Hidden Florida

2009-03-17T01:50:00.001-07:00

is spinning too many plates. It's end of year for Spanish accounts, end of quarter for UK VAT and everybody wants stuff written by yesterday.

2009-03-15T07:52:00.001-07:00

is reviewing my Florida photographs and trying to whittle down hundreds to a shortlist of just 50. Not easy. Just as well I edited from thousands as I went.

2009-03-13T14:07:00.001-07:00

has just uploaded his final blog and photos on 'Hidden Florida'.
Words at: http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Photos at: http://ping.fm/EfeFM

Hidden Florida - Final thoughts

2009-03-13T10:22:00.001-07:00

Mijas Costa, Spain

Friday 13 March 9pm

This morning I wake up at 0915, after over nine hours sleep. I feel remarkably normal, despite having left Miami less than 24 hours ago.

I was genuinely sad having to leave the Desoto Oceanview Inn in Hollywood.

It was far from being the most salubrious of my accommodations, but my living area was scrupulously clean, extremely comfortable, equipped with everything I could possibly need, it was delightfully peaceful and Steve was the most perfect and welcoming host.

The transit from Hollywood to Miami airport was remarkably stress-free. The Highway was very busy, the Hertz drop-off was speedy and easy, AnneMarie at BA’s fast bag drop was lovely, the security staff were really chatty, friendly and courteous and Miami Airport was not at all the dreadful place it is purported to be. Having said that, the local advice is to choose Fort Lauderdale, if you can.

The only slight hiccup was that there’d been a crash on the Interstate and, while the passengers were all at the airport, the crew wasn’t! We boarded an hour late and I joked about it with Bruce Harris, the Cabin Services Director. His quip that‘they couldn’t leave their hotel until the end of the Manchester United game’, had a bit of a ring of truth to it. Methinks the crew had maybe left their timings just a bit tight.

I’d managed to get the same seat back as my outward leg, 61A on the 747 upper deck. The crew were rather more polite about opening and closing the privacy screen between myself and my next door neighbour than on the way out. But I do not like the layout of BA’s much vaunted Club World and I would HATE to be the person on the outer seat, over which all the drinks and food has to be passed to the person travelling in the opposite direction at the window. (They alternate the seating forward and rear-facing, in case you are confused!)

Dinner was unremarkable, but I very much enjoyed ‘Slumdog Millionaire’, although it’s a pretty gritty film in parts. After a pretty solid three hours sleep, I managed ‘Quantum of Solace’ before an interminable hold over Heathrow and arrival just after 7am.

Having been impressed with Terminal Five outbound, I discovered absolute lunacy on my return. As a transiting passenger, connecting to another international flight, I had to join throngs of completely unscreened folk flying on domestic routes to go through security again. It’s completely balmy. One BA staff member told me it was because the BAA security requirements were stricter than that in the US. I simply do not believe it.

Getting through it was a nightmare, folk were missing their flights to Glasgow, Edinburgh, Manchester and who knows where, while, in fast track, one Asian gentleman with an impressive beard was taking an age to hand search every single passenger. One Edinburgh-bound man was so angry he demanded to see the supervisor who did precisely nothing. There were too many passengers and not enough security staff. (They obviously don’t realise that 0730 in the morning is one of the busiest times of the day). Why, oh why, transit passengers are not kept airside just beggars belief. It’s barking, completely barking, BAA.

All I wanted was a shower and, once I got there, the Terraces facility was adequate without being nearly as lavish as many others I have seen around the world. There was no wireless internet working in either the north or south lounges and, as I was there for nearly five hours, it was a pretty poor show that somebody couldn’t be found to re-set the router in all that time. Many folk were asking, but BA is pretty slow about that sort of thing. I am sure anyone with a home wireless internet set up could have sorted it in five minutes! The south lounge was a lot quieter than its’ northern equivalent, so I’ll know the next time to head there straight away.

The flight to Malaga was delayed for nearly an hour while an engineer could be found to provide a written authorisation to fly with a bit of the aircraft not working. As this was a pre-existing problem, it was not a hugely impressive performance. The Airbus seating was not properly configured for Club Europe, with the normal rear cabin 3 x 3 seats throughout, with an empty one in between for the business cabin. Why? Because they save money and time by not changing the seats to the ones they advertise. Breach of contract? They’ll have something in the small print for sure.

I didn’t want to sleep, so I chatted to the Cabin Crew before take off and was just about to get wired into a crew cup of tea when the engineer arrived with the much-delayed piece of paper. But Cathleen, a delightfully smiley and chirpy hostie, told me I could go back to my seat with it while they prepared the cabin for take off. Judging by the number of other off-duty BA staff on the aircraft who were also chatting to the crew, I wonder how the revenue management graph looked?

In Club Europe, a really tasty beef casserole was served, in proper china dishes and real cutlery. But I do think the decanting into the dish from the microwaveable container should have been done in the galley and not the aisle. When later I found Cathy sitting behind her curtain tucking into the chicken alternative, I told her that the beef had actually been better than the food on the Miami London flight. ‘Yes’, she said, ‘I wanted to try that, but there was none left.’

The Alps were spectacularly bathed in sunshine and snow and we got to Malaga, where the massive new terminal is nearing completion, an hour late. No further apology for the delay from the flight deck, who’d been remarkably uncommunicative throughout the flight.

So, what of ‘Hidden Florida’?

For sure, I found some lovely spots, met some wonderful people and have a wealth of material and photographs on which to work over the next few weeks. As Denise Arencibia, the director of Latin America for Visit Florida, said to me in a final email ‘You have been to parts of the State that many Floridians haven’t been’.

I think the single biggest ‘discovery’ is the network of State and County Parks, many of whom I visited and some of which offered the most impressive beaches and scenery of any place I went to see. Fort de Soto and Caladesi in St. Pete’s/Clearwater, Historic Spanish Point in Osprey and the Randell Research Centre in Pine Island especially worked for me.

Apalachicola was very special indeed and I was reminded of it only this morning as I spread some of their very special Tupelo Honey, a gift from Chamber Director Anita Grove, on my first Spanish breakfast toast in a month. I also have Susan’s ‘Lemon Love’ from Key West to enjoy – but I am keeping that only for Sundays!

Key West was not at all what I expected. I am told it’s calmed down a lot since the wild days of the 70’s and 80’s, but there IS still a perception that it’s all drag queens and gay orgies and it’s not at all like that. (Well, maybe if you go to certain parts, it might still be). I was especially lucky in that I met some very lovely folk who turned my planned itinerary on its head and made it work for me. Just as well, the official itinerary had been planned, it appeared, by committee and was not very well co-ordinated.

Some of the accommodation was truly wonderful and the mix from small inns and motels to exclusive apartments and wonderful villas proves that there really is something in Florida to suit every taste and budget. It’s impossible to select a favourite, but the Coombes House Inn in Apalachicola, the Moorings Village in Islamorada, the Inn on Fifth in Naples, the Pasa Tiempo in St. Pete’s, The Sun and Moon Inn in Matlacha and the Desoto OceanView Inn in Hollywood are among the ones to which I would, one day, want to return? Why? Because they each had an individual personality and an ethos of their staff trying to do their very best to make their guests feel especially welcome. I am sure there were others in that bracket and I apologise if I have left somebody out.

My favourite places to go? Away from the State and County Parks which were universally outstanding, the Ringling Circus Museum in Sarasota, the Edison and Ford Winter homes complex in Fort Myers and the Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola were among my favourites. Interestingly, as I review this month-long trip, I realise that the vast majority of the places I have ‘mentioned in despatches’, did not appear on the official itinerary.

Despite a large circulation and wide readership of this blog, the very first page of which was designed to give a very clear brief to everyone involved in the planning of the trip, I was surprised and very disappointed at the three or four Tourist Offices which were completely off message and could not deliver anything other than their standard package.

If they don’t have the budget or resources, why do they accept a journalist with a very clear brief, if they haven’t a chance to deliver the required story?

Undoubtedly Florida is blessed with the most wonderful climate, outstanding beaches and stunning (if rather flat!) scenery. The bits I’ll remember the most were the very special, almost secret, tips given to me by local people.

There IS a Hidden Florida, eons away from the hype and the hassle of the major attractions. But it takes some finding and the locals are, by far, the best people to tell you where to go.

Having met just seven in the whole month, just don’t expect them to be native Floridians!

