Yankee go home

The War of Northern Agression was how southern children my age learned about the Civil War. Even my own social studdies teacher in the late 70s and early 80s stressed that this war was about economics not slavery. HMMMMMMMMM
The south is beautiful but every time I am called Yankee I cringe and beg to be called northener, carpetbagger, anything but Yankee. They now see the term Yankee as one of affection. Thankfully when I mention the Red Sox they understand AND POINT ME IN THE DIRECTION OF A LOCAL BAR, its an Irish pub that is all about the Red Sox, across the street is the Yankees bar. The Charlestonians get a big kick out of it.
We have had 3 tour guides so far. All very informative but only one from the south. The first was an older black man South Carolina born and raised but a country boy. As much as he loves the history of the city he prefers the country where he can fish to his hearts content.
He drove us from the airport in a crowded 15 passenger van shuttle. It was cheap transportation and he started the trip very quiet. I smiled but he was an eyes on the road kinda guy. Until we got to The Citadel where he had to drop off his first passenger. The driver had asked a cadet directions to the cafe within the Citadel. The cadet spoke quickly, clearly not from the south! So the driver was a bit confused.
I sat in the front and he hesitantly asked me, "Did he say turn here?"
Eager to speak to a native southerner I said "Oh Yes." the poor man then began to drive up a one way street. Thankfully the southern folk in the van redirected him.
As he gave me a soulful look I said, "It was probably a mistake to ask me. I have no sense of direction and in Massachusetts we often go the wrong way down one way streets."
"Ma'am" he said firmly, "We do not do that he-ya." Then we both grinned at eachother and when I ever said although I lived near Boston I was actually a country girl that was all he needed. He spent the next 45 minutes sharing his love of his state.
The next tour guide, the horse drawncarriage tour thru historic Charleston was given by a Michigan transplant who finished her Masters in Charleston and has yet to find work in her field. She had a great time making Yankee comments once she knew there were New Yorkers and Boston folk on the carriage. I liked the horse Big Al and when he finished hauling us around the city he interupted his much needed water break to snuffle all over me and lean on me with affection.
The tour guide then gave us the scoop on the oldest tavern in America which is now a liquor store. Of course the proprieters instantly spotted our quaint accents and offered to take a photo of us outside their store!
Our final tour person was the waitress at the roof top dining. It overlooked the stables and all you could smell was hay and horse sweat. Of course I loved it but if it smelled like that in spring 3 stories up imagine the au de peu come humid August! Turns out our waitress was from New Hampshire. She graduated from KeeneState, thought she new our neice Emily(it is a small world) and moved down south to be warm and near the ocean. She too can find no work in her profession but makes a decent living waitressing.
Tomorrow promises to be another full day with temperatures hitting the 80s. I intend to be poolsidefor part of the day, exploring the rest.....