. They permeates this town, not in a morbid
sense, but you cannot escape from one or the other here.
Savannah
capitalizes on its history in every way it possibly can. The fame of who is buried
at one of its larger cemeteries carries through in movies and books and many flock
to Bonaventure to gaze at the names carved in marble, Savannah's elite. Other
places echo the dead as well, and Savannah prides itself with being quite haunted
and having per capita more ghostly sightings and tales than most cities in the
south combined. This is evidenced in the multitude of ghost tours and haunted
houses that Savannah boasts, not to mention the trinkets and books on the subject
in every little shop on the strip.
Taking
pride in the Pirate past that lingered here, or the fact that it was one of the
few towns in the South that General Sherman did not burn to the ground, or the
plethora of unique and bizarre folk that call it home, Savannah somehow finds
a way to offer up itself time and time again, without really giving away all its
secrets.
I
took full advantage of a Ghost tour Pub crawl that took us to four very different
establishments as the guide relayed the hauntings that went along with each place.
I love a good brew and a good story, and this just seemed to be the perfect combination.
What was more, though, is that I got a peek at the more seedy side of Savannah,
for she is a danger unto herself, and the crime and violence that permeates the
city just below the lacy, sunny veneer cuts a scar through this gorgeous burg
that leaves a lasting impression, evidenced in some of the darker places that
it holds.
Like
the thief, or aggressor, the spaces in between, the darkened corners we were allowed
to peer into on this tour, made my flesh cold. It burned into my mind an image
of this place, an unholy union of sacred and sacrilegious, and in doing so, cemented
the fact that I would never fully reside here, but always live on the edge of
my chair, ready to spring forth from Savannah at moment's notice.
Such
an odd thing for a city that tries so hard to impress with its beauty, only to
have such a hidden foulness lurking just behind the curtain of moss. I find that
it has not lessened over time, this sense, but has remained acute in the back
of my mind.
Yet
I remain. For it is the beauty that renews me, and reassures me that if I do not
seek out the dark, all may still be well.
The
moment the dark seeks me out is when I shall take my leave of this place, I wager.
4.
The fullness