2009-03-11T15:10:00.001-07:00

is at Miami airport waiting for the BA206 flight to London. But the crew has been stuck in traffic and it looks like we will be an hour late departing. Let's hope he puts the foot down overnight. The good news is that, having come to Florida a month ago with just one suitcase, I now have three, and they are all checked through to Malaga. Hurrah!

2009-03-11T05:48:00.001-07:00

has whizzed around Fort Lauderdale and Hollywood. Now there are lots of bags to pack - two more than I brought!
Words at

http://ping.fm/HOrnQ

Pictures at

http://ping.fm/EfeFM

Final day in Hollywood and Fort Lauderdale

2009-03-10T21:06:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-03-09T20:36:00.001-07:00

is in Hollywood, which doesn't look like shaping up for a starring role.
Words at
http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Pictures at
http://ping.fm/EfeFM

2009-03-09T20:33:00.001-07:00

is in Hollywood, which doesn't look like shaping up for a starring role.
Words at
http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Pictures at
http://ping.fm/EfeFM

Final Two nights in Hollywood, Florida

2009-03-09T20:13:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-03-08T20:03:00.001-07:00

is at Moorings Village in Islamorada in the Florida Keys. It's paradise. Words at http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
pictures at http://ping.fm/TbsFv

Paradise Discovered at the Purple Island

2009-03-08T18:55:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-03-08T09:14:00.001-07:00

is leaving Key West with a heavy heart. Final thoughts from the southern tip of Florida at http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Week four pictures at http://ping.fm/IxbwN

Hasta Luego Key West

2009-03-08T08:04:00.001-07:00

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

2009-03-07T20:20:00.001-08:00

has finally discovered the 'Hidden Florida'. it's called Boca Grande, 12 miles off Key West. AND I have been appointed a Captain in the Conch Republic Navy.
Words at http://ping.fm/HOrnQ

Pics at http://ping.fm/TbsFv

'Hidden Florida' at last and an induction into the Conch Republic Navy

2009-03-07T18:10:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-03-06T21:22:00.001-08:00

has been meeting with senior military officials of the Conch Republic navy and army.
Words at http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Pictures at http://ping.fm/TbsFv

Chilling at Key West

2009-03-06T16:44:00.001-08:00

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.

2009-03-05T19:46:00.001-08:00

has had a long and tiring drive from Key Largo to Key West. But a morning snorkelling trip and a warm welcome in Key West makes it all worthwhile.
Words at http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Pics at http://ping.fm/TbsFv

Key Largo to Key West

2009-03-05T18:27:00.001-08:00

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.

2009-03-04T18:38:00.001-08:00

has been sending postcards from America's smallest post office, getting free tomatoes and swimming with Dolphin. Words at http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Photos at http://ping.fm/TbsFv

From sending postcards to swimming with dolphin

2009-03-04T18:14:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-03-03T19:31:00.001-08:00

has been seeing millionaires' mansions and is now in the Everglades.
Words at http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Pictures at http://ping.fm/TbsFv

2009-03-03T19:28:00.001-08:00

has been seeing millionaires' mansions and is now in the Everglades.
Words at http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Pictures at http://ping.fm/TbsFv

Millionaire's mansions to Everglades City

2009-03-03T18:15:00.000-08:00

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?

2009-03-02T20:51:00.001-08:00

has been in and among tthe 'snowbirds' in Naples. Words at http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Photos at http://ping.fm/FP4zS

A pacy day, but everyone's in bed by 9.30!

2009-03-02T19:18:00.001-08:00

Naples 2 March 2009

The waitress at the Inn on the 5th's Irish pub brings me the menu for breakfast and I study it as I observe my fellow early risers. I am, by about 30 years, the youngest there.
The menu is mouth watering, extensive and somewhat overwhelming, by European standards. Pancakes traditional, blueberry, banana or strawberry. Waffles with pecans, strawberries or blueberries. Steak and egg, corned beef hash bloody hell!
I ask the server to direct me to the toilets. I raise my eyebrows when I think she says it's around the block. In fact Monica, who is Columbian, is telling me that they are behind the bar. It's not the first time I have had language difficulties while in the US. A few days ago, one of my hosts joined me for breakfast, so I offered her a drink. I thought she replied, 'I'm just up', so I asked her if she wanted the full works. 'No', she said. 'I am juiced up.' It seems to mean, no thanks, I am full.
If only we hadn't taxed the tea, none of this would have happened.
As I am enjoying my eggs benedict, Cathy Christopher, the Inn on Fifth's director of sales and marketing joins me. Cathy, who was raised in Jamaica, but is of Irish/Scots ancestry, gets me chattering away about genealogy and heritage, American and ours, and before we know it, I am in a frantic rush to make my 9am appointment. But she kindly drives me the few blocks to my trip round Naples in a Segway.
This is a very different Segway trip to the one Sarasota. No grumpy demands for credit cards and a genuinely enthusiastic welcome by our guide, Christina. I am impressed with the very thorough safety brief, which includes a video and plenty of practice time before we set off.
Christina is fun to be with, chatty and friendly. One of her lines is 'Naples is basically a drinking town with a fishing problem!'
But we have a great 90 minute tour around on these incredible $5300 gyroscopically-stabisised machines. at Naples Pier, free to use and 1000 feet into the Gulf of Mexico. On the beach, I find a lady with a metal detector. I ask her if she has ever found 'buried treasure'. 'No', she replies, but I once helped a lady find her engagement ring.'
I need to get the spring on my watch bracelet fixed and have some laundry to do, so I head off to get the domestics sorted. The concierge at the Inn on the Fifth has told me where the laundry is, which is easy, then I set off for the Coastland Mall to get the watch strap fixed.
Unfortunately, I then forget where the laundrette is, but I am only a block away and I am soon reunited with my smalls.
I have an important job to do. Kristina, my helpful bank manager in Michigan, has been sending new credit cards round the world, trying to catch up with me. I get a call from Howard Levy, the boss of the branch almost adjacent to the hotel. Not only has my new card arrived, so has the pin number. I am now able to give a current card to any Sarasota Segway franchise which demands it!
Howard kindly presents me with all sorts of Fifth Third Bank-branded goodies, including a travelling tool kit, a CD holder, a lint remover (was he looking at my clothing?), a device to take lids off jars and a freezer clip, which I shall treasure. Pens, too, which I certainly need.

I have somehow been 'volunteered' to do a 20 minute slot on Naples' main chat radio station, WGUF. Cathy has somehow volunteered to drive me. Presenter Dave Elliott knows an old radio pro when he sees one and the time flies by. My main theme is that the US has a history going back thousands of years, but Americans don't tend to embrace anything pre-Columbus. I have joked with several Floridians that the King and Queen of Spain were here in Pensacola to take the State back, as the money will help their ailing economy, but nobody seems to think that especially odd. I have, for weeks, scoured the hundreds of TV channels and radio stations trying to get 'real' news, but I have to go back to the good old BBC World Service for anything of real relevance.
I think it will be nice to have a WGUF souvenir to take home, because it's not every day you are interviewed on 'foreign' radio stations. So helpful Bryan Dates from advertising sales sets off in search, as Cathy and I wait in reception. Moments later, we are aware of an altercation in an office adjacent to reception. The rather large guardian of the t-shirt stock is clearly miffed that his precious cupboard is being rifled by an alien. 'I don't care who he is, you can't just come in here and get a shirt.'
Cathy and I exit stage left. I now am the proud owner of a WSGL FM t-shirt, one of the four stations that operate from the same building, but not the one on which I actually broadcast. I must tune in some day to hear what I am promoting. I shall wear it with pride, despite the fact it is clearly a black market item and possibly not the real thing.
Cathy kindly runs me to my next appointment, to see some old friends from 'up north' who become 'snowbirds' in the colder months. The ever-generous Wayne and Darlene Williams are, as always, the most generous of hosts and it is lovely to be entertained in their 2000 square foot, 7th floor 'condominium', before heading out for a lovely dinner with three more of their friends in the north of Naples.
Tomorrow, I have to meet Cathy for breakfast, have a bicycle to ride, JoNell and Angela from the Paradise Coast Convention and Visitors' Bureau for lunch and Everglades City for tea.
Frantic? You bet! What day is it?
No idea.

