Every year, late winter, I get together with a group of friends from college. We were in the same sorority. We made a lot of the same mistakes. We share the same memories.
This past weekend we ate our way through Charleston, SC like Old Testament locusts, infesting O'Hara & Flynn, Fleet Landing, The Grocery, Jestine's, Magnolias Uptown Down South, Hominy Grill and The Noisy Oyster with our inside jokes, favorite stories and bursts of laughter.
Normally, we stay out on one of the islands and drive in for just a few hours, but this year we decided to go urban. The guy with the rental company that leased us the apartment for the weekend answered an affirmative 'yes' when we asked if the place was in walking distance of the lower peninsula. Perhaps the misunderstanding was in the way we phrased the question. I don't know. But, by his interpretation, it was also in walking distance of the Vatican City.
Add that commute to our bouts of aimless wandering (caused by all of the blood rushing to our stomachs to facilitate digestion before we piled on the next meal) then factor in the number of years that have elapsed since college and you arrive at sore feet. As we briskly hiked up Meeting Street to no particular destination, with no particular goal, one of the ladies in my party turned to me and remarked, "I feel like a Hebrew in the desert."
To which I responded, "Only we've managed to pack 40 years of wandering into one day."
Needless to say, between the food, the drink and the foot pace, we didn't exactly spring forward with the rest of the world on Sunday. The Holy City had brought us to our knees.