Tuesday, 17 March 2009
Sunday, 15 March 2009
Friday, 13 March 2009
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
Final day in Hollywood and Fort Lauderdale
Wednesday 11 March
Desoto Ocean View Inn
I've been expecting various packages to be couriered over with maps and other information, but still not a sausage.
But Steve at the Desoto has taken charge of things and, in the absence of any information from the Hollywood Tourism people, has sorted out a few things. He appears at my door just as I am finishing off breakfast, saying he is going to Fort Lauderdale to pick up some maps and other information from the tourist office and will be back in about 30 minutes.
But, after the frustrations of yesterday, I am anxious to get as much out of the day as I possibly can and set off shortly afterwards by car to find the Greater Fort Lauderdale Convention and Visitors Bureau.
I was last in Fort Lauderdale with the Navy over 30 years ago and, to be frank, I don't recognise a thing. I'm impressed with the centre though. Some really good modern architecture and nice, wide, boulevards. Not so impressive, really, is the driving. It's probably the first time in a month that I am driving through a town centre on my own. It's mad, completely mad. I can't get over how they switch lanes with no warning at all, with a mobile phone clamped to one ear and a coffee mug or soft drink in the other hand. Completely bonkers! Mind you, I once passed an American driving test which involved me driving round one block, parking back in the space I had left and showing the examiner where the lights and indicators were. While she was testing me, she was also assessing a motorcyclist behind. So if that is the standard of the test, it's no wonder they drive so badly.
Finding the office is easy and I am greeted by Kim Canter, the Visitor Bureau's Public Relations Coordinator. She appears somewhat bemused that her colleagues in Hollywood have not been in touch before they left town. But she clearly knows her craft and I am provided with the wherewithal to get around.
I stop off at the local Borders Bookshop to buy a few CD's, including that of the Public Television Concert I have been watching over the past three nights. I always love visiting Borders, what they do, they do wonderfully well. They all have coffee shops, but this one has a terrace overlooking a pretty canal as well as its' own butterfly garden. How cool is that?
There's a bit of a flood in the gents and I am impressed at the speed at which the radio-connected assistant at the coffee shop summonses assistance and someone is there within minutes to sort out the problem.
I skim through the wealth of information I have just picked up and make a plan of action for my day.
First port of call is to the Bonnet House Museum and Gardens. This is a very stylish property built between 1920 and 1940 for Frederick Clay Bartlett, an artist from Chicago. I can't stay long, with all the delays of yesterday, I need to try and get round a few things to get an impression of the city.
The lady at the cash desk is not entirely sure what to do with the VIP Visitor Pass that Kim has provided, but when I explain my mission, attaches a blue wristband to me and introduces me to volunteer Lynda Stackhouse. Lynda is great. She gives me a self-guided tour, tells me the best bits to see and sets me off on my way.
The 35 acres of grounds are gorgeous and there's a lot to see. Although we are right beside the busy waterfront road, the gardens are just a delight.
My self-guided tour propels me towards the house itself and I walk through an open gate into an utterly charming courtyard. At which point I am challenged, somewhat brusquely, by a man, whose badge announces him to be Paul Powell, volunteer. I am asked what I am doing. I explain, only to be told that I have the wrong wristband to be allowed to take photos of the courtyard. I need to be escorted, which will take 90 minutes and will not start for nearly an hour. I have been given the name of the curator, Stephen Draft, who duly arrives. But Stephen is totally unimpressed with my VIP Visitor card and my request to visit a couple of rooms. 'It's a tour or nothing, no photography allowed. That's the way we have always done things'.
He does, however, tell me that the best view of the house is to be had from the beachfront side and I walk around to get the one shot I need.
But the view is completely spoilt by a ghastly tent in front of the house, presumably for weddings and suchlike. Classic picture opportunity, this is not.
I'm hugely disappointed. There doesn't seem to be a lot of 'Hidden Florida' around and Bonnet House had the possibility of becoming the centrepiece of my feature of the area. Maybe I'll send them one of my 'Handling the Media' leaflets. Their inflexible and obstructive attitude reminds me so much how British Business dealt with the media during industrial disputes in the 1970's
At the gate, the ever-friendly Lynda is helping someone move a lady in a wheelchair into a car. It's quite a strange situation, almost as if the woman has never done this before. The poor soul in the wheelchair is slumped and uncommunicative. I feel very sorry for her.
I ask Lynda where to go for a bite of lunch and she advises a place called 'California Burgers and Shakes', just a few blocks away.
I'm just completing my order when the wheelchair-bound lady appears with not one, but two helpers. They've obviously overheard my conversation with Lynda and followed me here. But the previously slumped and uncommunicative wheelchair-bound woman is now totally compus mentis. Very odd.
Rob and Brian have been running their business, 'across from the Galleria Mall at the 7-11 plaza' for six months and their formula clearly works. Tall and friendly Brian seems to be the front of house man, while the quieter Rob beavers away flaming the burgers and making the shakes. With the exception of places like Zaks, we don't generally have a good reputation for burgers in the UK, so this is only the second one I have had in almost a month in Florida.