2009-03-01T17:22:00.001-08:00

has been in the middle of the Everglades with alligators, air boats and the Seminole Indians, who never lost a battle. Words at http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Photos at http://ping.fm/TbsFv

Indians, alligators and 'Hidden Florida' at last

2009-03-01T16:18:00.000-08:00

Naples, Sunday 1 March

After an hour trying to sleep with the thumping music downstairs and across the street, I creep along the corridor in my shorts and t shirt to a quieter room, where I am in the land of nod almost as soon as my head has hit the pillow.
Almost as soon as I have said 'white rabbits', I am on my way for the 100 mile drive to the Billie Swamp Safari at the Big Cypress Seminole Reservation.
For the first time in over two weeks, I actually enjoy the drive. The I75 across 'Alligator Alley' to Fort Lauderdale has a very nice surface, there's not one of the hideous billboards that have plagued me for a fortnight. The road runs through some absolutely delightful and unspoiled natural countryside. There's a toll of $2.50, but it's a small price to pay for such an excellent road.
There's a BBC World Service documentary on my Sirius satellite radio about child preachers, featuring an 11 year old in Miami, who has been ordained since he was 6. My former BBC colleague, Christopher Morris, seems quite bemused by it all. It could only happen here.
The 30 minute drive north to the reservation itself is a sheer delight. It's a single lane road which twists and turns through totally unspoiled countryside. As it's still before 9am, there's not another soul in sight, apart from an occasional fisherman.
I am booked onto an airboat tour, which is incredible. Effectively, a huge aeroplane propeller thrusts these lightweight boats at breakneck speed through the Everglades. Our pilot is the very experienced Glenn Wilsey, who has featured on TV actually swimming with alligators. As we stop to see the creatures close up, he tells us not to do the same and teaches us, in his words, 'more of the real story in 5 minutes than we can learn in a lifetime'.
Another boat stops to feed some pigs, one of which is immediately, in a flash, attacked by a 'gator and has to be beaten off. Amazing.
Apparently they are very good eating and low in cholesterol. The 'gators, not the pigs!
Cathy is my driver for a fascinating drive in a 'swamp buggy', through the mangroves. it's dry season, so the water level is down by 3 or 4 feet, but we seen more wildlife in an hour than I have seen in several years. From ostrich, bison, buffalo and raccoons to vultures, Scottish red deer and much more. Last night Cathy even saw a panther. There's a Seminole village of Chickees, their word for homes. By building their homes on stilts, the local adapted to their surroundings much better than the white man, which is one reason the Seminole tribe was able to survive. Chickees are designed to let the smoke of a campfire out of the sides, rather than the top, which has the effect of disseminating the smoke and smell and thus not giving away the location.
Cathy is great fun, and responds with gusto to a load of cub scouts from Pack 183, among some 1500 who have been camping on the reservation this weekend.
There are a lot of fallen trees, victims of Hurricane Wilma which passed right through here in the Autumn of 2005.
One guest asks what 'the large pestle and mortar is used for'. Cathy asks what he means. 'The stick in the hole', says the man. It's for grinding corn.
Soon after, I watch a local man 'wrestling' with an alligator. It's really a way of bringing them under control, but quite scary even to watch. He's apparently been doing this since he was 7!
For this special weekend, there are battle re-enactments between the Americans and the Seminoles. I am particularly impressed with the colourful costumes of the Indians and watch as the rituals of preparing for war are completed.
Thereafter, amid much bangs of guns and whooping, the battle itself takes place. Most impressive, leading to a victory for the Seminoles who, historically, were never defeated. Now I wonder how many American children know that?
Back at my hotel, the Naples Patriotic Society have a late afternoon session with some nice jazz music underneath my window. They end with the Star Spangled Banner. It's the first time in over two weeks I have seen the ever-present baseball caps being removed.

2009-02-28T19:30:00.001-08:00

has been to see Thomas Edison and Henry Ford's winter residences and is seeing how the other half live in Naples, Florida. Blog at http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
pictures at http://ping.fm/TbsFv

Ford, Edison and seeing how the other half live in Naples

2009-02-28T18:24:00.001-08:00

Saturday night, 28th February

I hope Curt is alright. He's nowhere in sight this morning and I know he was setting off on a mercy mission last night to rescue a friend who, I think, had imbibed too much and couldn't drive home.
So I write him a hastily scribbled note and set off for Fort Myers.

The Edison and Ford Winter Estate opens at 9am and I am keen, with Katie's recommendation from last night, to fit it into my schedule.
The early start means that I am one of the very first visitors so, armed with a map and an audio guide, I set off into the 13-acre estate that Thomas Edison and his close friend Henry Ford, acquired and in which they built their winter residences.
I have the place entirely to myself. The caretaker's house is itself impressive, but of course the two main residences and a very impressive guest house in between reflect the status and wealth of these two great industrial pioneers. Edison used his little office in his later years, the original laboratory having been shipped to the Ford Museum in Deerborn, Michigan, where I have also visited.
The location is to die for, with their own private pier, built so that most of the construction materials and contents for the homes could be shipped directly to Florida from further north.
The gardens are especially impressive, with all sorts of trees brought for various Edison-esque experiments, ranging from bamboo for light bulb filaments and rubber trees, a project in association with tyre magnate Harvey Firestone.
I potter happily around the grounds for an hour and a half, admiring the peace and the fresh air. As the day heats up, the groups start to arrive, so I set off to join a tour round the impressive laboratory and then to the museum, filled with an extraordinary array of Edison's triumphs. Light bulbs, phonographs, cement, film projectors, ticker tape machines, in all he filed well over 1000 patents.

Not bad for a former newsboy on the Grand Trunk Rail Road!
The drive to Naples on the Interstate is thankfully only an hour or so. With bumper to bumper cars weaving in and out, it's not a particularly pleasant drive.
The approaches to Naples reflect the wealth that abounds in this part of Florida. Immaculately coiffured lawns sweep up to gated entrances to places like Moon Lake, Fox Fire and Glen Eagle Golf and Country Club (I imagine if they had added the plural bird, a lawsuit would have ensued).
I check in at the very upscale boutique hotel, the Inn on Fifth, my home for the next three nights. I am very glad Mr. Hertz has provided me with an especially smart motor car. Everybody else seems to have Bentleys and Porsches. I have a lovely suite with everything you could ever want but, surprisingly, no fridge. One is delivered to my room within minutes, so my orange juice and milk will survive!
I am booked on a boat trip and, with the car having been whisked away by a parking valet to some unknown location, I walk the half dozen blocks to Naples City Dock. But the place is massive and, when I ask, everybody points me in opposite directions for the Sweet Liberty berth.
I am slightly flustered as time to sailing is getting short, when realise that a US Coastguard helicopter is doing a demonstration right next to a mast emblazoned with the yacht's name. Hurrah!
We set sail and Mitchell, the skipper, points out some astonishingly high-end properties. One is a mere $8.5 million. But were it on the opposite bank, in the prestigious Port Royal, it would be double that. There's a few in the high teens bracket, but the most expensive one belongs to New Yorker, Alan Geary. It's 50,000 square feet and worth an estimated $145 million. Gulp.
Sweet Liberty has got a 53' mast and an impressive 1000 square feet of sail. So, when we get out into the Gulf of Mexico, wind power takes over. Despite 38 years in the Royal Navy and Reserve, it's still a real thrill to be on a boat. Thankfully, as one of only two indigenous Floridians I have met so far, he's been a water baby almost since birth and knows what he is doing. The channel out to the Gulf is like the motorway down from Fort Myers, with the driving just as erratic. And of course, unlike Mitch, these guys have no licences. Scary.
I enjoy a cup of tea in my suite before heading downstairs to McCabe's Irish Pub and Grill. The hotel owner, Bostonian Philip McCabe, had a complete 4,200 square foot pub designed and built in Donnybrook, north of Dublin and shipped in containers to Naples.
Ryan, my server is young, but like so many, only comes to Florida in the winter. He is a graduate of Michigan State University and normally runs a fine dining restaurant, the Yankee Rebel Tavern, on Mackinac Island on the northern Michigan peninsula. I went there once and reclaimed it, and the nearby Sleeping Bear Dunes, for the Queen!
The meal is great and Ryan is really good at stopping the kitchen sending out the food as soon as it ready, averting the horrid American habit of delivering it to your table before you are half way through your previous course.
A live musician sets to with a menu of Irish standards such as 'Wild Rover' and 'Whisky in the Jar'. The audience joins in lustily. As I write this, three floors above, I can hear strains of 'Cracklin' Rosie' and Folsom Prison. Neil Diamond and Johnny Cash clearly have Irish connections! But I hope the revelry doesn't keep me awake. Tonight I am in so much need of a full night's rest.

