The historic district is filled with horses pulling carriages, but I was quite smitten with these mules. They look so utterly bored.
My own carriage was pulled by a huge draft horse named Winston. He was enormous and strong-willed. Got got along just fine. Here he is turning the corner by the City Market. It was rumored that slaves were sold here, but my tour guide (a Son of the Confederacy) said that the rumor was just plain false. Everyone knew that slaves were sold indoors. Sheesh, don't idiot Yankees know anything?
Here's an indoor view of the City Market, which is now used as an upscale flea market of sorts.
One of Charleston's nicknames is the Holy City because there are more churches per capita here than anywhere else.
The United States Custom House is right on the port since Charleston is still an active container port.
The old houses here (dated from 1700-1900) are, of course, magnificent and according to the tour guide, belong to Yankees now since Charleston was so poor after the Civil War. In case you were wondering, if someone from the North purchased one of these homes in 1870 and their family has lived there ever since, they are still considered Yankees regardless of the fact that the home has now been in the family for 4 or 5 generations.
These houses are called the "Three Sisters," (blond, brunette and redhead based on their paint jobs).
And apparently the balcony of this hotel is famous because General Lee was fighting back fire with wet blankets and single-handedly saved the building. A miracle worker I tell you.
I went to a posh roof-top bar on my last night in town and the view was gorgeous.
Here was the bar, complete with a pool.
Here is a view of the Cooper River Bridge.
This old church was converted into a bar and has a sign outside that says, "Come Eat With Jesus."
And a final random downtown shot.
Now that I've had a taste of Charleston, I'm eager to go back to with Parker and the Irishman, preferably when it isn't 90 degrees outside.
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