But this is sensational. It actually tastes like real meat and I am assured that it is. Great recommendation and I look forward to seeing a whole chain of them in a few years. But their graphic designer is dyslexic. The card says they are ARCOSS from the Galleria Mall'.
Fort Lauderdale is very much a city on the water, with the Intracoastal waterway, rivers and canals, as well as the sea. So much so, that the marketing people promote the 'Venice of America'. For sure, they have not been to Venice, because apart from the water, I can see no similarities at all. Apart from anything, when it's hot the canals in Venice stink and these do not. But it's a really nice way to get around.
We are told that 'Crew members are permitted to accept gratuities'. I hope that nobody from National Express takes the culture back home. Imagine!
I hoped to fit the Stranahan House Museum into my day, but time is short and my 'Never Lost' can't seem to locate 335 SE 6th Avenue. But, in any case, rush hour is building and I need to get back to do my online check in for my flight back to London and to grab the best available seat. Back at the inn, the information from Hollywood Tourism has arrived.
There's a superb full moon shining brightly across the Atlantic Ocean just a few steps from my room at the Desoto Oceanview Inn. I clamber up the ramp to the lifeguard hut to set up my little tripod to take some pictures. Three local youngsters are already there and, in the way of the confidence inbred in most young Americans are soon chatting away. Rafael is studying to be a paramedic, Samantha to be a veterinary assistant, while Sarah is still at school. In four weeks, I have only met four 'indiginous Floridians'. Now, I have numbers 5, 6 and 7!
Steve is tied up with some family business, so Josias kindly agrees to join me for my 'last supper'. W have a couple of places we thought we'd like to try. First port of call is Morton's, a nationwide chain. We decline the 'valet parking' and I am asked to give my name so it can be entered into a computer at the front desk
This is apparently so our server can be very polite and call the guest by their proper name. Unfortunately, he assumes Josias is me, which rather defeats the object. He brings a wine list, then suggests some cocktails we might enjoy. If the computer is psychic, it's clearly broken, because Bombay Sapphire and tonic is not mentioned.
It's at the point we ask for the menu, to be told that there are none, but instead we will be given a 'verbal presentation'. Josias looks at me and I at him and we decide it's all too much. We just want a decent steak, not all this pretentious nonsense.
J. Alexander's looks much more like the thing. Apart from six serving staff appearing to be having a noisy staff meeting immediately behind our table and who seem unimpressed at us asking them to move, the meal and service is excellent.
There's an unusual, but tasty, combo of spinach and cheese and spicy 'Pico de gallo', dips with tortilla chips, a truly excellent Caesar salad and the best New York strip steak I have had in a month's trip.
My bed is like a packing station, so there's a fair bit of sorting to do to clamber into it. I barely hear the headlines of today's BBC News pod, before I am fast asleep.
Monday, 9 March 2009
Final Two nights in Hollywood, Florida
The DeSoto Oceanview Inn
Hollywood, Florida
Monday Evening
After dinner at Pierre's, I do the ironing, watch a great fund raising music concert featuring David Foster and friends on public television and am asleep before my head hits the pillow.
I'm awakened at 11 by what sounds like a thunderous rain storm outside. I wasn't expecting this! But it's not rain, there's obviously some automatic sprinkler system, but it's more a noisy torrent than a sprinkle. Luckily, I get straight back to sleep.
As dawn breaks across the eastern sky, I walk alone on the perfect beach. It is stunningly beautiful and I so want to come back here for a proper holiday.
I'm dreaming of this plan lying in a superbly comfortable hammock, when another couple disturb my reverie.
I am greatly amused that the only thing I am making in my kitchen is a bowl of microwaved porridge. There is every device conceivable, so I could have produced a banquet, had I so wished.
I need to be in Hollywood by half past one, because I am being met by a local PR girl, who is standing in for the Hollywood Visitor Bureau team, who are off at a sales conference. There are no problems on the road, although I have to keep fishing for toll money for the various turnpikes. My Hertz NeverLost GPS system keeps me right, even round some complex junctions near Miami. The roads are horrendously busy, but I am on schedule for my meeting and to collect a bike.
When I arrive at the Desoto Oceanview Inn in Hollywood (www.thedesoto.com), manager, Steve Welsch, is in a bit of a fluster. Everyone has been late checking out, so things are behind. But, no worries, I stash my consumables in the fridge and have my lunch in the serenity of the Inn's lovely peaceful garden. There's still no sign or sound of my host, my itinerary or my bike, so Steve's Venezuelan partner, Josias, kindly lends me his.
I have a very happy couple of hours exploring the superb beaches and the cycle path round the very attractive Anne Kolb nature centre.
I'm not long back at the inn and about to set off in my car to investigate the local rail station, when my host shows up. She's been 'in a meeting'.