2009-02-28T15:05:00.001-08:00

has written Friday's blog from Pine Island and Matlacha. http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Photos at http://ping.fm/TbsFv

Quirky Matlacha

2009-02-28T13:44:00.000-08:00

10pm Friday 27 February

The Sun and Moon B and B in Matlacha is an adorable spot, undoubtedly the best located accommodation I have had so far. The wildlife around here is astonishing. But the road to Pine Island is very close and it's been busy since 0530 with boat trailers and motorbikes on the move.
I'm due to go on a boat trip today, but it would have tied me up for six hours and I really want some time to explore quirky Matlacha and nearby Pine Island. Curt, my extraordinarily hospitable host, suggests that I instead head out to the Randell Research Centre which documents the history of the area and then he'll take me out in his boat to get a really local slant on the area.
I miss the turning to Randell Research and find myself in Bokeelia, in the far north of the island. I have passed a load of tropical groves filled with palm trees and exotic fruit, so it feels absolutely right that my Sirius Satellite Radio provided by Mr. Hertz, has a Merengue Station called Caliente, Spanish for hot, playing away for that section of the journey. Somehow BBC World Service doesn't seem right at this moment!
Bokeelia is very laid back, loads of people fishing from a couple of piers and going out in boats. I ask for directions and head for Pineland, where I pass a lovely little wooden post office.
The rather uninspiringly-named Randell Research Centre turns out to be an absolute delight. In association with the Natural History Department of the University of Florida, the RRC interprets the remains of the settlement of Calusa Indians, dating back some 2000 years. There are vast 30 feet high 'middens', mainly of discarded shells, which give archaeologists a remarkable insight into the lifestyle of the Native Americans, two millennia ago. One interpretation is fascinating, suggesting that the chief would have his house on the highest mound, 'height suggesting power, authority and wealth'. I have never thought of it like that, but it is so true. These cultured people lived around these parts until 1821, when, like so many other native Americans and Cuban fishermen, they were made not welcome.
I ask Michael Wylde, the manager of the shop and the laboratory coordinator, why many American people seem to ignore the wealth of history prior to Columbus. The answer is fascinating. 'Schools in any part of the world don't generally teach about the bad things in their history. The enslavement of African Americans is well documented but people do not realise that 10,000 Florida Indians were sold at Charlestown before 1750.' Michael suggests that I read a book on the subject, 'Bury my heart at Wounded Knee' by Dee Brown.
I could have stayed at the Centre for Hours, I even saw a couple of pairs of nesting Ospreys, about which I am getting rather blasé now!
On my return to the Sun and Moon Inn, the irrepressible Curt has his boat all fired up and ready to go. He tells me all about the effects of Hurricane Charlie in 2004, whose eye was just 6 miles from Matlacha. The locals were of course all evacuated, but Curt describes the very scary effects of being in the eye of a storm, the peace, then all hell breaking loose. I's a sobering thought that, despite the natural beauty of a lot of Florida, nature has a way of saying who is boss.
We meet several shop owners, running their businesses in former fishermens' shacks, now brightly painted. Leoma Lovegrove lets me take pictures, despite signs telling me not. She says it's to stop people stealing her ideas, but I think tourists showing the pictures of her extraordinary collections to their friends would do her more good than harm. Curt introduces me to several colleagues in the local Chamber of Commerce, including B J Hickey, who runs the Great Licks Ice Cream Shop. Everybody has the same view. While the national economy is struggling, Matlacha has found a a little niche and is doing very nicely thank you.
Curt is keen to take me to Pampered Pets, who make his dogs' coats pink and purple. Well, it's America.
I take a much needed shower and report downstairs to meet Katie Meckley, from Lee County Convention and Vistor Bureau (www.fortmyers-sanibel.com). She's never met Curt face to face and is being shown a TV fishing programme where fur from the dogs is being used to catch the much-valued Snook from the river just yards away from the house.
Katie takes me to the Tarpon Lodge restaurant where we have the best meal I have had in Florida, after watching the most incredible sunset I have seen so far. The moon and a planet, dazzlingly bright above the setting sun. Astounding.
I have a very tasty starter of blackened, locally caught fish bites, a wonderful salad with crumbled blue cheese and an excellent filet mignon steak. I am surprised to discover red wine from Portland Oregon, Duck Pond by name. It is so nice I have to have another.
The setting is idyllic and while I understand that the area we are in is used for more casual dining during the day, it deserves rather better than cheap plastic picnic chairs and tables without even tablecloths in the evening. The place is much too classy for that.
Back at Curt's, Katie and I go with mine host to watch Snook at the boat dock. The Sun and Moon really is a magical place.

2009-02-26T20:02:00.001-08:00

has been to see Spanish Point, Mineral Springs, the Boston Red Sox and dozens of manatees. Here is my blog for my journey from Ana Maria Island to Matlacha via Spanish Point, North Port and Fort Myers

http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
and the link to my photos
http://ping.fm/FP4zS

History, art, manatees, hot springs and baseball

2009-02-26T18:38:00.000-08:00

Thursday 26 February

I have planned quite a few visits today during my drive south, so I am packed up nice and early and am on the road by 0930. I have carefully pre programmed the Hertz 'Never Get Lost', press the button and set off. I've planned to go to the Warm Mineral Springs first, and, depending on time available, will try and fit in a placed called Historic Spanish Point in the appropriately named Osprey.
So it's a huge surprise to me to be told by Mr. Hertz' GPS that I have arrived at Historic Spanish Point. Please blame the operator and not the technology!
The elderly volunteer at reception takes some persuading what to do with my Sarasota VIP Visitor card, but relents. It is only as I am sitting watching the introductory video, that I realise that she has confiscated my valuable card.
My pass safely retrieved, I head off into Spanish Point itself.
It's a gorgeous day, the place is delightfully peaceful and I have a thoroughly enjoyable walk for a couple of miles through the 30 acre site. Most folk seem to be using the courtesy golf carts to move about. There are historic buildings, carefully reconstructed evidence of people living in the area 4000 years ago and beautiful gardens. The utterly charming butterfly garden has been built with funds from the May family in memory of their grandmother Louine McCuaig, a former museum volunteer. I see enormous Monarch butterflies and several other species flitting about. The whole place is delightful.
I have noticed several artists at work. I have taken pictures of several, including local North Port artist, Ron Sanders. Later I meet another, Heather McCullough, who tells me that all the paintings will be on show at the Venice Art Gallery tomorrow evening.
I love the atmosphere and the tranquillity of Spanish Point (www.historicspanishpoint.org). It is utterly charming and I wish I could have stayed a lot longer.
But there's an opportunity to visit my first ever mineral spa at North Port. The publicity blurb claims it is the original fountain of youth sought by Ponce de Leon almost 500 years ago.
My Sarasota VIP card again goes down a storm. The lady reads it, makes a phone call, then offers me the standard AAA $2 discount on the $20 entrance fee. I point out the small print which says clearly, 'Complimentary admission for two', and manage to negotiate the entry, loan of a towel and a locker key. The changing facilities are badly in need of upgrading and I joke with my neighbour, a gentleman from Minnesota, that we will have all our ills repaired in the spring, only to catch some lethal disease from the accumulated grime on the floor. Not at all nice. He also discovers that his key will open my locker and several others.
The spa itself is an impressive 1.4 acres and is fed by a spring which delivers 9 million gallons a day of 87 degree warm water. The mineral content is said to be higher than that in Vichy, Aix les Bains and Baden Baden. Bizarrely it is full of Russian ladies with hats on and all sorts of other eastern European visitors. I do one circuit of the rather sulphurous smelling water, brush against a turtle or two, and decide to brave the changing rooms again before setting off for Fort Myers.
Beside the road are lots of classy looking housing developments with names like 'Heron's Glen' and 'Eagles Rise'. I make sure my car doors are locked when roadside signs announce that State Prisoners are working at the roadside.
I am shocked by the standard of driving on the Interstate. People are texting while hurtling along at 65 miles an hour, undertaking seems to be the norm, as is chatting on a mobile phone., I am astonished to discover later that all of this is perfectly legal.
It's spring training season for America's professional baseball players and, in late February and March, they are busy in Florida getting ready for the forthcoming season. I am helped to find a parking space right in front of the ground by three very friendly local policemen who each pass me to their colleague by radio. I rather doubt if the same courtesy would be extended in Britain to an American visiting a Premiership football ground!
The Boston Red Sox are based in Fort Myers and today they are playing the Pittsburgh Pirates. I am sitting right behind the action, in one of the best seats in the house, protected from stray balls by a very solid looking net. Two Sox fans, one a retired cop from the north end in Boston, where I have stayed, explain to me the intricacies of the action. At the end of the seventh inning, they join in enthusiastically with a fans' version of Neil Diamond's 'Sweet Caroline'. It's apparently what always happens at Fenway Park, their home ground, now sold out completely for the forthcoming season, as it has been for several years.
After the game, in roasting hot temperatures, I head for Matlacha (pronounced Matla shay), to check in to the Sun and Moon Inn. This turns out to be an absolutely lovely little bed and breakfast inn, right overlooking the water. There's a Fed Ex parcel full of goodies from Katie at the visitor centre. It feels like Christmas!
I'm not in the place for half an hour before Curt, the owner, comes to tell me about the 30 or 40 manatees that will be passing by on the outgoing tide. Incredible, I hadn't seen one till a couple of days ago and now there are dozens swimming past my bedroom. Shortly afterwards, there's another lovely sunset.
I'm delighted with how things are going. Florida is, at last, revealing some of her secrets.

