I arrived in Staunton on a Saturday, just as the town had thrown open its doors—quite literally—for Shop and Dine Out, their weekly invitation to slow down, savor, and stroll. The brick-lined streets of historic downtown pulsed with a lively hum. Restaurants and shops spilled onto the sidewalks, their tables and wares extending into the open air, as if the buildings themselves had exhaled and relaxed into the weekend.
Staunton is a town that feels comfortably worn in, like a well-loved book—its pages dog-eared, its spine softened by hands turning through time. The architecture tells stories in red brick and intricate cornices, from Victorian facades to the sturdy storefronts that have watched over Beverley Street for a century or more. It is, in every sense, a city built to be walked, its history not just displayed in plaques but in the rhythm of footfalls on cobblestones.
I wandered past open-air diners clinking glasses over farm-to-table meals, past bookshops and boutiques, past a bluegrass duo plucking a tune in the shadow of the clocktower. For all its charm, Staunton does not feel curated—it feels lived in, a place that has found harmony between its past and present.
The Split Banana – A Sweet Pause
At some point, the day demanded ice cream. The Split Banana is a narrow shop with a neon sign that beckons like an old friend. Inside, a row of silver tubs gleams under the glass case, each filled with gelato in flavors that are anything but ordinary. I could have been practical, but who is practical when faced with 24 choices? I sampled a spoonful of Stracciatella, then hesitated at Honey Lavender before settling on a cup of Espresso Bean and Dark Chocolate Sorbetto—a combination as rich and deep as the history outside.
Seated on a bench, I let the world pass by as I took small, deliberate bites. There are few pleasures as perfect as good ice cream on a warm day, the kind that melts faster than you expect, forcing you to stay present. I watched children tug at their parents' hands, pointing at a street performer. A group of cyclists leaned against a wrought-iron railing, laughing over pints. An older couple strolled hand in hand, the familiarity between them as natural as the hills that roll around this town.
It was a moment of simple contentment. Staunton does that—it slows you down, just enough to notice the way the sunlight catches in the stained-glass windows of Trinity Church, or how a breeze carries the scent of something good roasting in a nearby kitchen.
Reflection
Cities like Staunton remind me why I love traveling—not for the rush of a new place, but for the rhythm of it. The way a town breathes on a Saturday afternoon, the way its people gather and linger, the way history and daily life intertwine so effortlessly.
I left with the taste of dark chocolate still on my tongue and the feeling that, if I had the chance, I would return. Not for a checklist of attractions, but simply to be here again—to sit, to watch, to wander.