I don't think my final two days of 'Hidden Florida' will add a lot to my story. My proposed itinerary consists largely of suggestions of places to eat. It's very disappointing. I am sure there's a lot more to this place, but somebody somewhere has dropped the ball and I am not best pleased.
I've already copped it from Visit Florida's PR people in London for supposedly being too demanding. With more than thirty years in the leisure and tourism business, I expect high standards of professionalism and get very frustrated when people produce sloppy work. Just like Pensacola, Hollywood has not even thought to let me have a map of the local area. Now, I'll be told off again for allegedly wanting to have my hand held too much. Jeez.
But Steve is great. He makes a few phone calls, comes up with some ideas. Meantime, I pore over my Lonely Planet, Rough Guide and map and come up with a plan which will at least give me something which meets my brief..
When I get back from the local TriRail station, Steve and Josias kindly take me out to dinner at a local Cuban restaurant. I can't thank them enough for their kindness.
Back at the Inn, public television is showing, for the third night running, their special fund raising concert. It's jolly good, but three nights in a row?
Even the BBC wouldn't do that!
Sunday, 8 March 2009
Paradise Discovered at the Purple Island
Moorings Village, Islamorada, Sunday night
I am not sure whether I simply beat the traffic on Highway One, but the journey north was a lot more pleasant than the journey south. It was a weird feeling though going over the Boca Chica bridge, under which, 24 hours previously, Captain Victoria had her 'crew' making wolf calls while the imp II whizzed along at 50 knots.
Apart from being stuck behind a mail trunker for too many miles to be fun, the journey to Islamorada was actually not as bad as I had feared. I had set my iPod to 'shuffle' mode, which produced an interesting mix. From an episode of Paul Temple to my favourite song from the Disney film of the Jungle Book, 'The Bare Necessities'. Eclectic, yes?
I just have to stop at Annie's Beach, where kite surfers were making amazing patterns in the sky as they whizzed along in the strong breeze.
I have to take my life into my hands to cross the dreaded Highway 1 for my first appointment. It is at Robbie's Marina where, in warm weather, the large tarpon fish literally jump out of the water to take food. But the water is comparatively cold, so the spectacle is a bit of a damp squib. Even worse, something has gone wrong in the planning and Captain Michael is not expecting me for a 1200 boat trip. When I tell the man selling tickets that I am a journalist, he tells me that 'photographs are not allowed for commercial purposes'.
Eventually Annie, Michael's wife is produced. She tells me that the boat is 'a party boat' for 50 people that will be departing at 2pm for a four hour trip. But my name is not on the list and my contact, Mark, is off till Tuesday.
Four hours fishing on a party boat? I think not!
Luckily, my bacon is saved, because, anticipating just a short boat trip, not a four hour drinking binge, I had organised an early check in at Moorings Village, just four miles further north.
I am lucky to have been to some of the world's greatest hotels and resorts, the Orient Express's Napasai on Samui Island in Thailand being among my very special favourites. Well Moorings is up there , and maybe beyond. Apart from the previous occupant's kirby grips being left on the shelf above the bath, this resort is perfection in every way. The sand is raked, there's not a sound apart from the wind through the trees and the superbly equipped 18 villas and cottages are set amongst lush coconut groves within a few steps of a perfect white beach. Of all the places I have stayed on this trip, this is the one I would choose for a week of total relaxation. I would stock up with groceries at the supermarket and not move until it was time to return to Miami. The $450 a night you would pay for the Orchid House, off season, is to me, a small price to pay for a resort which prides itself in peace and quiet. I am in absolute heaven.
Thomas Gibson, the Moorings' guest services manager has made my reservation for dinner and looks slightly surprised when he spies me heading off on a beach reconnaissance mission. For the first time in my life, I have been completely oblivious of the clocks going forward and far from having 90 minutes to potter about, I am due to dine in only half an hour!
I have been invited to Pierre's restaurant, which I have been told is 'across the road from the Moorings'. I have envisaged it being just a few steps from the villa, but no, it's across that bloody awful Highway 1 and I literally have to take my life in my hands getting to the eating venue. Very scary on foot.
Pierre's is only open for dinner and is a very seriously 'Fine Dining' restaurant. Thomas has advised me to wear something 'Keys casual' which seems to mean longs and a sports shirt. The table next to me is taken by a couple in their 20's, the lady very smartly turned out and beautifully made up, the man, unshaven in jeans, t shirt and sandals. It's the Keys I guess.
The wine list includes a Chateau Latour 1986 or a 1995 Margaux, both priced at $1200, which I think my hosts might not appreciate me choosing, so have a very acceptable glass of Chilean cabernet for $7.
I choose the $22 pan-seared foie gras and the Australian rack of lamb, on the menu at $38. Both are excellent but, with French fusion being the style of the restaurant, the portions are unusually small for this part of the world.
The young waitress suggests a dessert wine with my foie gras. I remember Jilly Goolden telling me years ago that good sommeliers should first ask what suits your palate before masking any suggestions. But, after bringing me the wine list so I could see what was available, the girl disappeared, never to be seen again.