2009-02-25T20:47:00.001-08:00

's report on Sarasota, sandcastles and Segways. http://ping.fm/HOrnQ with new photos at http://ping.fm/TbsFv

Sandcastles, Sarasota and Segway

2009-02-25T19:23:00.001-08:00

Wednesday 25 February

Early morning domesticity, with an opportunity to use the excellent washer and drier in the apartment. It's bizarre. So much in my luxurious pad is clearly top of the range, while there are bits and pieces which are relatively cheap and nasty. As an example, there's a state of the art surround sound music system, but a tacky little set of iPod speakers.

The owners have clearly locked away the iron that works with the 'Built in Ironing Center', so you have to drape a cable from a pretty poor quality iron across the laundry room to the only available socket. While perhaps not illegal, the set up is certainly unsafe and the local safety people would not be at all impressed.
I still haven't worked out which button to press to get the toaster to do both sides of the bread. In fact the information on how to do things in this apartment is sadly lacking and I am still illicitly using a wifi connection from another property because the agents have not come back to me to give me the wireless code. I am also still waiting for a call to tell me the time I have to leave the property tomorrow.
In fact Anna Maria Vacations have been altogether pretty slapdash and, while I can certainly recommend the property, I do not think much of the service offered by the agents who were unimpressive in their organisation of my entry arrangements and haven't bothered to call to see if everything is fine.
For the first time since I got here, I find a few minutes to visit Holmes Beach, which must be all of 30 metres from the house. There's an impressive sandcastle about to be devoured by the incoming tide, but I record it for posterity. It is, indeed, a lovely beach, but I think I will stop visiting beaches, because I am told they are all like this from now on.
I am slightly confused quite why most of my arrangements for Sarasota are actually being handled by Jessica and Michelle in Bradenton. But their colleagues down south are not being very communicative, to put it mildly.
I set off for the 45 minute drive to the John and Mable Ringling Estate. There's a slight hiatus at the entrance, when none of the willing but somewhat aged volunteers can quite work out what to do with the Sarasota VIP card with which I have been equipped. Rather than just sell tickets, the ladies seem to spend an age with each guest, explaining the intricacies of the vast 155 acre estate in minute detail. While the queue gets longer and longer.
I have a whistlestop tour of the incredible collection amassed by the Ringlings, who wintered their famous circus and that of Barnum and Bailey in Sarasota. The museum even has the Ringling's personal 'Wisconsin' luxurious railway wagon, a former Pullman car, currently being painstakingly restored.
A typical season on tour involved some 1300 workers, 800 animals and journeys totalling 15,000 miles. My former BBC colleague and circus loving friend Tony Mallion and his son Tom, would absolutely adore the circus museum with its' incredible collection of old vehicles and memorabilia. The Howard Brothers model circus, covering an astounding 3,800 square feet, would also be loved by Peter and Christine Jay at the Hippodrome Circus in Great Yarmouth.
I have an appointment for a tour in down town Sarasota, but discover I am an hour too early. So I repair to the nearby Lavanda Restaurant in the Adams Lane artists' quarter for a bite of lunch. There's a bit of translation difficulty with the Bosnian waitress, but the food turns out to be absolutely excellent in charming 'Old Florida' surroundings. Highly recommended.
Which is not my comment on 'Florida Everglide' Segway tours. I have ridden these stabilised upright devices on several occasions. But abrasive tour guide Phil is determined that, despite the fact he knows I am a guest of the tourist board, I can not go unless I put up a $500 deposit. Even worse, as I am without a credit card, neither he nor the owner, Tom Jacobson, is prepared to sort out the issue with the tourist board. When I protest, the diplomatic Phil says that, unless I leave the office, he will call the Police.
I can almost guarantee that these will be the very people that will whinge why they don't get PR coverage for their unimpressive little operation.
Their literature quotes a staff writer from the Washington Post, who sings their praises. I do wonder whether she's even aware she knows what she's said.
Sarasota's PR director has come up with what she sees as a highly appropriate alternative to fill my time to discover 'Hidden Sarasota'. I am to go out with the office intern on a jetski, then have a few beers. Words fail me. At least she exists in real life and not just on voicemail and email.
Gray, the 21 year old intern, went to High school locally and clearly has a much better grasp of what I need. He sweeps me up, points me in the direction of downtown and gives me a whistlestop tour.
Gray suggests I gather my thoughts at Sarasota News and Books, which has an excellent cafe. I enjoy a really good cup of tea and have a chocolate brownie to die for.
Refreshed and recharged, I set off to explore. Sarasota has a really lovely feel, which reminds me very much of Denver, one of my favourite US cities. There are loads of interesting buildings and architecture, a wealth of nice shops and restaurants plus a really attractive waterfront. I like it a lot and just wish that a bit more time end effort had gone into planning my trip and it being of greater benefit for the local Visitor Bureau.
It is perhaps symptomatic of Sarasota's somewhat lackadaisical attitude that my hosts for my last evening in the area are Jessica and Michelle from the Bradenton office, who treat me to a lovely dinner at Mattison's City Grille (not my spelling!). The ambience is lovely, food is really tasty, well prepared and presented. But why, oh why, does the waiter pour the dregs of one glass of wine into the new one? Jessica agrees it's not what should happen.
The two Bradenton ladies have been wonderful and have worked tirelessly to make my visit relevant to my quest.
I am running out of gold stars.

2009-02-24T20:12:00.001-08:00

has just updated my blog from Ana Maria island, which features, among other things, manatees and male members! http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
My photo albums are at
http://ping.fm/TbsFv

