Savannah, Part Two.

We woke up earlyish on Saturday (we do that now) and went to brunch at a place I can't remember the name of. The building was beautiful, and the inside was all bare brick walls and exposed ductwork. Each table was set with a white cloth and a bottle of Beaujolais Nuevo, which I thought was a really nice touch, but which I didn't feel compelled to drink at ten in the morning. We had a warm brie and blueberry sauce appetizer with fresh baked bread. It was amazing. The waitress dumped a small pitcher (very small, like a shot glass) of cream on my brother-in-law, who barely blinked and brushed it off with his napkin. She was mortified, and scrambled to clean it up while apologizing profusely and muttering about how we were only her second table, but eventually realized that we were not the sort of people who really give a crap about that sort of thing.
When we left the restaurant, we stepped out into the city market, a sort of plaza with shops and whatnot. There was an art gallery across the way with a very large modern painting of The Dude from The Big Lebowski hanging out front. It was awesome and were I a wealthy woman it would be hanging over my mantle right now. Alas, I had to leave it behind.
The whole town was decorated for Christmas, and in the center of this plaza was a small Christmas tree. There was a little girl of about three or four, with long blonde hair in pigtails and very thick glasses, setting her doll at the foot of the tree. She then backed up a few feet to where her mother was crouched, camera in hand, and proceeded to take a picture of the doll. It was so bloody cute. My sister took a picture, but I had left my camera back at the hotel.
We dropped my brother-in-law J back at the hotel to do some work ("vacation" is a relative term in his business) and drove out to Boneventure Cemetery.
I have to admit that cemetery as tourist destination is a bit weird to me, but at the same time I think that if I were to be buried at all I might like to be in a place that people actually come for enjoyment, rather than grieving. The weather was perfect and we spent probably an hour or so walking around and taking pictures.
After that we stopped for coffee at The Sentient Bean, my new favorite progressive lesbian organic vegan coffee shop. They had a blueberry lemon poppyseed bread that would make you slap your mother. Also, the coffee was great. You might think that a given in a coffee shop, but if you've spent any time in Knoxville, Tennessee, you might have discovered otherwise.
We went back to the hotel and had a beer and then found a cool looking Moroccan restaurant for dinner. It was close enough to walk to (as was almost everything in Savannah), so we did. Our waitress was an art student from Wisconsin. She was very helpful in explaining all of the Moroccan customs to us, not that it would have mattered if we looked stupid, because we were the only patrons in the whole place. Anyway, she came around with a pot of warm water with orange and lemon squeezed in it to wash our hands before we ate. Moroccan tradition is to eat with your right hand rather than utensils. We loved it. At some point during the meal, the not terribly agreeable music was turned up a little louder and a belly dancer appeared. She danced a couple of songs, and just when she tried to get my sister and me up to dance with her, our food magically arrived. I had a vegetable tagine and a glass of wine. The food was terrific and the wine was so bad I didn't even finish the glass. We all shared a coconut pastry thing for dessert. It was almost too much. Almost.