(21) Savannah

[constance]

I've settled into life in Macon better than I ever expected to. In many ways, it's become home for me, but it takes a trip to Savannah, more New Orleanian in flavor than any other American city I know of, for me to realize how unlike all the other homes I've made for myself as an adult it really is. Driving through (and walking along) the streets today, on a day-trip that saw us on the road for hours on a wide, half-empty expanse of interstate that leads practically from my front door to downtown Savannah, I felt close to home, and very far away at the same time. To be in a place like that, all that wrought-iron lace and decaying splendor, all those enormous moss-laden oaks, all the grubby tourist traps and nowhere-leading alleyways voted most-likely-to-get-us-all-killed, and not know everything intimately? It was a strange feeling, and driving home in the gathering dark, I felt homesick for a place I haven't lived in for years, a place that was irrevocably changed anyway not too long after I left it behind, and I'm glad I had someone in the car with me playing cheering standards from her iPod, because man, being homesick for a home that's been long since washed away is a highly upsetting and lonely-making feeling.

I think I might want to move to Savannah, y'all. Or at least make a few more road trips there. It's only a couple of hours away, right? I can do this.