MANATEES AND MALE MEMBERS

2009-02-24T15:23:00.000-08:00

I realise with horror, that it's around 35 years since my first ever travel feature appeared in print. I remember it well. Although I was serving in the Royal Navy, I wrote up my experiences for my local newspaper, the Kirkintilloch Herald, now part off the giant Johnson Press Group. Things of course were very different then. Having to wait for photographs to be developed and printed, then posting the package off to the newspaper and seeing the results appear in print some weeks later.
Now, my photographs are being seen by the editorial people within hours of them being taken and people are commenting in some numbers about my blog. That's really useful because it means that I can correct any factual errors before they appear in print.
Over that time, I have encountered some wonderful people, many of whom have become lifelong friends. I have also met a lot of folk who have either been in the job for too long and become complacent or who clearly can't be bothered to find out what a journalist actually wants. It's lazy PR and it's completely counterproductive. No journalist is ever going to write about things which don't fit the brief.
Sometimes, you get teams which really impress. I have been blessed today with one of those. Sparky, responsive, intelligent, flexible. Jessica and Michelle from the Bradenton Convention and Visitor Bureau are absolute stars.
Jessica, who's pretty new to the area, was on the doorstep of my sumptuous accommodation bright and early this morning to really get to grips with what I was after. I took her on a tour of the apartment which, I have discovered is 2000 plus square feet with an additional 300 square feet of terrace. I measured 41 metres from my walk in wardrobe to the furthest extent of the spare room. Amazing! A week in this wonderful place (www.annamaria.com) for around $2500.
As Jessica comes up with ideas, back in the office, Michelle fixes things up, changes times, arranges new activities. It's a hugely impressive bit of team work
We start at the Island Creperie and plan the day in a most civilised manner over breakfast. Conservative me goes for scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, wrapped up in a wholemeal pancake, but thin as a rake twenty something Jessica wades in for something disgracefully creamy, sweet and chocolaty. I just couldn't do it. Well not before nine in the morning.
Olivier, the chef/owner is originally from Paris and delights in telling me how the French are triumphing over the Scots and the English in the rugby six nations. It's the first place I have actually had a really decent cup of coffee since I came to the USA, not just some watery grey stuff.
Nearby to the creperie is the 720 feet long Bradenton Beach pier. We are amused by 'kamikaze' pelicans, who hurtle themselves into the water after their prey. I am highly amused when Jessica goes into a cafe to enquire when the pier was built, in response to a question from me, to find me pointing to a huge '1921' built into the structure.
I joke with an elderly couple that they are seating on the swing seat traditionally used for proposing marriage. After declaring that they are 44 years too late, they give up their spaces to allow Jessica and I to move in. For some inexplicable reason, she then heads off at a brisk trot in the opposite direction. Hmmm.
We head for the beaches, which are almost as nice as the ones at Fort de Soto. At one point, a notice encourages us to take our shoes off, so we don't 'dirty the sand'! Jessica gets back on the wedding track, telling me how nice it is to have the ceremony on the beach. This apparently gives the blushing bride the opportunity to wear flip flops under her wedding gown.
We head off to meet Jennifer Taylor, a Londoner from Bermondsey. She and her husband have lovingly restored a 1926 wooden house into a delightful six bedroom B and B. Jessica likes it because 'The Londoner' (www.thelondonerinn.com) also does a pretty mean traditional afternoon tea and, having spent six months working in the UK capital, she knows that Jennifer will always have a decent cup of tea on the go. Having had a really good breakfast, I turn down the chance of a freshly baked scone with home made lemon curd, only to be teasingly scolded by Jessica afterwards for doing so. My host loves lemon curd!
I must confess that, before my visit to Florida, I knew nothing about manatees, except that they are an extremely endangered species. But Michelle has fixed up for me to meet Snooty, a 61 year old, 1180 pound, West Indian Manatee who was born in captivity. Jeff Rogers of the South Florida Museum takes us 'back stage' at the aquarium, where Snooty, a real showman, delights Jessica and I with his enthusiasm for people. Marilyn, the aquarium director and Caitlin, who has just finished a public show, talk with some pride about their huge mammal. Snooty and two other younger manatees, which are being rehabilitated back to the wild, exist on a diet mainly of lettuce leaves with a mix of other vegetables and boy does their breath stink.
Bradenton is where the Tropicana orange juice is made, but they don't do trips any more, which is a pity. But Michelle has come up with a 'must see' in the town's 'Village of the Arts'. Now this is quirky. All sorts of artists have gathered together in one area and turned the area into a colourful, eclectic mix. The 'must see' is a tree sculpted out of stainless steel where male members (I am not sure how else to put this bit) hang down like leaves. I have no idea what the message might be!
We are now well into the afternoon, so Jessica asks me again if I regret turning down the scone with lemon curd. However, the Bonni Bakes cafe squeezes us in before the staff all go home. Guest chef Amy Scott has recruited her mother, Mary Jane and brother Christopher to recreate southern style cooking. So we have grits, corn pie and Mardi gras red beans. We are persuaded to wear strings of gaudily coloured beads around our necks to celebrate 'Fat Tuesday', which it is. The meal is rounded off by Mary Jane's absolutely yummy Key Lime pie, the recipe for which I just HAVE to have!
Jessica ends the day with another tour round Ana Maria island, pointing out places I might like to go on the bike which I'll have for the next couple of days. Ana Maria has wonderful beaches, is laid back and tranquil, with some seriously quirky folk. My quest to discover the 'Hidden Florida' is, in recent days, yielding some seriously good results.

2009-02-23T19:02:00.001-08:00

is in millionaires paradise! Latest blog at http://ping.fm/HOrnQ and pictures at http://ping.fm/TbsFv

Amazing, awesome, incredible!

2009-02-23T17:43:00.000-08:00

Holmes Beach, Ana Maria Island, Monday Night

I am sad to be leaving Pasa Tiempo. Just as I am getting settled, it is time to go. I am also sorry not to be able to say goodbye to Lotta, the manager. But Ivone, the owner is in the office and has kindly printed out a whole load of changes to my itinerary. I need someone to get a grip on things. I am being double booked all over the place and it's getting me pretty stressed. The trouble is that pieces of paper are flying through the ether to and from London and, by the time I get to see them, the decision makers across the pond are fast asleep. It's one of the frustrations of time zones, but it's also the first time in almost thirty years of travel writing that I have left home without every i dotted and t crossed.
I'm also a bit agitated because my American bank hasn't managed to get my ATM card to me and my cash dollars are running low. The US is proving to be pretty pricey, especially eating out. But I am cheered when I discover a branch of the Fifth Third Bank just a couple of miles from my hotel and Mark Christnacht, the manager, rings my branch in Michigan, arranges for me to get more cash without the required piece of plastic and for a card to be ordered for delivery when I get to Naples. Fingers crossed.
After yesterday's trip to a State Park, today I am visiting a park run by an individual county. Fort de Soto Park is in Pinellas County. The drive is, once again, pretty bloody awful and there's nothing to write home about at all. Just concrete, traffic and advertising signs.
As I approach the Park, things brighten up, with some VERY expensive looking properties on either side of the road.
I call at what looks like an impressive campsite to get directions to the main office, where I am to meet my host for the day, park supervisor, Jim Wilson.
He scoops me up in his four wheel drive and takes me on what he calls his 'Readers' Digest' tour.
Well, if I was impressed by Caladesi, I am absolutely and utterly overwhelmed by Fort de Soto. It truly has everything. Over 1100 acres of beautifully maintained park, 6 miles of beaches, a fort dating from 1898, with huge mortars to protect the entrance to Tampa Bay, and unlimited parking. It needs it. More than three million folk come here each year and I can see why.
Jim, who first came here in 1975, is justifiably proud of the improvements that have been done over the years. with just 32 staff, half of what used to be here, Fort de Soto has something for everyone. Nature, bike, canoe, cycle and wheelchair accessible trails, one of the biggest boat launching areas in the entire United States, where 30 craft can be launched simultaneously, and much more besides. So enormous is the place, that it's entirely possible to find your own little part of paradise, up to two miles from the nearest car park. Jim's got a great team of volunteers, without whom it wouldn't be able to operate. Amazingly, there is no entrance charge, something Jim is very keen to preserve. A local sales tax, 'A Penny for Pinellas', helps to fund special projects.
On holiday weekends, Jim is thinking more about the 40 tons of rubbish that will have to be removed, rather than the visitor numbers.
Incredibly, when the county bought the land for just 18,000 dollars in the 1930's, there were many who balked at the extravagance of it all. How farsighted they are now seen to be.
With 315 species of birds, Fort de Soto is one of the US's havens for twitchers. Jim even stands under a pine tree trying to show me a Great Horned Owl, but the enormous bird remains stubbornly hidden.
We have in Norfolk some outstanding caravan and camping grounds, but even my friend Michael Timewell at Kelling Heath would marvel at the facilities at Fort de Soto. Over 230 very spacious pitches, many with direct access to the shoreline, and all equipped with water and electric hook ups. People with tents can be pitched next door to a million dollar Provost recreational vehicle. From just over $33 per night, it's no surprise that people are not allowed to stay for more than two weeks at a time. It is, without doubt, the most incredible camp site I have ever seen. With a 72% year round occupancy, the camping area contributes $2.5 million annually, almost single handedly paying for the entire running costs of the park.
Jim shows me the 5.5 mile long Sunshine Skyway bridge, the world's longest bridge with a suspended central span. In 1980, 35 people were killed when the ship, Summit Venture, collided with the bridge, causing a bus and six cars to fall 150 feet. Most of the old bridge was demolished, but parts have been retained as a fishing pier.
An hour after leaving Fort de Soto, I cross the bridge heading south, again hating the traffic with a passion.
The final nine miles from Bradenton to Ana Maria Island is truly horrid. An endless line of motor vehicles and traffic lights. Absolutely ghastly.
But I am much cheered by the astonishing Casa Costiera apartment, which is to be my home for the next three nights. When I tell you that the master bathroom has a his and hers shower, PLUS a enormous jacuzzi bath, you get the picture. The wardrobe is almost drive through, rather than walk in. The bedroom has, of course, full length patio doors onto an enormous terrace overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. This is unbelievable luxury in a location to die for and I suspect I will gasp when I hear the going rental rate. There's space for six but so far I have not persuaded anyone to join me. I am touched that Jessica and Michelle from the local tourist office have thought to welcome me. Michelle pops by with a little welcome goodie bag and Jessica calls to say hi and fix up a breakfast meeting tomorrow. Now that is how I expect a tourist board to be. Gold star!
An hour later, I stand on the terrace to watch the sun going down in a cloudless Floridian sky. The sunset is everything a Gulf of Mexico sunset is cracked up to be.
It really has been an amazing day.

