My daughter and I ogled the sturdy, muscular legs of our handsome Savannah Pedicab Company driver, Lee, who honed his well-shaped thighs and calves by tooling visitors like us around the city of Savannah. Despite the hard work in steamy weather, he says it’s a fun way for students to work their way through the Savannah School of Art and Design (SCAD).
From our perch in the back of the bright red Pedicab (think of a rickshaw powered by a strong student peddling an oversized bike) it was a blast—a unique way of seeing the city without raising a sweat.
“The best part is I get to meet a lot of interesting people,” Lee said conversationally. “I met God the other day. “He said he created heaven and earth but that he denied being the father of Jesus. ‘I don’t know where that rumor got started,’ he told me in all seriousness.”
The journalism major knows that close encounters with the likes of “God,” don’t happen often but he’s gotten a gig with a new publication to write a column about the experiences of a Pedicab driver.
“With more stories like this, you’ll be a hit,” I told him.
The fee for our ride—Tips for Trips—couldn’t be better. Riders pay whatever they think it’s worth.
“Have you ever gotten stiffed?” I asked.
“Not really,” he said, flashing that broad grin again. “Most people are extremely generous.”
I took the hint, but had planned to overpay him anyway. I’m a sucker for a handsome college kid spending the Fourth of July weekend earning tuition money instead of partying at nearby Tybee Island.
We bid Lee adieu, promising to contact him when we needed another ride and stepped into the beautiful Lucas Theater, a suggestion from my spry ninety-one-years-young Aunt Inez. The Lucas is a “must do” on the Fourth,” she told me. “I wish I could come along but I’ve invited eighteen in for cocktails that night.”
Aunt Inez was right on. For twenty bucks per ticket, we were treated to a live concert by the Equinox Jazz Orchestra plus a brass band parade to the river where our reserved seating for a fabulous fireworks display awaited.
That night after all the festivities, my daughter turned to me. “Mom, don’t you feel sorry for anyone who is not us tonight?” she said. Coming from the same child who used to tell me repeatedly that I was the “meanest mom in the whole wide world,” it was a priceless moment.
It’s impossible to visit Savannah without thinking food. More for the experience than the dose of pure cholesterol, The Lady & Sons, owned by TV personality Paul Deen, was on our list. There was one “small” inconvenience. The restaurant did not accept reservations. Instead, crazies (like us) lined up outside the door before 9:30 a.m. to make a reservation for the same day. By the time we queued up at the appointed hour, the line stretched for more than a block and we had plenty of time to kibbutz with fellow crazies.
“This is our third time trying to get a reservation, the woman in front of us complained. “If we don’t get in today, we’re throwing in the towel.”
“It’s our first attempt,” my daughter told her. “And our last. There are way too many good restaurants in Savannah.”
The woman perked up and Beth named her faves: Mrs. Wilkes Boarding House—another queue but everyone gets in eventually—The Firefly Café, a hidden gem near Troup Square, The Pirates’ House—a bit touristy but fun if you want oodles of atmosphere and middle-of-the-road food. And for upscale dining, The Pink House and 45 Bistro. Actually, we could have eaten our way through this city and died happy.
More than the fireworks, more than the food, more than the generous doses of history, the best thing about the long weekend was a chance to share some carefree time with my grown daughter. This year, it was Savannah. Next year, watch out Charleston. The Goodman girls are a’comin.
