My two elementary-aged children and I recently spent a week at the SeaView Inn. I would recommend this experience, and it is an "experience" to anyone who appreciates what many refer to as the arrogantly shabby reputation of Pawley's Island.
1. Time stops. Is it 2008? 1958? 1938? Not sure- doesn't matter. One is released from the here and now and freed to go deeper into each moment.
2. Your belly is FULL. Low country SC cuisine is filled with fat, salt, bread, cheese, sugar, and carbs. Unsweet tea?!? WHY?!? Just remember, you don't have to clean every heaping plate of food that they serve you. By "clean" I mean, you don't have to eat it all and you don't have to wash a single dish.
2.a. If your ankles start to swell, put them up on the rail of the porch.
3. The service staff at the inn have lived and worked there far longer than any of the owners and most of the guests. It's their vocation, and they are who they are. Deal with it. Sometimes it's just soooo not about you!!!!
4. What is it with tense city folk who cannot sleep in a room with no locks on the doors. Get over it! This is the rural south, no one cares what precious stuff you've brought to the beach. Locked doors stifle the flow of the sea breezes through the inn. Next time don't bring so much stuff. All you need is what can be hung on pegs and rinsed out occasionally. No one is looking at how you look or what you brought.
5. Wear a pair of flip flops in the community shower. Be thankful that a neighbor might walk in on you, it might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, especially if it occurs around BYOB cocktail hour after you've sizzled in the sun all day.
6. Mary will do your laundry for less than what you expect her to charge you.
7. Expect the guests and the ethos of their gathering to ebb and flow with the tides.
8. Take an afternoon nap with the rest of us, that's why you are on VACATION.
9. The inn provides all the chairs, umbrellas, boogie boards and sand toys you could possibly need, no need to haul it back and forth.
10. Take some time to contemplate the enormity of your own insignificance when picking up the shell of a life lived, plucked from a vast seashore built of smashed bits. Hopefully you'll feel deep affection toward those stationed stewards who devote their lives to the service of others--cleaning bathrooms, washing linens, standing over hot stoves, unplugging clogged toilets, and serving meals to restless privileged travelers on the hottest of days. Think about the Deep South and all that has brought us together for this short time - for good or for ill.
It is what it is.







