It’s a beautiful day and we decide to go out for a late breakfast. We have been recommended to to go Blackstone’s, a family cafe just off the main street. I am determined to try the infamous shrimp and grits – a Southern mainstay. I have to say that ‘grits’ doesn’t sound too appetising even though I know it’s a type of semolina. Still, when in Rome and all that. Mike says he’s not trying it though as he’s done it once and won’t go there again!
Blackstone’s is one of those places that you either love or hate and I suppose it depends on your political persuasion and how much you support the military. The owners are obviously very much in support of the local marine unit - many pennants, flags, posters and photographs attest to this. In that respect, it rather reminds me of Chick and Ruth’s in Annapolis.
The owner himself is one of those types who barks orders to staff and doesn’t seem to smile at strangers with odd accents. He seats us in about the worst table in the place but does take pity on us when two young women with screaming toddlers come in and sit at the table next to us. Obviously people who can’t control their children are deemed to be even worse than the dammed British and he comes over and asks loudly if we would like to move. I think about saying no just to be perverse (and also it seems a bit rude) but the revolting children are getting on my nerves and that seals it. We move.
My shrimp and grits arrives. It is creamed semolina with cooked shrimp and a layer of melted cheese. It looks OK (well to be honest I can only see the cheese) but tastes of absolutely nothing. I have to put tons of salt, pepper and hot sauce to give it any flavour at all. I wish I had ordered the Cajan style which has onions, peppers and sausage, or the corned beef hash with eggs that Mike has and vaguely enjoys. Well you can’t say I don’t try!
We go for a long walk after – the food may have been bland but it was extremely filling. One of the churches here is having its 300-year anniversary and we go in search of it. However, there are a lot of churches in Beaufort, most of them Baptist, and it is quite some time before we find the right one, the Church of St Helena.
I have to say that regardless of denomination, they all look pretty much the same – all white clapboard – just different levels of grandeur. The church of St Helena has the spookiest cemetary though. With the huge trees dripping with the Spanish moss, shadows are everywhere and so are the confederacy flags. While I take a peek inside the church, Mike hovers at the gates, waiting to make a hasty exit. He’s not keen on churches!
We walk along the road skirting the bay and the marshes. Even here there are some grand houses, not as old as on the point but beautiful all the same. The view over the bay is lovely with its marshes, trees adorned with the moss and the palmetto trees which grow wild everywhere.
We walk back through the car park which seems to smell permanently of horse shit and disinfectant – the carriage tours here, like Charleston, are the horse drawn type. To be honest, I think I prefer the smell of the horse shit alone!
There is a sign up in the marina about being careful with your wake because it is a manatee area. I have yet to see one so I ask one of the dock lads whether there are many around. He says he’s been working there for two years and hasn’t seen one yet. They must be very private creatures or it is a very old sign.
It’s Friday and Friday means curry night and Mike gets to cook and clean up afterwards. We try a jar of Pataks that I have never seen before – mango curry – and Mike makes sure it will be just right by adding some additional chilli flakes. Yum yum.
We have been keeping the air conditioning on in the boat to warm the boat up and it’s working. We are no longer freezing at night and I have taken most of the towels off. Maybe this is the end of the cold snap. I do hope so.
Position: 32 deg 25 min N, 80 deg 40 min W
Distance so far: 3339 miles
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