Small Towns

Discover bustling small towns, a pair of postcard-perfect bridges, and plenty of historic sites along the state’s ”freshwater coast."

You might expect nothing more than a cute street with a few “olde shoppes” from a neighborhood named “Old Town,” but this nationally designated historic district is the real deal, founded in 1749 and covering nearly 100 square blocks. Cobblestone roads are lined with charming multicolored row houses; by night, these homes are aglow with flickering lanterns reminiscent of Colonial times.

West Virginia is doling out $12,000 and free outdoor adventures to remote workers willing to move there for two years. Meet some of the folks who’ve gone for it. 

It’s the little things that matter most on a weekend escape to the largest of Georgia’s enchanting Golden Isles.

Alabama didn’t end up with much oceanfront, but the towns tucked along Mobile Bay provide enough culture, architecture, and good food that visitors don’t miss the white sand. Fairhope, on the eastern side of the inlet, is just five hours or so from Atlanta and in some ways has more in common with Highlands, North Carolina, than sand-and-surf destinations like Panama City Beach.

“Well,” I said to my husband, “I don’t think I have ever dined out looking so grubby in my life—but I don’t remember when I last felt this relaxed.” With another swig from a bottle of PBR, I leaned back in the wooden bench on the wide front porch of Indian Pass Trading Post and listened as Kerry James, whose sun-streaked hair and leathered skin testified to decades of beach bumming, belted his way through “Sweet Caroline.”

First things first: Can you save money by driving five hours to shop for furniture in North Carolina? Yes, although an industrious shopper in Atlanta could perhaps find similar savings by following sales, asking for discounts, and trolling Craigslist. The advantage to shopping in the Furniture Capital of the World is that so many discounted brands and floor samples are together under one roof.

From the sunset side of Interstate 75 to the Alabama border, you won’t spot a municipality themed to an Alpine village or wine trails with slick marketing campaigns.

I grew up in South Georgia, which, at fifteen, was hard to think of as a tourist attraction. My neck of the woods seemed like a place you’d travel through, not to. “It’s a land of red clay and despair,” I recall churlishly telling a college friend.