But what I got was about an hour.

So what you get are a few quick snaps from my iPhone.

They won’t blow you away, but hopefully they’ll add to your ongoing list of reasons to visit Charleston.

Rob banks? Run a Ponzi scheme?

They had to have done something terrible.

Because no couple devotes so much of their time to doing good.

Tracy

“Get back in the building.”

I got back in the building. Something about her shouting at me, locking the door behind me and rushing us into a room where a dozen or so people – mostly kids – were already huddled on the ground. “There’s a gang fight outside, — about 50 of them — and a lot of the time, there’s gunfire.”

The way Tracy Wilkes talks, this is just one of those daily annoyances – like traffic or humidity.

Fourteen years ago, Tracy – a theatre major-turned-family therapist – realized that Wilmington had no free arts programs for underprivileged youth. For someone who thinks art is as important as food, water, and shelter, this was a major problem. So she founded DREAMS. ”Art is the language of the soul,” she says. “We’re simply giving kids a few outlets for speaking.”

A “few.” More like dozens: photography, spoken word, step class, ceramics, comic-making, carpentry, painting, silk screening to name a “few.”

The coast is clear and we’re back in her studio. “When you’re from neighborhoods like these, trouble is going to find you everywhere,” she says by way of explanation for what just happened. “You get in trouble at school, then you get in trouble at home because you’re in trouble at school. What we’re doing here is showing these kids that they’re actually good at something. When they realize that, it changes the entire trajectory.”

She is quick to point out that DREAMS isn’t about art for art’s sake. “We expect them to show up, to commit, and they do,” she says. According to Wilkes, only 54% of students from Wilmington’s poorer neighborhoods graduate high school. At Dreams, 99% do. Which is even more impressive when you find out that they work with more than 600 kids each year.

It’s not just the kids who benefit; oftentimes the parents are transformed, too. Tracy’s favorite story involves a 9-year old boy who, despite being a gifted painter, was constantly getting in trouble at school. One day, she called his mother and asked her to stop by. Thinking her son was in trouble, again, she walked into the room in a huff. The child backed up against the wall and pointed to his creation. Her jaw dropped and she started to cry.

“It was if a switch was thrown” Wilkes says. After years on a negative feedback loop, she was able to see her son in a new light, that he was good at something. “After witnessing that, you can’t tell me that art isn’t important.”

No. We can’t.

Paul

Paul Wilkes is a man’s man.

Which is why he doesn’t get choked up when he tells Reena’s story.

He doesn’t look away or clear his throat; he just pauses.

It all began six years ago, when Paul and Tracy were on vacation in India. They had a few hours to kill and their driver asked them what they wanted to see in the city of Kochi. “I’m Catholic,” he blurted out. “What is my church doing to alleviate this grinding poverty — to help these poor people?” Instead of telling him, the driver took the couple to an orphanage where 60 street children were being housed and educated by nuns. After a quick tour, Paul was ready to give them whatever money he had in his pocket when he noticed a shy girl standing quietly in the shadow of the nuns.  She had sunglasses on; none of the other kids did and Paul asked why.

One of the nuns removed the glasses from her face and what Paul saw is why he pauses now recounting the story. One eye was perfect, the other was a swirl of gray. The Beggar Mafia (a la Slumdog Millionaire) had kidnapped her and gouged out her eye with a darning needle to make her a “better beggar.”

I squirm in my seat.

“That’s exactly what I did,” Paul says. “That very thing. My face looked just like yours.  And she returned my grimace with the most beautiful, trusting smile I had ever seen in my life.  I decided right then to make that girl’s future – and as many other girls like her – better than her past.”

And that’s how Homes of Hope India-U.S. – a non-profit that raises money for the orphanage that inspired the idea — was born. It started small — raising money to buy foam mattresses and coverlets so the girls wouldn’t have to sleep with only thin straw mats between them and the concrete floor.

Right now, they’re raising money to build a third orphanage in South India.

“You know, you get to a point in your life where there’s not a lot of oil left and you simply go, ‘What do I really want out of these twilight years?,’” he says. “And these girls, these ninth-class citizens, don’t have much of a chance. You’re a poor female orphan – that’s strike one. You’re uneducated – that’s strike two. I’m not going to let that third strike happen.”

And trust me, I’ve met the guy… he won’t.

