By Olivier Maene
Everybody is familiar with Wright Square, Chippewa Square and Monterey Square, but what about the lesser known ones like Greene Square or Lafayette Square? You may have casually passed by these places before, certainly the ones along Bull Street, but did you ever stop and sit down for a second?
We move across town from point A to B and we might appreciate the setting of these intriguing urban retreats, but it is unusual to actually slow down and take a minute to enjoy what these squares have to offer.
I am from a historic town myself and I know that touristy spots are usually less attractive to locals, but I decided to just go to one of these places and sit down and observe. I discovered a wealth of stimulation and inspiration.
I hope I inspire you to do the same and maybe go into town yourself and enjoy these micro-sanctuaries. Here are my impressions of our Savannah.
Lafayette Square
It was a bright and sunny day, not uncommon for Savannah, and at this time of year a soft scent of summer air was already starting to fill the many streets and squares of the city.
I was walking on Liberty Street and made a right onto Abercorn Street, making my way to Lafayette Square. It’s a modest-but-cozy square filled with oak trees and shrubberies and dedicated to American Revolutionary War General Marquis de Lafayette.
I slowed my pace as I crossed East Harris Street onto one of the red-brick, herringbone-patterned pathways. A welcoming cool breeze which reminded me of the fact that it was actually winter hit me and when I reached the center of the square a couple of ordinary tourists passed me by while another behind me crossed the square.
I looked at the humble, yet sparkling, triple-tier fountain and I sat down on its low, circular brick wall at the exact same spot a couple had just sat; water lightly sprinkled my neck. As I lit a Lucky Strike, I realized I had never looked at a street from this position before. I was staring down Abercorn along its axis and I could see cars and buses crossing on the various palm-tree-lined intersecting streets—a busy and bustling atmosphere in contrast with the quietness of this enclave.
It was 1 p.m. and the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist’s church bells rang, followed shortly after by a series of other church bells in the neighborhood. It felt very comforting and familiar since I come from a historic town just like Savannah, called Bruges, in Belgium where at every single hour of the day all of the city’s church bells start filling the streets with a rhythmic ringing sound as well.
I was taken out of my melancholic state of mind when a woman shouted out to me, “Excuse me sir, could you move for a second please, I’d like to take a picture of the fountain.”
I moved, of course, and I stepped closer to this typical but friendly-looking American woman. She was visiting from Pennsylvania. After she got her shots of the fountain, I sat down again. She walked away, but suddenly turned around again, intriguingly staring at me she asked me if I knew of any interesting historic places in the neighborhood—mind you, we are in the Historic District, so there’s a historic place every square inch.
I gazed upward to the two spires of the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist’s and I said without looking at her: “Well, ma’am, there’s the Catholic church of course…” She lightly nodded her head and thanked me as she walked away again. I was still focusing on the church and its many tourists flocking around the entrance. St. John’s always has a lot of people around; if not tourists, then Catholics, like me, who come together on Sunday mornings to attend mass.
As I scanned the square, resting my eyes on the beautiful oak trees and their Spanish moss, the Pennsylvania woman popped up again: “Excuse me sir, can I ask you what your name is? I would like to tell my family about you, since you are in one of my pictures.”
I always enjoy the enthusiastic interest of strangers, I remember sitting on Market Square in Bruges and having tourists come up to me, asking about the history and architecture of the place. I politely answered: “Olivier, ma’am, that’s O-L-I-V-I-E-R.”