2009-02-22T17:36:00.001-08:00

has seen, on Caladesi Island, more wildlife than he has ever seen in one place. http://ping.fm/HOrnQ
Photos at http://ping.fm/3AqwZ

Caladesi Island, possibly as hidden as I'll find in Florida

2009-02-22T15:49:00.000-08:00

Caladesi Island State Park, Sunday

I have taken the opportunity to sort out my suitcases. A week into the trip and you can imagine that very few things are where they should be. Inside both, I discover little cards from the Transportation Security Administration. After scanning at Pensacola Airport, they had hand searched both items of my checked in luggage. Not surprising really, I carry more electronic gadgetry with me than Comet has! I had been advised to leave them unlocked. Just as well, because I am told they would simply break them otherwise!
I have an early start, before Sunday breakfast is normally ready for guests at the Pasa Tiempo. But lovely Lotta, the Swedish 'innkeeper' at Pasa Tiempo has prepared a really lovely meal tray for me.
I've been reading the manuals for my Hertz 'Never Lost' and my very upmarket Mercury Sable Car. All my destinations are now carried on a 'Tourism Malaysia' USB pen drive. Having copied them from my laptop. The pen drive just slots into the side of the GPS and, hey presto, it tells me where to go.
It's almost an hour's drive to the Caladesi Island State Park along some of the ghastliest roads I've ever seen. Imagine a twenty mile long tacky seafront, huge advertising hoardings at every angle and level, with a three lane motorway thundering past. One advert proclaims. Doug Stein MD. No scalpel. No needle. 16000 circumcisions completed. True!
The contrast between the vulgarity of the road and the tranquility of the Caladesi and Honeymoon State Parks could not be more acute.
The islands were once connected. Honeymoon is now driveable via a causeway and after paying the $5 entry charge, those people wanting to get to Caladesi, pay another $10 for a 15 minute boat trip. (A sand bar has actually built up in recent years between Clearwater and Caladesi, so you could actually walk to the island, but Americans much prefer a 20 mile road trip!)
My host for the day is Park Ranger Carl Calhoun, who came for a couple of years and stayed for 27. As such, he probably knows more about the State Park than anyone else. He's northern Irish by descent and quite a character. Outside his office, we meet one of the Park volunteers, a guy with a plaited beard, the like of which I have never seen. He's parked his boat at the dock for free and is working a few hours each week to pay off his rent.
Just before Carl takes me out in a kayak, he shows me a skin from a rattlesnake. an eight feet long diamond back, to be exact. And, yes, they, and various other very poisonous snakes hang out on the island. It's a historic place. There are native American burial mounds going back some two thousand years. American history post Columbus? A mere bagatelle!
The kayak trail takes us round the mangroves. No alligators, who only lurk in freshwater and, thankfully, no snakes. But it's a delightful trip and I feel privileged to have had Carl as my guide.
After an excellent lunch at the one simple cafe that is allowed to operate, Carl takes me on an absolutely amazing tour of the one mile square land part of Caledesi. We see a pair of Ospreys building a nest, wild bees nests, pelican, heron, an armadillo, sanderlings, enormous horseshoe crabs and the very British sounding Ruddy turn stone. Carl reckons that, over a year, you can see some 300 varieties of bird on the island. I can believe it.
He's been very generous with his time and I have had an absolutely brilliant day.
Caladesi, with its' 200,000 visitors a year (only a few hundred today) is a very special place indeed.
I am sure they wanted me to tell you that its' beach was voted 'Best Beach in America', 2008. The beach is certainly unspoilt, very charming and totally natural.
But best? I have seen better and I have only been in Florida for a week!

2009-02-21T19:08:00.001-08:00

has listened to Premiership football in mid air en route to Tampa. http://ping.fm/HOrnQ with new photos at http://ping.fm/3AqwZ

Flights and Football, St. Pete's Beach, Saturday evening

2009-02-21T18:29:00.000-08:00

Damn fractious children. Especially damn them when they are next door in a hotel that has paper for walls. But the bloody thing shut up about 1am. An hour later, I was awakened by revellers returning from Pensacola's Mardi Gras parades. GRRRRRR.
At breakfast, I hand the waitress my voucher for my 'Complimentary full breakfast'. She returns with a bill for nearly nine dollars. Apparently guests are not allowed orange juice, cereal and something hot, despite the fact it's all pictured on the voucher itself.
Pensacola Airport is nice and small, so car return, check in and security is completed with the minimum of fuss.
I am impressed how nice the security experience is. The staff are diligent, but friendly. Quite unlike the jobsworths that seem to have been recruited at most UK airports.
It's mid Saturday morning in the United States and mid afternoon in the UK. So, I thoroughly enjoy the experience of listening to a second half Premiership football commentary at 23,000 feet. I am not aware of any UK airlines that allow you to do the same. Amazing. I even hear the Norwich result.
The Air Tran staff at Atlanta are doing a good sales pitch for the remaining business class seats. They are all snapped up, allowing a few more economy seats to be occupied. The flight to Tampa is full.
There's a lovely view of some offshore islands as we approach the airport, they look superb and I am looking forward very much to seeing them over the next few days.
I scamper to Hertz to collect my car and find myself being allocated a brand new, top of the range, Ford Mercury Sable. When I have collected my bags and set off, I discover that the car even has Sirius satellite radio and I am once again tuned into the BBC World Service.
I am slightly apprehensive as I drive through the rather gaudy main drag in St. Pete's Beach that I am going to be back in Blackpool. But Pasa Tiempo, my 'Private Waterfront Resort' turns out to be absolutely charming. It's adult only with only eight suites. My spacious accommodation has a really comfortable living room, well equipped kitchen, spacious bedroom and nice bathroom. Outside, there are peaceful gardens, endless running fountains and a nice sized pool.
The local tourist board has left a comprehensive brief and press pack, together with a really nice note and goodies including a beach towel and a little rucsac. Obviously St. Pete's and Clearwater has a big budget!
In the evening in the Pasa Tiempo, there are lit candles everywhere, complimentary liqueurs, snacks and coffee.
I set off to see the sunset over the Gulf of Mexico and watch a young heron enjoying the spectacle. Shortly afterwards, a fisherman gives the bird a fish, only for it to be stolen moments later by an older bird.
I stock up with some provisions and manage to do my laundry back at the Pasa Tiempo. A quiet night in tonight, tomorrow's explorations look like being quite demanding.
Bizarrely, when I switch on the TV, the chanel it's on is showing nothing but old BBC repeats. Are You Being Served, Keeping up Appearances and To the Manor Born.
Somehow, surrounded by comfy floral patterned settees and armchairs, it seems absolutely right.

2009-02-20T20:19:00.001-08:00

has updated his Florida blog after visiting the Naval air station at Pensacola http://ping.fm/HOrnQ and his photos at http://ping.fm/3AqwZ

Pensacola, Friday Night

2009-02-20T19:42:00.001-08:00

Up with the lark, clearly my body is now fully in tune with Florida time. I present my voucher to the restaurant lady and choose what is called the 1912 breakfast. But, apparently, my full breakfast voucher only allows me to choose from the lowest price items on the menu. Crab cakes with poached eggs in hollandaise sauce is not on the 'allowed' list.
I set off in my Chevy Impala, which I am sadly going to have to return tomorrow, and note that town hall workers are busy removing all of the Spanish flags from the lamp posts.
Hope the king doesn't pop back unexpectedly, but I am sure he'll be told about it when his people read my blog!
I am delighted to be going to visit one of Florida's top 10 attractions, the National Naval Aviation Museum, which attracts more than one million visitors every year.

