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.