We breakfast (drinking out of polystyrene cups) with the hurricane survivors. They look shell shocked and speak patois. Cameron’s taxi never arrives and the girl on the desk takes a long time to understand the urgency. Further taxis don’t arrive so she drives us, which is very kind.
We make it to the Greyhound station which is packed.
W, who is white and homeless decides to look after us for a hefty fee. We board the bus to undertake the 4.5 hour journey to Savannah. The bus is comfy and the scenery mainly flat forest.
We have one stop at Macon (rhymes with bacon) where we get good coffee from the gas station
The bus is full of characters. A smart white guy is two years clean of heroin and is off to a rehab programme in Brunswick to help him get work. He got addicted after developing a habit for prescribed oxycodone. (Prescribed for musculoskeletal pain which is not right in my view)
There is a beautiful 19 year old black guy with him. He appears to be doing deals on his phone. He is also constantly wrapping
In the US there is an opiate dependency epidemic
We are very happy to arrive in Savannah
Next, we take the No 3 bus to Savannah Garden City. Here there are mainly wooden single storey bungalows with verandas and lots of trees with spanish moss draped on them.
A youngish man in a pick up slows as he passes, winds down his window and greets us as if he has never seen girls of a certain age pulling wheely suitcases and is thrilled to bits at the sight! 'Where y'all goin?'
He knows D who will be our host.
The craftman's bungalow dates all the way back to '39. It is full of 40s and 50s furniture and trappings, which D has upcycled skillfully. It's warm and well equipped
D drives us to the supermarket which is above and beyond the call of duty as we discover later we could have easily walked
Jackie starts cooking and I bathe and get my nightie on. We have an early meal and early bed after a stroll round the block.
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