CHAPEL HILL, N.C. — Now that I’ve made my peace with Columbia, S.C.’s 19th Century history, I wanted to say a few kind and redeeming things about the stay — because the two days I had there were genuinely a sweet and charming time.

When I rolled into Columbia, I knew jack-nothing of its history. Zip-zilch-nada. Just that the sports teams are called the Cocks. (Short for “Gamecocks.”)

Fortunately, the locals made sure I learned about a certain, less-suggestive pride point:

“Did you know South Carolina produces more peaches than all of Georgia?” a personalized, white-on-pink note in my room read.

To celebrate this fact, the Graduate Columbia left a few juicy little treats in my room: two fresh peaches, a bottle of peach “Joe Tea” (hello to my brother, if he’s reading), and a bag of sour peach rings.

Peachy-keen, I’d say. Nice touch.

It’s fitting that the hotel staff also left me a bottle of peach Ne-Hi soda — “Columbia” is often shortened to “Cola,” which leads to the nickname “Soda City.” It’s also a playful way to distinguish themselves Columbia from Washington, District of Columbia, a few hundred miles northeast.

According to a conversation I overheard from the front-of-house manager, Zoe — Graduate, she’s incredible — this hotel’s distinct theme is “Southern Boutique,” and it may have rivaled Nashville’s Dolly Parton-themed hotel in terms of color, flash, and style.

Admittedly, with all of the floral colors and kitschy patterns and chicken lamps (again, “cocks”) it felt a little bit like going to Grandma’s house — but I haven’t gone to my Grandma’s house in 17 years. And that’s not something I’ll ever be able to do again. It felt like a soft, soothing step back into simpler days.

And the fact it rained the whole time? The childhood nostalgia came rolling in like a long weekend of coloring and VHS movies and snacks with Nana.

The Columbia Graduate is small-but-mighty. While it’s the shortest hotel of the chain I’ve been to so far, standing at a mere three floors, it also provided the most elegant spaces to lounge around, have a conversation, or get lost in an old leather-bound book.

Just like in Evanston, there was a “Trophy Room” bar with antique sports memorabilia. To its right, an L-shaped parlor with a brick fireplace and a dozen wooden tables. Flanking it on both sides are two smaller conversation rooms with upholstered couches and kind window views. But my favorite room was the “Library,” which reminded me of somewhere Colonel Mustard would get bludgeoned to death by a lead pipe (and I mean that with love).

This location also had a large, southern-style brick patio, with covered and uncovered sections, including rocking chairs, a giant dinner table, and old-school Edison light strings to set the occasion.

As for my room, the décor touched on more of Columbia’s finer cultural points:

• A portrait of Darius Rucker, frontman of “Hootie and the Blowfish,” which was formed in Columbia.
• A picture of USC superfan Bill Golding holding a sign reading “OOT OOT.” Apparently, that was his interpretation of how chickens sound — and it caught on among other USC fans.
• A portrait of a classic camera shot from “2001: A Space Odyssey.” This one was a bit of a deep cut! Apparently, the USC football team likes to play Strauss’ “Also Sprach Zarathustra,” perhaps best known as the opening score from the iconic science-fiction movie (or Ric Flair’s entrance music). This was made all the more confusing, as “2001” was directed by Stanley Kubrick, a “USC” grad — but from the University of Southern California.
• A giant chicken headboard (again, more cocks).

The Riverfront

I asked several people in Columbia what they thought was the most important thing I should see, and everyone said “The Riverfront.”

Just like how Indianapolis has the Monon, or Bloomington has its B-Line, Columbia has a cute little pedestrian walkway along the Congaree River, which splits its downtown neighborhood.

Frankly, I didn’t spend a long time there — it was hot and humid, and I have done a lot of walking. I did take the opportunity to look at the river, take some pictures, and be alone with some stunning local foliage, though.

Specifically, Riverfront Park provides a sanctuary to an important, yet imperiled floral population: the Rocky Shoals Spider Lily. According to a plaque I read, this flower is only found in three southeastern states (but did not list them).

The Rocky Shoals Spider Lily is apparently most in bloom in late May/early June, so I unfortunately missed the peak, but it was still nice to see other bright flowers (and palm trees!) up close. Aside from my time by the lake shore in Evanston, I haven’t gotten out in nature as much as I’d like to on this trip.

The Whig

After yesterday’s heavy and emotional trek through South Carolina’s state house (and its various Confederate monuments), I popped to a cute dive bar immediately across the block called “The Whig.“

Briefly speaking, The Whigs were one of the two major political parties during the Civil War era (both in the north and the south), rivaling the slightly larger Democratic Party. Although they didn’t expressly come out against slavery during the Civil War, having “The Whig” as a bar name in the modern era (founded 2005) is a latent statement of independence in a country that somehow can’t stand to consider an opinion not otherwise within the liberal-conservative vacuum.

(Today, you won’t find anyone self-identifying as a ‘whig.’ I certainly haven’t in my 31 years of living — nobody whose ass I didn’t already want to kick in sophomore political science classes, at least.)

The Whig is a cool, chill place located down a long flight of stairs. It’s a basement bar with no windows, but plenty of gold lights. The inside glowed like it was King Midas’ personal watering hole.

Something I particularly enjoyed about The Whig (and Columbia at large) was its affordability. Each draft craft beer pint ran about $5.00, and you could get a standard domestic for $3.25 — extremely reasonable for the closest bar to the state capitol building. Good luck finding that in Chicago or Indianapolis (you won’t).

I ended up getting some food at the bar, which is not my usual M.O. when it comes to pub experiences, but an article from the local Post and Courier detailed Columbia as “a bar food city,” so I had to give it a shot.

I ended up getting my bartender’s suggestion, the Chipotle BBQ Burger, which came with cheddar, bacon, and a spicy house-made Carolina barbecue sauce. It came with a big side of sweet potato fries for $10.00. Unreal.

I’m not a skilled or bougie food critic, but I’ll give it a shot: The burger patty was peppery and hot, and cooked just right. The cheddar cheese was ample and gooey, and the spicy BBQ took me to my comfortable limit (just right)! The sweet potato fries were wide-cut and flavorful — you could really take some time to savor the inner goodness, whether you chose the ketchup dip or not. Between the burg, the fries, and two local IPAs, I left The Whig with a smile in my stomach.

I wish I could go there again for dinner tonight. I would in a heartbeat. (Maybe sometime again down the road).

That’s about all I have to offer on Columbia, since I only had 39 hours to see the place (and promptly walked back to the hotel to do some writing and rest). I’m glad I was able to leave with some positive memories of the place, because everyone I interacted with there was cheerful and genuine. Lots of “door-holding culture,” if that makes sense. The sort of “southern hospitality” that such a place would like to be known for.

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So now, after a 4-hour drive on this fine Tuesday, I am here in Chapel Hill, N.C.

I say this not just as a matter-of-fact update on my schedule, but to formally have myself caught up on all things bloggable. Writing this post was the first thing I got done in Tar Heel Country so I could go out and make more memories without having to worry about catching up in any regard. It’s a heavy, debilitating feeling I hate to carry with me, so it feels good to be caught up to-the-minute on my travels.

Well, you know what that means. Time to get out and see more stuff. Thanks for reading!

Until next time.

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-moose