The young man at the next door table was, like me, taking photos of the beautiful sunset, so I lend him my tripod. We chat for quite a while. Zak is in finance in New York, while his girlfriend, Heather, is in fashion. They are both from Philadelphia, a historic city I really must visit. I don't have the heart to suggest to Heather that she should get her boyfriend to dress rather smarter to take her out to dinner!
There's a full moon party on the beach in front of the restaurant this evening, but it's past my bedtime and I finish my meal before the fun and games starts. There are some seriously beefy black-clad security men skulking about, which always makes me uneasy. I can never understand why such classy places need to recruit security staff who are quite so intimidating.
I'm delighted that the local police have set up a street-crossing patrol and take advantage of it. I mention to the cop that Highway 1 is a seriously dangerous road. 'Yup', is the monosyllabic reply.
The full moon lights my way home to my wonderful villa. I shall write this, upload my photos and then go for a walk on the beach. I never do that at home which perhaps says just how special the Moorings (www.themooringsvillage.com) really is.
Hasta Luego Key West
Ambrosia Guest House, Key West
Sunday morning
I am actually a bit down this morning. First impressions of Key West were awful, but people have been so kind and generous that I, for sure, have a lump in my throat as I pack my final bits and pieces before I head north. My emotional state is not helped by a lovely email I have just received from Captain Victoria, an extract of which is below and that Ben at reception has just told me that Susan has very kindly left me a jar of her yummy 'Lemon Love', which is lemon curd with lemons from Neal and Susan's home in Orlando. I feel very humbled to have been welcomed so readily into this community.
You are an absolute hoot of a character and I am so glad to have met you. I look forward to your return and a lifetime of following you around the world in pictures. I am so thankful that you finally found "Hidden Florida". Big Hugs V
Saturday, 7 March 2009
'Hidden Florida' at last and an induction into the Conch Republic Navy
Key West
Saturday Night
After last night's splendid dinner with Finnbar and Julie, I wake as refreshed as I have in three weeks of travelling. But I don't have a long time to linger. Neal and Susan from next door are picking me up to go on a boat trip which promises much. So, there's not much time to enjoy the excellent breakfast at the Ambrosia before the appointed hour. But Susan is taking time over her hair, which benefits Amy the Ambrosia cat, who I am planning to catnap if nobody is looking. But while Amy dutifully purrs while Ben at reception chats to Neal, it's quite clear that our relationship is going nowhere.
I've checked out Captain Victoria Impallomeni's website (www.captainvictoria.com) and I am a little bit sceptical. Coming from a seafaring family, Floridian Vicky has salt water coursing through her veins. But I've done so much eco tourism stuff recently, that I have had a long chat with her beforehand to ensure we'll both get something out of the day. As Neal drives, Susan works out how best to pin her hair back for the boat trip.
Vicky has invited two couples to join myself and Art, her partner, on the trip from Murray's Marina, five miles north of Key West. With a 200 horsepower engine, the Imp II speeds through the turquoise water at an impressive fifty miles an hour. I'm impressed at how the Captain steers the boat expertly through some pretty narrow and shallow channels while Art, another salty sea-dog, regales the passengers with some pretty incredible local seafarers' tales.
It's when we get to Boca Grande, an island 12 miles from Key West, that i realise that my search for the 'Hidden Florida' has finally been realised. We've only been nosed into a channel into a mangrove swamp for moments when Vicky spots a Mangrove snappeer fish who has got his head trapped in the tree roots. She lifts him out and he swims away, none the worse for his ordeal.
Vicky leads us on a wonderful walk along the beach. Susan is collecting 'treasure' and we all end up carrying bags stuffed full of shells, seaweed and assorted pretty objects.
Vicky's knowledge of the flora and fauna is truly astonishing. she just appears not only to know the answers but importantly, why things are as they are.
But she keeps his party trick for our return trip. She stops the boat and, with the motor which raises the outboard engine, makes a few low frequency sounds which are carried into the water. Within moments, a pod of Dolphin come to say hello. Vicky even has special marine loudspeakers mounted into the hull and plays music that she believes can attract the dolphin to her boat.
It's a truly special day. Boca Grande is spectacular and it's been a real privilege to have been taken there. But it's been pretty windy travelling at high speed and Susan's hair is a mess.
But there's another big surprise. Finnbar, the First Sea Lord of the Conch Republic Navy, has decided that I am to be inducted into the force as a Captain, as a flotilla commander, and as an envoy to the Spanish Navy. A ceremony is held on the dockside next door to the flagship in which I have to swear allegiance. After 38 years full time service with the Royal Navy and Reserve, it's a fitting extension to my long association with the sea. As a bonus, Susan's agreed to be my mate and I have agreed to make no more jokes about her hair.
We adjourn to the Hogfish, a local Stock Island hostelry (another little 'Hidden Florida' gem) for drinks and a celebration lunch, there's just time for a quick swim back at the Ambrosia before sunset at Mallory Square.
As I drove into Key West, I really did wonder why I was spending three nights here. The approaches are gaudy and run down, Highway One is no fun at all.
