And now, the conclusion to my vacation.

Wednesday September 25 We'd planned an early start to get the most of our day in Charleston, but got off later than planned due to renewed conflict over people not wanting to go. We were further delayed by the various points on US 17 that slow down to 45 mph, mostly through the first half of the drive. This put us in Charleston around noon.

We opted for a minibus tour of the city, given that we (a) didn't have much of a plan by way of knowing ahead of time what we wanted to see, and (b) the growing specter of rain. This proved to be a decent selection, as about halfway through the tour, as we were down by The Battery, it started to pour. Rain continued, heavy at times, for the rest of the day.

The driving tour, while keeping us dry, didn't exactly keep us on schedule, as the minibus stalled a number of times. We then had a 15 minute wait at one of the historic homes to swap buses with one that didn't stall (and had better AC).

As for the tour, we mostly drove through the historic district and saw the many, many nice old houses. We also saw some that were in less pristine condition, thanks to a civic interest in preservation that doesn't allow for the destruction of any building over 75 years of age. They can be left to the caprice of nature and the immutable law of gravity, but don't think for a second you can bring in the wrecking ball. In any case, it did add to a sort of shabby gentility, which is one of those phrases that seems to describe any number of southern locations (at least to us up here).

Given the weather and scope of the tour we did not see as much of the city as I would have liked. I would suggest running through John Heaton's Carolina Breakdown for a better description of the city's charms.

We did decide, after the tour, to head up to the open markets on, surprisingly enough, Market Street. It's kind of a combined tourist trap, flea market, and craft fair. Seagrass baskets are the local handicraft item of interest, and they are very nice. Just very expensive. At this point we started to run into our late afternoon theme- every time we were out from under cover, it rained. Or, rather, deluged. Dumped as we were going from the visitor center to the market. Poured as we tried to get back to the car after dinner. We were soaked, even with the hastily-bought umbrellas.

The drive home was marked only by the possibility of running out of gas in the Francis Marion State Forest, but found some ramshackle general store with two pumps to get us through.

The night was devoted to drying off and preparing for the next day's excursions: shopping for the women, golf for the men.

Thursday September 26 The XY contingent set off under overcast skies to chase little white balls around River Oaks Golf Plantation, located just across the highway from the timeshare. It was pissing rain as we got to the club stand and made the decision to press on. Sarah's dad and uncle used their free rounds, and my round got discounted (thanks in part to club rentals and ball and tee purchases, I'd have to think).

We got in the carts and started to drive over to the Bear course (the facility is made up of three nine hole courses, so you play two of the three in a full round). About halfway there, it begins to pour. Biblically. Take the loved ones to higher ground pour. We hunkered down in the carts for a minute or two, but with no end in sight headed back to the clubhouse.

We waited there about five minutes, and the monsoon devolved into spitting rain. Having already shelled out to play, we figured to give it another go.

The sun was out and the temperature climbing by the time we reached the third hole.

Like much of the newer development in the area, the course was built on what was, to the best that I could tell, former marsh/swamp/forest land. The water tables are high, making drainage- especially after heavy rains- difficult. This set a tone for the day, as the rains turned some sand traps into impromptu water hazards and made the fairways play more like rough. In fact, it was almost better to be in the first cut of rough, as it was usually less waterlogged than the fairway.

The most interesting part of the day- outside of my demonstration of links ineptitude- was watching Sarah's uncle, who is I guess legally blind, play. For someone who has to feel the ball and club head before driving, and have someone help him line up his shots, he plays very well. He beat me, though that may not be the best measure of success given how rarely I've played.

I did make some memorable shots. Such as on the fifth hole, when my drive made a loud thwacking sound off of one of the condos that encroach upon the course. Or on a later hole, when I put a shot into some murky water. Some searching not only located my ball, but about a dozen others. Occasionally I did put together some honest to God golf shots, such as my drive on the fifth hole of the Fox course, which made me realize why people play this game.

Then there were the multitude of shots where the ball's travel could be measured in inches. Those made me realize why this game drives people crazy.

So what did I shoot? Let's just say that my score was lower than the number of points Georgia Tech put on Cumberland College in 1916, but higher than the number of homers hit by the Detroit Tigers this season.

The rest of the day was kind of a wash. Watched the Red Sox play a lackluster game against the White Sox, more time at the pool, and general relaxation.

Friday September 27 By virtue of a late flight we actually had most of the day to do stuff. Which explains why we spent most of the day by the pool. Seriously, it's like a sickness or something.

Had dinner at a little place the women found while shopping. It's a good case of not letting appearances fool you. Located in a shopping center, it looks like the sort of place you'd go to when the Old Country Buffet is closed for renovations. And as short as it was on amenities, the food was very good. I took the all you could eat fish as a dare and managed four helpings of flounder down the chute. I actually had quite a bit of fish on the trip; had some catfish when we were out on Monday night, and tilapia at a place in Charleston on Wednesday.

While on the subject of food, I would be a very happy person if hush puppies and sweet tea were available at every meal here as they are in the south. I would weigh 700 pounds and have no teeth, but would be happy.

Got to the airport to find out from the Delta folks that Atlanta is all screwed up, so in order to actually make sure we got home they rebooked us onto a US Air flight that would go from Myrtle Beach to Charlotte to Boston. We went to the gate waiting for our regional jet or puddle jumper. We got a 737. Apparenly, they needed the plane back in Charlotte. So, 30 of us trooped aboard for our 27 minute flight. That was very strange.

Charlotte has a very nice airport. Better than Atlanta, I'd have to say. Newer, and the commercial aspects are less in your face.

Flight home was on an Airbus 319, which has the oddity of only being able to raise the middle armrests halfway. I thus spent the trip with the thing in my lap, as it was discomforting in either the full down or up positions. The armrest on the aisle, however, was fully retractable. I'd have moved except that every time I sit on the aisle I get whacked with the drink cart. Honestly. Every time.

Boston was pretty well socked in, to the point that I didn't see land until we were over the airport. We waited some ungodly amount of time for the shuttle bus to "economy" parking. I use quotes because they price "economy" parking very strangely, assessing charges for hours and parts of hours up to four hours, and then charging one price from four to 24 hours. This allows them to ream you on partial day charges. Thank God Massport isn't some hack-infested bureaucracy that was recently run by a publicist who had no transportation experience.

Oh. Never mind.

Anyway, got home about the time we'd have been touching down if we'd had our original flight, so no complaints there.

Saturday and Sunday September 28-29 Went down to Connecticut for my brother's wedding reception. This was the piece for people who didn't go to the wedding and were invited to the full-blown nuptuals originally planned for this weekend.

The reception was in a pavilion along Southport Beach, and was very nice. There was a clambake theme, which tied into the nautical theme of the wedding itself (lots of lobster iconography). Good view out to Long Island Sound, very close to the water. I managed to not have to give my blessing again (it being a dinner blessing and not requested until after everyone ate), danced poorly, and had quite a number of seabreezes (the beer being crap).

Stayed at the Westport Inn, which didn't make much of an impression on me, honestly. I wonder if it's one of those places whose reputation precedes it enough that it can coast in some ways. The AC was underpowered and the bathroom could have benefitted from a newer shower and some form of ventilation.

Anyway, a fun capper to a full week and a half away from home.