Spartanburg, SC: A Film Scout's Sleep-Deprived Odyssey Through a Weird, Wet Town

i've been in spartanburg, south carolina for the past three days, and my brain feels like a jumble of tangled film reel. as an indie film scout, i'm supposed to find locations that scream 'low budget but high vibe,' but this place is a confounding cocktail of forgotten textile mill grandeur and... whatever the opposite of charm is. it's interesting, though. i've got these two numbers stuck in my head: 4597200 and 1840015482. they came from the director, who mumbled something about 'the magic of compression' and 'digital intermediate' and then just scribbled them on a napkin before disappearing into a diner bathroom. i'm not even sure if they're coordinates or just the way his brain translates caffeine into math.

the weather here is a character in itself. i just checked and it's...well, it's 18.33 degrees celsius, which is about 65 fahrenheit for you imperialists, but it feels like someone's blowing a damp breath down your neck. the humidity's sitting at a solid 64%, making my camera lenses fog up every time i step out of the air-conditioned car. and get this-the sea level pressure is 1012 millibars, but the ground level pressure here is 984. that's a big difference; it's like the air's thinner than a coffee filter, and i swear my lungs are working overtime. it's not exactly cold, but the chill seeps into your bones and makes you wonder if you're coming down with something. i've started wearing two t-shirts under my flannel, and i still feel like i'm in a walk-in fridge with the door left open.

i've been walking around downtown, looking for that perfect 'urban decay meets unexpected hope' shot. the brick warehouses are gorgeous in a derelict way, with vines crawling up like green veins. there's an old clock tower that's stopped at 3:47, probably the last time anyone cared about time in this town. i took a photo of it-something about the frozen time feels right for the script we're working on, which is about a guy who can't move on from his past. (original, i know.) i overheard a local at the bean barn saying, 'that clock's been broke since the flood of '85, they say it's haunted by a banker who still counts his money.' that's the kind of weird lore i can use. also, someone warned me that the pimento cheese at the corner diner is 'so good it'll make you question your life choices,' which i guess is a review? i'm definitely trying it tomorrow.

the neighbors? if you get itchy feet, charlotte's about an hour north, and atlanta's a three-hour cruise down i-85. but why would you leave? there's a raw, unfiltered vibe here that big cities lost decades ago. i spent an hour on main street just watching the light change on the brick facades-the golden hour here is something else, all long shadows and dust motes. i can already see a scene: our protagonist standing under that flickering neon sign of the 'royal bird' laundromat, rain just starting to fall. (the rain would be fake, of course; we'd bring in a machine. but the setting's real.) i've also got my eye on an abandoned textile mill on the outskirts. the location manager gave me these numbers: 4597200 and 1840015482. i think they're meant to be gps coordinates, but when i typed them into my phone, they pointed to a backyard full of junked cars and a suspiciously well-fed goat. maybe it's an inside joke. or maybe the goat's the real protagonist.

anyway, here's the general area i'm focusing on:

the town's got a few cool spots that the locals are proud of, but they're not on any tourist map. i asked around on the spartanburg film commission board and got some leads. apparently, the old train depot is a hotspot for urban explorers-though you need to be careful; the floor's rotten in places. i read a yelp thread about the best BBQ in town, and let me tell you, the arguments over whether sauce should be vinegar-based or mustard-based get heated. i'm partial to the vinegar stuff myself; it cuts through the humidity. if you're ever in the area, check out the tripadvisor page for spartanburg's offbeat attractions for some hidden gems like the 'world's largest bucket of bolts' (yes, that's a real thing).

i snapped a few pictures that capture the mood:

i'm losing sleep over this project, not just because of the time zone differences with the producers in berlin, but because the numbers 4597200 and 1840015482 keep appearing in my dreams as countdown timers. maybe they're the number of frames in the final cut? or the exact amount of money we're missing? i don't know. but i do know that the humidity's making my hair look like a startled bird's nest, and i haven't shaved in four days. it's a good look for a film scout-blend into the decay.

the food here is another story. i had the biscuit at sarah's cafe, and it was so fluffy it could have doubled as a pillow. the gravy was salty and peppery, perfect for dipping. i also tried the fried green tomatoes at a joint called 'the battered gourd'-they were crisp, tangy, and came with a horseradish mayonnaise that cleared my sinuses for a full hour. that's a plus in this muggy air. i've overheard a local saying that the secret ingredient is love, but i think it's just a lot of butter.

there's a certain melancholy to this town, but it's not depressing-it's like a slow-burn blues song that you can't get out of your head. i've been walking the streets at dusk, when the streetlights flicker on one by one, and i swear i see scenes from our script playing out in real life: a woman in a red raincoat waiting at a bus stop that doesn't exist anymore; a man polishing a trumpet on a porch that's about to collapse. it's eerie and beautiful. the film's working title is 'the last frame' and i'm starting to think spartanburg is the only place that could hold it.

i also need to mention the pressure thing again: that sea level versus ground level discrepancy is messing with my sense of equilibrium. it's like the town is gently pushing back against the weight of the sky. i keep expecting rain, but it never comes. instead, we get this constant, drizzling mist that makes everything glisten but doesn't soak you. it's perfect for filming-no harsh shadows, just soft, diffused light. our dp (director of photography) will probably thank me for finding such a naturally lit location.

anyway, i've got to head back to the mill tomorrow with my notebook and a giant coffee. the goat might be there. i'll ask the owner if we can rent his backyard for a day. maybe the numbers are his goat's registration? who knows. i'll let you know how it goes. if you ever find yourself in spartanburg, don't follow the crowds-wander the backstreets, listen to the hum of the old factories, and maybe you'll catch a glimpse of whatever ghost is haunting this place. just remember to check the clock tower; if it's still at 3:47, you're on time.