But now I don't want to go. Yes, there are parts of Duval Street which are tourist tat at their absolute worst.
But the locals have bent over backwards to really help me discover that there is a lot more to the area than that image presents.
It's been a rare insight into the people and the place and it's been truly special.
Now I'm part of the fleet command structure, they want me back for the Pirates in Paradise Festival in the Autumn and something else in the Spring.
Now THAT's a welcome.
Friday, 6 March 2009
Chilling at Key West
Key West
Friday March 6
I have a wonderful night's sleep at the Ambrosia and am greatly refreshed by the cool air on my terrace at 6am, aided and abetted by a lovely cup of Typhoo.
There is, of course, not a soul about and, with breakfast still three hours away, I pile into the mountain of brochures I have already accumulated and plan the day ahead.
By the time breakfast is out in the gazebo below, I have a pretty good grasp of the day in front of me, rather different from the originally-planned itinerary.
Not being a fan of driving, I have decided to leave the car parked where it is until Sunday and spend my day trying to really get a feel of Key West. I am supposed to drive 30 miles north, but after yesterday, am going nowhere except on the saddle of my bike.
Breakfast is, by some distance, the best I have had, since Apalachicola. The variety is hugely impressive, from wonderfully fresh fruit to excellent tasty breads and pastries. It's impressive, but then everything at the Ambrosia is. It's well run with particular attention to detail, while the level of equipment and thought that has gone into your room is truly amazing. I've even found books to read, never mind the tea and coffee making machine, microwave and fridge. My travel kettle is temporarily redundant!
After breakfast, my US mobile telephone starts to ring. Julie has clearly been busy and all sorts of local folk are buying into the 'Hidden Florida' agenda.
My first port of call is to the Fort Zachary Taylor historic State Park. (www.fortzacharytaylor.com and www.forttaylor.org). I am honoured that my guide has come in on his day off to see me, but also that he is a General in the Conch Republic Army. I am anxious that Harry Smid will be in his full dress uniform, but today he's in Key West relaxed kit of shorts and t-shirt.
Begun in 1845, to guard the entrance to the harbour against the British, French and Spanish, it remained under federal control during the American Civil War and was in use for almost a hundred years. I remark upon the similarity to European firsts but am told by the General that a French architect, Simon Bernard, had been recruited after Waterloo.
There are some amazing cannon, including an 1865 Parrott rifle, which could propel a 300 pound shot between 4 and 5 miles.
In a later phase, the fort was equipped with 145 cannon and when it was decommissioned, to save time and money, the weaponry was simply buried deep in the walls, where most remain to this day. Once a year, a volunteer brings some special equipment, which finds more and more hidden deep in the concrete.
The General needs to attend to some important Conch Republic duties, so I am left to explore on my own. I stumble into an area that I thought was public, but is clearly not. The supposedly peace-loving Republic has a huge stash of cannon and other live munitions. I feel honour-bound to report it now, in case the Republic does decide to declare war on the mighty USA to the north. I just hope that the CIA, the Conch Intelligence Agency, does not read this.
At my time of visit is an excellent sculpture trail. On the beach, widely regarded by locals as the finest in Key West, I spot an amazing mirror sculpture. A passing seagull is just as fascinated as I am. He struts back and forth wondering why another gull is starting back at him.
At the Eco-Discovery Centre, I meet with Craig Wanous. This excellent centre, built at a cost of $6.5 million only two years ago, does a really good job of interpreting the offshore wildlife habitat. There's a nice introductory video, except that the director clearly has an eye for the ladies and concentrates on the female swimmer almost as much as the fish and plant life.
Craig tells me that they are already up to 30,000 annual visitors. I am not surprised, the exhibits are very well presented, with a lot to interest both adults and youngsters alike.
Nearby is the USS Mohawk, a former WWII coastguard cutter. (www.ussmohawk.org). Fritz Zivic shows me around. Mohawk was rescued from a scrapyard in a totally dilapidated state. But piece by piece, a loyal band of volunteers are bringing her back to life. It's a costly business. Just towing her to Key West cost $60,000. The Captain's sea cabin has been converted into a rather bijou three-berth room to let, although there's a lot of work still needing to be done to the bathroom area to make it ready for paying guests. I am fascinated by some of the memorabilia they have amassed, including a lot about the ship's dog, Ricky, who seems to have been quite a character. Apparently Ricky did not like the Captain and was prone to biting him!
As I cycle towards the waterfront to catch a better view of the two enormous cruise liners that are in port, I discover the Truman Annex complex. Used for guests of the then President, this is a charming sand beautifully-maintained area, some of which now available for rentals. www.compass-realty.com.
I've steered clear of the Mallory Park area until now because of the visit of the huge cruise liners, Carnival Destiny and Celebrity Century. Between the two, some five and a half thousand passengers will have been allowed ashore.
