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I was pressed for time. Only one afternoon to enjoy historic Savannah. So no museums. No carriage rides. No pints at the local pubs.

Only one option: Walk around.

But somehow this was enough. I meandered the wide sidewalks, and each time I rounded a corner, I found another pretty street of Antebellum rowhouses.

Taking a left on Bull Street, I entered scenic squares, passed manicured hedges and ranks of oak trees garlanded with Spanish moss. Within minutes, I'd reached the gold-capped City Hall, and I found cobbled streets that twisted toward the Savannah River.

But street-cars and parasols aside, I was astonished by how vibrant Savannah was: hipsters rode bicycles down the avenues, rickshaws wove through traffic, and bearded young men bought shaved ice from a funky little cart.

I wanted, more than anything, to stay. But a thunderstorm was gathering, and I needed to return my rental car, and within the hour, I was bombing down the highway toward the airport.

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