Pretty, pretty Charleston

It’s a big call, but I’m going to make it: I think I’ve found my favourite American city, and it’s not New York. Charleston is charming, quaint and ever so pretty; what it lacks in size it more than makes up for in originality. If I had to draw a parallel, I’d compare it to Hampstead (London) or Paddington (Sydney), only American. In place of a posh north London accent there’s a friendly Southern drawl; and instead of ordering crepes they stand in line for home-made ice cream. The houses range from two rooms thin, to ten rooms wide; some boast water-front views, whilst others are tucked away on a cobble-stoned, tree-lined alleyway. Everywhere you look waiters are busy serving “the best shrimp and grits” to people that are too busy enjoying them to see us watching. Even the day market, which sells the same as every other, somehow seems special. Perhaps it’s the majesty of the buildings, or maybe that's just Charleston.

I’ve already vowed to myself, that should my parents dare to venture across this huge country in a camper, I’m making reservations for them somewhere in Old Town. They would love the architecture, the galleries and most definitely the bars. I know my dad would be more than happy to sample a few of the local dishes, and I’m sure my mum would be only too willing to join him.