As I watch the two leviathan liners prepare to leave port, I get chatting to a young American, Ben MacMillen, who knows nothing about shipping and is pleased I can explain some of the intricacies of what he is seeing happen. Ben, who is the son of a baptist missionary, is passionate to travel and questions me interminably about where I have been during my travels. On his way back to meet his brother and sister in law, with whom he has travelled from Atlanta, he pops by for a beer and to marvel at my wonderful terrace at the Ambrosia.
I have had to get my smart trousers, shirt and shiny shoes out of my main suitcase. Word has reached The First Sea Lord of the Conch republic Navy, Admiral Finbar Gittelman, that I am in town and I am invited to dine with him and his good lady.
I am regaled with salty sea stories and a somewhat frightening tale of losing a ship in a hurricane, then riding through the storm in a rubber dinghy.
The Admiral, looking all the world like Captain Birds Eye, very kindly invites me to visit his flagship, the schooner Wolf, tomorrow and I have much pleasure in accepting.
When I first drove into Key West, I thought what a horrid place it is. Well, for sure on Duvall Street, it's a party town. But scratch under the surface, get off the main drag and, quite clearly, the 'Hidden Florida' is right there waiting to be discovered.
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Key Largo to Key West
Key Largo to Key West
Thursday 5 March
I wish I could have stayed at Dove Creek Lodge for longer. Just opening my curtains onto my balcony with the view of the rising sun over Key Largo was a real treat. It's at that point that I realise that, for weeks, I have not seen a sunrise, but a lot of sunsets. Now, as I head south, with the ever-narrowing Keys, I'll be able to see both!
My first port of call is to the John Pennekamp State Park for an early morning snorkelling trip. (www.pennekamppark.com). The Park, and the adjacent national maritime sanctuary, cover 178 nautical square miles of coral reefs, seagrass beds and mangrove swamps. People come here from all over the world to dive on the only living coral reef in the continental US.
There are only six of us, but the checking in procedure is pretty shambolic. Once on the boat, the crew is excellent, with very good safety briefings and snorkelling instruction for the four members of our party who hadn't done it before.
I spend the 30-minute trip to the coral reef on the bridge with Captain Craig Cross. He's another interloper, in fact all three crew members come from New Jersey.
The snorkelling is excellent, although there's a bit of a swell and clearly weather conditions are about to change. The water is pretty clear, we see all sorts of interesting species, including a load of conch shells, the symbol of the Conch Republic as Floridians like to call their piece of paradise. A barracuda or two swim idly by. The coral is not nearly as good as what I have seen at Lord Howe Island off Australia, but it's a nice trip.
On the way back through the astonishingly turquoise water, Craig and I chat about nautical things. He reveals that he's descended from Scots immigrants, so I'll be passing him the information I have already sourced on genealogy for JoNell and Cathy in Naples.
I think the designer of my programme is a helicopter pilot, because there is absolutely no way I can stop for lunch and get to the Turtle Hospital in Marathon by the appointed hour. Even going without eating, I am 20 minutes late for my tour. I can't quite get my head round the fact that, on a former motel site, with the buildings all still in evidence, the owner has chosen to run a 'not for profit' organisation to rehabilitate injured turtles. Selling the land would make enough money to build something totally geared to the job, but nobody I ask will explain to me exactly why. My itinerary allocates only one hour for the tour, but the video and briefing alone takes that up, so I can only take a quick look at the turtles and leave for my next appointment.
Nearby is Pigeon Key, (where 500 workers stayed while constructing the Florida East Coast Railway. You can walk the 2 miles across the original rail bridge between Miami and Key West which, after the railroad closed, became the first road link. There's also a boat, on which I was the only passenger, so the crew stayed while tour guide Dee showed me around. The project was funded by Henry Flagler, who despite owning 31% of Standard Oil, kept his successes pretty private. There are great views of the new seven-mile bridge next to the old one, part of which is maintained as a fishing pier.
The drive south to Key West is ghastly. Nose to tail traffic, 40 miles an hour and tedious in the extreme. I can see why so many people choose to fly one way. Sadly, I have to drive all the way back again on Sunday.
But my welcome at the Ambrosia guest house (www.ambrosiakeywest.com) in Key West more than makes up for the stress of the journey.
Julie and Tina are marvellous hosts, find me a parking space, thrust a cold beer into my hand, book me a bicycle and show me to my room. While without the wow factor of the view of last night, this just has wow factor because of the room. It's colonial style, with a wonderful terrace on which to sit and read, including a wooden swing seat. I'll admit I am totally shattered and my brain has almost shut down completely. It's been a really long and tiring day. But Julie takes over and sorts out all sort of things for me, including various inductions into the Conch republic hierarchy. She's an absolute treasure.
I potter off on my bike to see the sun setting from Mallory Square, where a whole circus of escapologists and tight rope walkers are setting up for their evening revels.
Me, I am going to have a quick beer and bite, then I will be collapsing into my enormous four poster bed.
Julie has given me two keys. Maybe she knows something I don't.