-

Paul and Tracy Wilkes. A writer and a theatre major. Both doing wonderful things in Wilmington for local kids and kids halfway around the world.

Do their type-A personalities ever turn competitive?

“No,” Tracy laughs. “At least not with the charities.”

This is how that went.

[Apologies for the bumpy ride -- this was shot and edited on my iPhone.]

Thanks to Allen Abendroth for submitting this keeper to our My Shot community!

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Photo: Allen Abendroth/My Shot

Kids say the darndest things.

Except this happened to be more truth than darnd.

The student was describing the winter walk that inspired her art teacher, Libby Scandale, to found Project Bark. Scandale’s North Carolinian drawl makes words like “cold” and “night” come out with two syllables each. Her ink-stained hands, the result of 26 years in the classroom, cover her face when she talks about how, even though that dog got to go home to a warm house that night, hundreds — if not thousands — of dogs around Guilford county are still tethered to a tree in the cold (or in the sweltering summer heat). She bites her bottom lip fiercely. A few tears come anyway.

Aerial view of a Project Bark shelter.

But this woman is no cry baby. Ever since that night, she has spent all her free time trying to find a suitable home for every abused or discarded dog that crosses her path. And, as fate would have it, help came from the most unlikely of sources: the local sheriff.

Turns out he had an idea.

55 gallon plastic drums.

The kind used for everything — oil, soy sauce, whatever. As long as it wasn’t toxic and could be cleaned by her dedicated group of volunteer high schoolers, they’d take it.

But they didn’t just take it — they ran with it. In the 16 months since Project Bark got off the ground, they’ve found homes for more than 450 pups.

I’ll do the math for you: that’s about one dog a day.

Libby Scandale (center) and her student volunteers.

“Get a plastic drum, clean it, cut one hole in it, throw some straw and you’re set,” she said. I asked why not blankets? Because, she said, they’re cesspools for disease, and, once they’re wet, they’ll never dry. Nuff said.

It all seemed so simple.

And that’s exactly how Libby wants it, because it makes it an easy idea to steal. “We don’t just want Greensboro taken care of,” she said, smiling quietly while casting a look of adoration at her kids. “I want this to be copied around the world. And why can’t it?”

Yeah, why can’t it?

Find out more about Project Bark and about People and Paws For Hope, another great organization working to help dogs (and people) in Greensboro and beyond.

The restaurant was inspired by the Works Progress Administration writers’ project of the 1930s, with fare derived from classic American recipes. It’s also linked thematically with an exhibition at the near-by National Archives, “What’s Cooking, Uncle Sam?: The Government’s Effect on the American Diet,” with some profits from the restaurant dedicated to the Archives.

This is a genuinely unique idea for presenting food and, ironically, one that seems not to have occurred to American restaurateurs in this historically-minded city.

The food – like the descriptions and historic provenance – is thorough and imaginative, and absolutely delicious: grilled butter oysters (New York, 1825); vermicelli prepared like pudding (Philadelphia, 1802); hush puppies with homemade sorghum butter (the South, generally), shrimp étouffée (lower Mississippi delta), BBQ beef short-ribs with Hoppin’ John (Carolinas, 1847), and pecan pie (southeastern seaboard, 1700s).

Joan Miro's "Head of a Catalan Peasant." (Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington)

If you want to try these tasty treats and Andrés’s iterations of other classic American dishes you’ll have to do so before July 4th, when America Eats Tavern is scheduled to close, before — Presto! — opening as something else.

Meanwhile, just a skip down Pennsylvania Avenue at the National Gallery of Art, Andrés is putting his masterful mark on dishes from Catalonia to complement the current exhibit there, “Joan Miro: The Ladder of Escape” (through August 12). This rare gathering of the artist’s fascinating oeuvre is rooted in the sensuality and romance not of America but of Miro’s – and Andrés’ – native land, and is not to be missed. Neither are the delectable dishes on display at the gallery’s Garden Café.

James Conaway is a featured contributor on Intelligent Travel, and writes freelance for National Geographic Traveler and other publications devoted to travel, history, and culture. Read more from James on his wine blog.

Some call Elsewhere a “collective,” others a “playground.”

Operations curator Valerie Wiseman calls it a ”living museum.” But what kind of museum allows you to touch, play, build, nap, and create — and has a “ghost room”?

