"There was a store I kept passing on my wanderings round town. Worthwhile it was called, and I would peek through its windows curiously. There were beautiful wood-paneled shelves full of handmade jugs and mugs, intellectual-looking Japanese clothing, cut on the bias. When I eventually made it in—our mutual timings finally synchronized—I ended up buying a huge, beautiful, corn-colored hand-stitched quilt, but also a funny little light in the shape of a croissant that would glow when you touched it. That summed up Charleston, South Carolina, for me: well-made, thoughtful, sophisticated, not without a certain humor. It is a city for wandering alone, for getting lost, its neighborhoods revealing themselves like stage screens in the theater. The colors of its clapboard buildings and their shutters, unfolded like book covers, open to a bright new day. A sea-salty tang on the air from the water, the tropical palms...you're reminded all the time just how south—how practically Caribbean—you really are. Everyone says hello, with a smile, a ready laugh. It might have something to do with the fact that everyone is out on the street, eating something delicious in the sunshine on a rickety sidewalk, a glass of wine the size of a cantaloupe in their hands."