Wednesday, 4 March 2009
From sending postcards to swimming with dolphin
Wednesday 4 March
Key Largo
I am disappointed to miss the Ivey House's Mangrove Tunnel eco-adventure, (www.evergladesadventures.com) but the bonus is that I don't have to rush around first thing. The six and a half hour trip is a hefty $124, with a $25 discount if you are staying at the Ivey House. Lunch is included.
While the boarding house is certainly not luxurious, it is extremely comfortable and fastidiously clean. My room is one which surrounds the pool with ceramic floors, so I am concerned that passing traffic will mean a disturbed night. In fact, I sleep like a log, so much so that I allow myself the luxury of two cups of Typhoo before my morning shower. Hurrah again for the travel kettle!
Breakfast is a pretty substantial buffet served in an open area with large hostel-style tables, but with the tours having departed at crack of dawn, there's not a lot of folk about.
There's hardly a car on the road as I depart, but I stop a couple of times to take a few snaps.
The old road between Tampa and Miami, US41 or the Tamiami Trail, is at its best here and the drive towards Miami is extremely pleasant. I am heading along a deserted stretch, when I spy a tiny little post office to my right. I think about it for a mile or so, then curiosity gets the better of me, so I make a U turn. My Hertz NeverLost is not pleased and takes a lot of convincing that I know what I am doing. Ochopee Post Office is the smallest in the entire US. Nanette Watson, the postmaster, is busy sorting the morning mail, in time for people to start picking it up at 1030. At this busiest time of year, she will have some 1500 visitors a week, but a quarter of that out of season. She's only the third native Floridian I have met on the entire trip, coming from Chokoloskee Island. I pay $1.33 for a stamped postcard which will get a local frank I am told this is quite coveted by collectors. In my card, my mother is thus told not to throw it away!
JoNell has suggested a couple of other stops en route to the Keys. The first is The Kirby Storter Roadside Park and Boardwalk. It turns out to be an absolutely delightful mile long walk through a Cypress Forest. It's the sort of thing that Americans do terribly well and I am thrilled that I took the time to stop. The walk is utterly, utterly charming.
The second is to visit the Big Cypress Gallery, where the work of Clyde Butcher, widely regarded as one of America's greatest living photographers is on display. While his work, always in black and white, is undoubtedly hugely impressive, the prices of some of his prints are astonishing. One 3 feet by 4 feet limited edition print of a moonrise, admittedly truly wonderful, is a jaw-dropping $8275. There are other prints which cost three thousand dollars more.
Clyde Butcher turned to photography for solace after a drink driver killed his son.
I am taking in the wonder of some of his work (www.clydebutcher.com), always captured on large format cameras, when a rather noisy and overbearing guide from Everglades Day Safari comes in with a mini bus full of sardine-like tourists in tow. The spell is broken, so I pay $30 dollars for a book of Clyde's work and continue my journey east.
The journey gets pretty slow and tedious for the last 10 miles as I approach the outskirts of Miami, passing Miccouskee where the owners of a vast number of cars are hard at work losing their money in the casino.
Turning south, the road is lined with hundreds of nurseries, from where, presumably, the landscaper gardeners of Naples and beyond get their specimens. Near Homestead, I stop to marvel at the efficient way in which a team of Spanish-speaking workers strip a field of tomatoes and load them at breakneck speed into tractor-pulled trailers.
Having skirted round Miami, I join Highway 1 just south of the exit for Biscayne National Park.
A lot of road works are going on, so the journey to Key Largo averages just 45 miles an hour. But I'm in time for my first ever chance of swimming with dolphins. I join a group of six UK tourists, each of whom has paid $185 for the experience. (www.dolphinsplus.com). I am fascinated to learn that the clicking noise that dolphin make comes not from their mouths, but from an area near their blowhole. While they have stereoscopic vision like us, they can also use their eyes totally independently, so are able to keep tabs on two things at once. Kevin the instructor, is very good at explaining what to do once we are in the water and, trussed up like chickens in tight-fitting wetsuits and life vests, we are soon putting the theory into practice.
I am swimming with Nica and Elvis, two Atlantic Bottlenose Dolphin. Kevin, who's from Ohio, tells me that he'd set his sights when he was very young on a career working with animals and, after graduating, spent time with Sea World in Orlando before joining Dolphins Plus.
I feel rather like one of the subjects being trained as Kevin puts the delightful animals (and me) through my paces. I am propelled round the pool, letting Nica and Elvis nose into my feet or my outstretched hands. Their skin feels rather like tough rubber, totally smooth. The funniest bit is when I am asked to sing. Kevin tells me that the animals will respond to something rousing. So, when I belt out a chorus of 'Flower of Scotland', I am surrounded by a whole chorus of clicking animals, others swimming to join Nica, Elvis and I in the fun. Remarkable, quite astonishing and a huge privilege to have been able to do.
I will confess, though, that having to change in a toilet is not what I would expect for a fee of $185.
My home for tonight is Dove Creek Lodge (www.dovecreeklodge.com) further down Highway 1 in Key Largo.
