Charleston Without the Mistakes

Charleston is a walking city of gardens, piazzas, and three centuries of practiced hospitality, and it will treat any visitor kindly, but it saves its full performance for the ones who arrive in the right month, sleep in the right quarter, and understand that the peninsula is a place to wander rather than a list to complete. The standing mistakes here are seasonal and geographic, and both kinds are cheap to avoid.

Late March through early May and then October through November are the city's two performances, azaleas and soft air in spring, golden light and open windows in fall, and the spring garden weeks are the connoisseur's target, covered elsewhere in these pages. The mistake is July and August, when the heat arrives with a wet weight the postcards omit and the city retreats indoors until evening. If summer is the only option, adopt the local schedule, mornings and nights outdoors, afternoons surrendered. September carries hurricane-watch pricing and corresponding bargains for the flexible.

Stay on the lower peninsula, south of Calhoun Street, and pay the premium without complaint, since the entire point of Charleston is stepping out of the door into the eighteenth century and the savings of a highway hotel are spent back immediately in parking, driving, and distance from the evening. The historic inns book their spring weekends months ahead. A car is unnecessary if you sleep downtown and actively burdensome south of Broad, where the streets predate the automobile and hold the grudge.

The city rewards structureless wandering more than any itinerary, and the correct method is a loop a day, the Battery and the sea wall, the alleys and churchyards between Meeting and Church, the market blocks, taken slowly in the cool hours. Wear real shoes, since the brick sidewalks and cobbles have been buckling handsomely for three hundred years and punish fashion decisions by early afternoon. One walking tour early in the trip, guided by a licensed local, pays for itself in everything you notice afterward.

Skip the carriage-ride debate entirely and walk, which sees the same streets at the same pace with better acoustics. Skip the famous market at midday, when it is a slow river of visitors, and take it at opening if at all. Skip dinner at the first pretty room with a hostess stand, since the city's serious tables, and it holds many of the country's best, book weeks ahead and reward the planning. Book two or three before the flight, then fill the rest with the counters, the oyster bars, and the neighborhood rooms upstairs and off-peninsula where the city itself eats.

Book rooms and the serious tables together, six to eight weeks out minimum for spring and fall weekends. Fly in rather than connecting through a drive when possible, since the airport sits twenty minutes from the peninsula and the trip should start on the porch, not the interstate. Carry water in the warm months and a sweater in the cool ones, and leave every plan a loose hour on either side.

On the last evening, walk the Battery at golden hour, when the harbor goes bronze and the houses light their piazzas. The city has been rehearsing that hour for three centuries. Arrive in the right month, on foot, unhurried, and it will perform it for you nightly.