We stopped at the Visitor's Center so I could buy some postcards. Sweetie signed us up for a deal that proved to be too good to be true. What sounded like an easy way to garner a hundred dollar visa card was really an attempt to sell us a time share. Oh well, I found the shea butter man at the market, and grabbed a few more souvenirs.
Next we headed to Queen Anne's Revenge, a restaurant on Daniel Island that Sorrow recommended. "Oh, it's easy to get there," said the time share pimp. "Just get on 526 and cross the bridge, you can't miss it." Well, that sounded easy enough, except that he neglected to say 526 east or west. And he neglected to tell us there was no signage for Daniel's Island. First time around, we missed the exit completely.
No problem, Sweetie asked the girl in the bank (who admitted to being new in town herself) who said go back to 526, take a left, then go down 2 streets and take another left. "You can't miss it," she assured my directionally challenged mate. More than a few miles down that road we stopped for something to drink. Again Sweetie asked for directions. The new girl at the bank clearly didn't know Daniel Island from any other island on the SC coast. "Turn around, take the first 526 exit, cross the big bridge, take a right. You can't miss it," said a guy in the convenience store who for no other reason than his age seemed more believable. Once headed in the right direction, getting to the restaurant was all about following the signs.
Let me just say it was worth the detours. Really good food accompanied lots of pirate memorabilia. It was a grown up place but one that children would love. Can you ever see too many sabers, treasure chests, pieces of eight and other kinds of pirate booty? I don't know much about the brigand Blackbeard but I dare say he and his swarthy crew were a nuisance to the shipping industry of the time. Not unlike the stories coming out of south Africa. I guess a pirate is a pirate is a pirate.
Now it's time to change into my jammies and crawl into bed. Maybe I'll dream of a swashbuckling, white bearded sea captain who holds me, his hot blooded wench, by the waist with one hand and steers his high seas sailing sloop with the other. Navigating by the stars and following our hearts we'll make our own way to whatever island we choose.
Wishing for you fantasies to make you smile,
P.S. It was only after we sat at the dining table that we remembered the GPS navigation system under the front seat of the car. It might have made for an easier trip but would have added little to the adventure!