Summing up the story of the late hoardiculturalist Sylvia Gray wouldn’t do her — or the three-story Neverland that showcases remnants from the massive thrift store she ran for 58 years — justice.

Nor does this quick film from my iPhone (this is definitely one of those places you just have to see for yourself).

But hopefully it at least gets you a little closer.

Follow the Good Traveler’s adventures on Twitter @GoodTraveler and on Instagram @GoodTraveler.

I’d never heard of Lynchburg. Lynchburg Lemonades – sure, but never the town.

On a tip from a reader, I pulled in for a cup of coffee.

And ended up being two hours late to Greensboro because of it.

Quiet and nice.

If I were an up-and-coming artist, I’d rent a space here for a year.

One street smelled of cookies, I swear to God it did.

Vinyl and vintage, barbershops and – well, more barbershops.

No one honked.

There was even a public elevator (see my photo gallery for proof).

Do yourself a favor and spend a day there.

Follow the Good Traveler’s adventures on Twitter @GoodTraveler and on Instagram @GoodTraveler.

Excess Baggage 

1. High heels: After a day of hiking through nature reserves and ancient ruins, my feet wanted nothing to do with a pair of pointy, four-inch black heels. The pair of bronze flats I brought were much better suited for going out at night — and provided a welcome break from my sneakers.
2. Laptop AND iPad: With a jam-packed itinerary, I spent less than an hour a day screen-gazing. Looking back I wish I had bought an iPad Camera Connection kit so I could have downloaded my photos onto my iPad each night…and left my heavy laptop at home.
3. Hair straightener: Not once did I take the time to straighten my wavy hair. I barely took ten minutes to use the hotel blow dryer in the morning. Next time I’m sticking with a brush, a few bobby pins, and three hair elastics.

Woulda, Coulda, Shouldas

1. Sealed shoes: I thought I had comfortable footwear covered with my Asics and steel blue Converse. But it soon became clear that I had underestimated desert sand, and its uncanny ability to find its way into the smallest holes and crevices. The next time I travel to a country where I know I’m going to hike, I’ll be taking sealed shoes along with me.
2. All-in-one converter/adapter with a USB port: In the not-so-distant past, international travelers had to buy a converter and an adapter. As I learned from my traveling companions, there are now all-in-one options that include a USB port for charging mobile devices.
3. Washcloth: I was surprised to find that not a single hotel offered washcloths (including two American chains). A fast-drying towel (like the Trekr Travel Washcloth) would have come in handy as I went through my nightly ritual of scrubbing a thin layer of dust off my skin.

Trip-Saving Surprises

Me sporting my trip-saving skirt and bag. (Photo by Mike Richard at http://vagabondish.com/)

1. 100% cotton maxi skirt: It occurred to me that I might be crazy taking an off-white skirt to a place where I’d be confronting several varieties of dirt, but this flowing, anti-wrinkle number protected my legs from the sun while respecting the country’s conservative dress code. It worked at the beach, on a boat, in the city, and could be dressed up for a nice dinner out. Plus, I could soak it, hang it over the shower rod, and it was good to go the next morning.
2. Cross-body bag with pockets: I bought this lightweight, $15 bag at Target. The two slip pockets in front were perfect for my water bottle and notebook; my hat, windbreaker, scarf, SLR camera, extra lens, and shopping buys fit in the main compartment; and the zip pocket provided a safe place for my passport and cash. For those of you who are less than enthused about backpacks (for reason related to security, style, or comfort), a bag like this is a great way to go.
3. Extras: I thought I was going overboard by packing enough toiletries and medicine to last me two weeks, but my travel companions were happy I brought extras: Tissues for bathrooms with no toilet paper, Pepto tablets when someone was having a hard time adjusting to the country’s cuisine, and ibuprofen after a long day hiking (or a long night enjoying a few beers).

Do you have a must-bring recommendation for outside-the-box travel? Share your tips in the comments section below.

• So you’ve dabbled in iPhone photography and you’re ready to move on to the big leagues? Learn how to take the mobile video world by storm! [Matador Network]

• Utila, Honduras plays next-door neighbor to the much larger Roatan, but it’s one of the best (and cheapest) places to learn to SCUBA. Find out why. [Expert Vagabond]

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