Now, I remember where it is ... the Charleston Market

Going to downtown Charleston may be the most memorable part of my little sister’s recent visit. Stop right here if you think this is going to be an insider’s guide to the best places to see when visiting the LowCountry. I do not want to mislead you. No, this tale predicates a somewhat harrowing ride on the interstate. I wrapped up the trip with a new parking-space dance step.

Upon acceptance of the obvious that we ALL could NOT fit in one car, I grabbed my Vera Bradley key chain, my new sunglasses and said in my sweetest southern drawl, “Let’s hit the road, ladies. We’re headed to downtown Charleston.”

I was a tad bit nervous. See, I get lost. Always. Forget the fact I’ve lived here 23 years. I knew I would get lost. With me in the pace car, we might end up in Savannah. Before you ask why LT didn’t drive, LT does NOT go to downtown Charleston. Ever. Period.

I am an interstate driver- I like straight shots- get on a highway- drive to an exit, get off: you’re there. LT says this is why we live where we do… easy to get to from the interstate. To get TO the edge of downtown Charleston is a straight shot on I-26… but all good things come to an end.

All of a sudden I see an exit I think we need to take- forget that it is four lanes over- I go to side-driving mode and make it just in time. As my niece is traveling a safe distance behind me (I think her Uncle warned her) she navigated the lane change without using her side-accelerator. S didn’t flinch. She said she was used to my split second decision-making at the wheel. S reminded me of this as we were sliding across the interstate. Ah yes- our early morning rides to school after I got my driver’s license.

After we all negotiated the exit, I realized we had gotten off two exits early and were smack dab in the middle of an extremely yucky part of town. Oh, I hope we don’t get robbed, I said to myself. I would have to think up a helluva good reason to tell LT why we were even here! I cannot imagine the conversation going well. Thank goodness we made it without getting jumped. Now all I had to do was navigate the group to a parking spot near the market.

First, I cannot remember exactly where the market is in relationship to the cross streets. (Do not ask me why I didn’t check this out: enter my GPS, Molly, or the innumerable other ways one has to get someplace these days). So, we rode down Meeting Street with me saying, “Maybe here is close enough…. No wait, let’s go down a little farther… no, Ok, motion to park there. ”

They park, we keep going, and going, and going- Market is nowhere in sight. Finally, eight blocks later, I see the Market. I pull over and park (I don’t remember this being this easy last time,) I tell S to call the girls and tell them to drive up to where we are. I assume she called them, and they are on their way.

I see them coming in the distance- hard to miss a red Camry- I stand in the parking space doing my version of break-dancing. Guess what? The red Camry that pulled in was not my niece. I had just made a complete fool of myself in front of a nice couple from Topeka, Kansas visiting Charleston for the first time. I lied. I told them I was from Mississippi. I didn’t want to give Charleston a bad rap. They walked away shaking their heads. S told me to leave the tourists alone.

Finally ,from behind the mailbox where I was now hiding, I saw my girls. I stood up and said, “Hey, so glad ya’ll found us.” S was laughing so hard she had to sit down on the curb. I chose not to explain my sister’s ridiculous behavior. After much prodding, I gave in. We told them about the couple from Topeka and my attempt at rap dancing. Now they ,too,  were on the curb laughing.

Finally, I got them to stop and we went to the market.

Since I could see it.

Ahead.

I love it when my little sister visits.