Saved on Sifnos - a travel story out of the Aegean Sea that includes little harbours, sleeping villages, several tavernas, a ferry onward, a Greek cultures festival and a room with a view, travelogue, trip, travel, Greece, Cyclades, Sifnos, Kythnos, ferry, island-hopping



Part 3: That secret garden

The secrets of Savannah lie with the dead. They permeates this town, not in a morbid sense, but you cannot escape from one or the other here.

Savannah capitalizes on its history in every way it possibly can. The fame of who is buried at one of its larger cemeteries carries through in movies and books and many flock to Bonaventure to gaze at the names carved in marble, Savannah's elite. Other places echo the dead as well, and Savannah prides itself with being quite haunted and having per capita more ghostly sightings and tales than most cities in the south combined. This is evidenced in the multitude of ghost tours and haunted houses that Savannah boasts, not to mention the trinkets and books on the subject in every little shop on the strip.

Taking pride in the Pirate past that lingered here, or the fact that it was one of the few towns in the South that General Sherman did not burn to the ground, or the plethora of unique and bizarre folk that call it home, Savannah somehow finds a way to offer up itself time and time again, without really giving away all its secrets.

I took full advantage of a Ghost tour Pub crawl that took us to four very different establishments as the guide relayed the hauntings that went along with each place. I love a good brew and a good story, and this just seemed to be the perfect combination. What was more, though, is that I got a peek at the more seedy side of Savannah, for she is a danger unto herself, and the crime and violence that permeates the city just below the lacy, sunny veneer cuts a scar through this gorgeous burg that leaves a lasting impression, evidenced in some of the darker places that it holds.

Like the thief, or aggressor, the spaces in between, the darkened corners we were allowed to peer into on this tour, made my flesh cold. It burned into my mind an image of this place, an unholy union of sacred and sacrilegious, and in doing so, cemented the fact that I would never fully reside here, but always live on the edge of my chair, ready to spring forth from Savannah at moment's notice.

Such an odd thing for a city that tries so hard to impress with its beauty, only to have such a hidden foulness lurking just behind the curtain of moss. I find that it has not lessened over time, this sense, but has remained acute in the back of my mind.

Yet I remain. For it is the beauty that renews me, and reassures me that if I do not seek out the dark, all may still be well.

The moment the dark seeks me out is when I shall take my leave of this place, I wager.

4. The fullness

this travelogue is part of the subside travelzine
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