During this trip, I have been fortunate to have stayed in and visited many wonderful properties, but none so far has had quite the wow factor as this. Maybe it's the proximity of the water and the turquoise water of the south Atlantic, but the exceptionally comfortable and stylish Dove Creek has it all.
I should really go and eat out, but I have procured a couple of wonderfully fresh tomatoes from the Mexican workers up the road and have bought some nice bread and cheese. I am glad that I brought my tiny little salt and pepper containers!
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
Millionaire's mansions to Everglades City
Everglades City, Tuesday 3 March
I've hardly started on the daily paper when Cathy arrives. 'What's a flannel?', she asks. I explain that Americans probably call it a facecloth. But that it could also be trousers, as in blazer and flannels. Susan, the front of house manager passes by and is fascinated. It's apparently been the talk of the office after an English couple asked if the hotel supplied them. They do.
A young Columbian waiter comes to take my order. 'Where is the restroom Camillo?', asks Cathy. He breaks into a broad smile. Apparently another guest had the same trouble as me understanding directions yesterday and both Camillo and his sister Monica, as quoted in yesterday's blog, have both seen what I have written and think it terribly funny. Cathy goes on a mission to her office while Camillo and chat away in Spanish. His family came here 12 years ago, he is hoping to visit Barcelona this year. I enjoy chatting to him, especially after he compliments me on my knowledge of his native tongue.
Cathy returns, and we discuss the Inn on Fifth's important UK market. Europeans account for a third of her client base and while there's undoubtedly a slight drop off in British enquiries, that's more than compensated for by Germans. They are coming back, she says, because they wouldn't come to the US while Bush was President.
I have a lovely mountain bike waiting for me in the hotel store, courtesy of Trek Bikes. http://trekbikesflorida.com/.This is a seriously well-built and equipped cycle, but I need a decent map to go and see how the seriously wealthy live in the Port Royal area. Tourist Information doesn't have one, so the volunteer helpfully suggests I visit a real estate firm, who'll probably be able to help.
I happen upon Raymond Bowie, who seems to be a very bright chap. His elegant card says he has an MBA and a Ph. D. Who my father used to say could be described as a clever doctor, rather than a medical one. He raises his eyebrows when I say I am cycling to Port Royal, but I am sure it's a ride of about 20 minutes or so. His colleague suggests I go to City Hall, who produce an excellent map, totally free of charge. I seem to recall I saw them in the Tourist Information office, on sale for $4.
City Hall is also selling a lady an annual beach car parking pass for $50. With an average daily charge being $8, the pass represents exceptionally good value.
Naples sidewalks are excellent for biking, except when they suddenly stop, are closed for maintenance or have nasty deep gutters, all of which happen often. But Gordon Drive has a proper cycleway and speeds me into the ultra exclusive area that is Port Royal. Hardly anyone is at home, but there are Porches and Rollers scattered about. These may well belong to the gardening contractors who are everywhere, blowing, cutting and clearing. The place is immaculate. Everywhere, there are security cameras, alarmed gates and signs warning of dire consequences if you trespass. I wonder who on earth would want to live in this goldfish bowl? The houses are sensational, often vulgar, but published statistics suggest they are used on average for only eight weeks a year.
I think I shall volunteer to be a live-in caretaker. I'd even volunteer to clean the roller.
I arrive back at the hotel, to find JoNell and Angela from the local Convention and Visitor Bureau waiting to take me to north Naples to have lunch with Suzanne Lennon, who does the PR for the Bay Shore restaurant. http://www.bayhousenaples.com/
The location is wonderful, overlooking the Cocohatchee River. Having literally come from bike saddle to restaurant, I am a bit too informally dressed. But, with the exception of my three hosts and the staff, I am also, by at least 25 years, the youngest present. There are some lovely old varnished wooden boats suspended from the roof and I muse that it would be excellent to have them in the water, with wicker basket picnics and chilled Chardonnay. I claim a commission should they ever do it.
It's an excellent meal and convivial company. I would have loved to have tried some wine, but I have to drive to Everglades City.
It doesn't take long for the urban sprawl of beatifully manicured south Naples to give way to exceptionally lovely national parkland. I stop a few times to take pictures, fill up with fuel with my new American debit card, thus avoiding paying yet more commission to Mr. Barclaycard.
My base for the night is the Ivey House, where I am booked on an early morning eco-adventure. But the people co-ordinating my programme haven't been co-ordinating with each other. I am due back from the eco tour at 2.30 and am due to be in Key Largo 15 minutes later to swim with dolphins. Unfortunately, it's a three hour drive.
So, after consulting with JoNell, the eco-tour sadly will have to go without me at 7.30am, which is a real pity, because it looks absolutely splendid.
I completely unpack the 'trunk' of my car which is in some disarray and fill my main suitcase, hoping not to have to open it again until I get home.
Everglades City seems to have completely gone to bed by 10pm, so I shall have an early night too. I have two King-sized beds in my room, so the biggest decision of the day is to choose which one.
Tough, yes?
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