Charleston, South Carolina

A few weeks ago, in July, I mentioned our upcoming stop in Charleston to my friend Tsia. Tsia is one of the most naturally cool people I know; she runs both a successful design firm in NYC with her husband and a popular DIY lifestyle blog, and lives in home built co-housing on an island in Beacon, NY.

So, when Tsia she fairly gushed at the mention of Charleston, I knew we were on the right track.

I did a bit more research on the city and found that, like most cool places (and things) Adam and I 'discover,' everyone who is actually hip already knows about it. But it's all new to us.

The port is filled with ships, trade ships, cruise ships. And still buttressing the city are crumbly old forts on hidden islands, just out of sight from the shore. Inland, impressive stone churches cover entire city blocks and mossy cemeteries, massive museums of modern art and narrow, winding streets slow the flow of traffic. Dozens of public courtyards and statuesque fountains, tucked between funky bookstores and clothing consignment. In the old French Quarter, the morning light gorgeous white and, at night, we watched silent streaks of lightening from our third-floor window at the stately Mills House Hotel. Everywhere, the streets are lined with shaggy palms. Plus, Parisian breakfasts, a honey store, picnic platters, old-school dining rooms, a contemporary artist's co-op and design school and cornbread, always cornbread, every time you eat.

All overlaid with Charleston's own calmness, belying its controversial past and subtle suspicion of Yankees. Plus, just a whiff of pride and significant, but tolerable, humidity.

Charmed, naturally.