My Hertz Never Lost will supposedly take me to tourist attractions, but she dumps me unceremoniously at the gate, telling me I 'have arrived at my destination'. But she clearly knows the police officer on the gate. 'No drivers' licence, no entry'. I had my Navy Club ID, my official press pass with my photograph and several other items of photo ID. But no, I would be 'in violation of both Florida State and Base law'.
So back to the hotel to get my licence out of the safe. It's a good time also to take some photographs of the entrance, the former ticket office of the L and N Railway. An hour later than planned, I present myself at the gate of Naval Air Station Pensacola, where many British and foreign air crew are trained.
Luckily the same police officer was more helpful than the Never Lost when it came to directions. I mean, this place is huge, with its' own dual carriageways. I did ask the Navy PR people to tell me the actual size, but it's obviously highly classified, as they haven't come back to me. Thanks, Harry.
The museum is stupendous. I have a lovely time. There's a real simulator in which you can fly an F14 and even land it on an aircraft carrier. The lady in charge has fun with me and reduces the visibility and increases the sea state after I have made two successful landings. On the third occasion, I park the aircraft one deck too low. It's $25 for half an hour, but so realistic and a lot of fun.
I recover from my nasty crash over lunch in the Cubi bar cafe, which features most of the original fittings from the Officers' Club at Naval Air Station Cubi Point in the Philippines. The base had to be closed after Mount Pinatubo emptied the contents of its volcano over it in 1992. The lady behind the bar, where I feel totally at home, surrounded by 1100 military plaques and other memorabilia, tells me of the havoc Hurricane Ivan wreaked in Pensacola in September 2004.
I also see an excellent IMAX film about the Red Flag multinational air exercises.
But the highlight of the day, undoubtedly, is a crazy hour in an ancient old bus driver by Dave Seiler, long retired from the US Marine Corps. Behind the museum is another huge display of parked aircraft, many of which have been restored by museum volunteers. Dave is a real character and I am lucky to have been squeezed onto the free 'trolley' trip. The ancient vehicle has a lovely wooden body, the museum bought it for just one dollar.
I have planned to spend only the morning and, here I still am, five hours later. The museum staff and volunteers have all been great and it's been a day very well spent.
Just time to see the nearby 1858 lighthouse and back to the hotel, where revellers are gathering for the town's Mardi Gras parade.
Various emails have arrived and have to be printed out. The business cabin on both my Air Tran flights tomorrow, being Saturday, is almost empty, so I have fun moving me into several seats before I make up my mind. There's absolutely nothing from the tourist board who have hardly lifted a finger to help. They have either done nothing at all or done it sloppily. Thank god for Jay, my local contact at Visit Florida.
In my room, there's a big parcel on my bed. Ashley Chisholm, from Pensacola 450, the star supporter of my visit to Pensacola, has kindly left me a whole lot of souvenirs to take home, including the lunch menu from the King's visit yesterday.
Pensacola does have a lot to offer. It's just a great pity that the local tourist board is so keen to keep it hidden.
Well, there's an irony in there somewhere, I guess.

2009-02-19T20:15:00.001-08:00

has set up camp back in Pensacola and had a brush with Spanish Royalty. http://ping.fm/HOrnQ

Pensacola, Thursday Evening

2009-02-19T19:28:00.000-08:00

I have had a really special time in Apalachicola. Everyone has been so keen to help, flexible and friendly. The icing on the cake is undoubtedly being invited to see his beautiful personal home by the remarkable Bill Spohrer, owner of the Coombes House Inn, followed by a lovely dinner at the Owl restaurant. Bill's equally remarkable wife, interior decorator Lynn Wilson, is delayed driving, but we chat a couple of times on the phone.
I have a 7.30 departure to get to Pensacola in time for the King of Spain's speech. Despite the early start, Estella cooks me a lovely breakfast and sends me on my way with freshly baked muffins and two mugs of coffee in insulated containers. Bill pops in with the local morning newspaper, as we have been discussing papers at dinner.
The drive back west to pensacola takes me three and a half hours. I ignore the route that Pensacola Tourism has recommended, through the ghastly abomination of urban sprawl around Panama City and gradually wiggle my way north and west until the Interstate 10.
I have been moved to the Crowne Plaza Hotel, not ideal, as the bedrooms are rather badly noise affected by the nearby Interstate. But I like the fact that they have retained the entrance lobby of the original railway station as a feature.
I venture back to the Paradise Inn at Pensacola Beach, to both give it a second chance and see Dana at the hotel. But it's clear that the resort is akin to Blackpool in the sun and clearly not my sought after 'Hidden Florida' by any stretch of the imagination. Dana's read my blog and can't understand why I was even sent there. The tacky sign at the entrance of the resort, featured in today's blog, pretty well says it all.
I head for downtown to see the King and Queen of Spain, who are in town to mark the 450th anniversary of its' founding. A kindly police officer takes a shine to my accent and lets me park right behind the museum where the Royals are based. No checks of course and the boot of my extremely smart Chevrolet Impala could have been full of anything. I shouldn't complain...
An enormous crowd has gathered, the Kings says all the right things about the historic links between Spain and 'La Florida' and the large Spanish contingent in the crowd chant, 'Juan Ca, Juan Ca'. Sounds rather more polite in Spanish, than English. Bizarrely, I find myself translating for CBS News who want to interview some of the wives of Spanish air force pilots training at Pensacola Air station.
I have a nice, if brief, visit to Historic Pensacola Village, which i hope to find time to do in more depth tomorrow. Dena and Mickey, two of ther museum's educators, take me under their wing and kindly arrange for some of the staff to drop everything and pose for some photos. For the first time since coming to Pensacola, I feel at last that I am actually getting some relevant material.
I visit the Amtrak station, really modern, well kept, but totally deserted and currently without any passenger traffic. I think Hurricane Ivan has something to do with its' demise, but I'll investigate more tomorrow. Actually, Ivan had a bit of a go at the Crowne Plaza and the place was closed for ages as a result. Gail, who was on the plane from Atlanta, sent me a photo, which I have included in the blog.
There being nobody from Pensacola Tourism who seems interested in my visit after working hours, I have again been left to my own devices for the evening.
It wouldn't have happened in Apalachicola.

2009-02-18T15:53:00.001-08:00

has just had a wonderful day in Apalachicola prior to driving back to Pensacola to see the King and Queen of Spain. http://ping.fm/HOrnQ

Apalachicola, 'The Forgotten Coast', Wednesday 7pm.

2009-02-18T15:41:00.000-08:00

The weatherman said rain today, but he's wrong. The day has dawned bright and sunny. The Alabamans, who are heading back home this morning, are still having fun at breakfast. yesterday's most incredibly helpful member of staff, Destenee, has been replaced by Estella, who's also very much a 'can do' lady. When I say how pleased I am at everyone's incredible helpfulness, she replies that 'it's what the hospitality industry is all about'. I couldn't agree more!
Anita arrives to take me on a really carefully planned day of events. While the sun is out, she is keen that I should see the St. George Island State Park. We have to cross the four mile long John Gorrie Bridge. I have already discovered that there are an awful lot of bridges linking Florida's islands. The man after whom the bridge is named invented the forerunner of modern air conditioning, the original need being to control the temperature in bedrooms of people suffering from yellow fever.
The island is lovely, totally trapped in a time warp and almost completely spared the ravages of modern development. What is there is tasteful, low rise and in keeping with the delightful environment.
The island is 22 miles long and a maximum of a mile wide. Nine miles is taken up by the State Park, which is just exactly the sort of place I'd hoped to discover. Mile after mile of carefully protected vegetation, sand dunes and dazzlingly white sandy beaches. Its' lighthouse was transported, brick by brick, when it fell down a few miles away.
I ask Anita how house prices have been affected by the current economy, so we pop in to see Mary Seymour at a local estate agent (www.beachesbyjeff.com). Mary shows me one beachfront property, over 3000 square feet, which was once on sale for $1.8 million and can be bought now for under 800K.
The Orman House is very much a jewel in the town's crown. Occupied by the same family for 156 years until 1994, when the then owner, Mrs. Andrews was stabling her horse in the dining room.
Now under State control, park ranger Mike Kinnett proudly shows me around, despite the fact that the house is actually closed. I envy him his job, which involves living in provided accommodation within the St. George Island state Park. I enjoy his enthusiasm for the house, of which he is justifiably and clearly very proud.
Bev Hewitt kindly entertains me to lunch at the Apalachicola Seafood Grill, which has been in operation since 1903. I ask Bev if she was the owner back then, but she puts that down to my British sense of humour. Like almost everyone I have met so far, Bev has moved into the area. I enjoy both her company and the quality of the food in what is clearly a very popular local meeting place.
The weather has held sufficiently to go on a river trip with Steve Bartlett, another interloper, but at least he is Floridian. I see my first osprey ever, not once, but several times. There are at least five pairs of eagles, otters, bears, snakes and almost any wildlife imaginable. The Apalachicola River is almost totally unspoilt and it is a real treat to have been given the opportunity to travel on it. Despite the fact that the outboard is pushing us along at a very bracing 24 knots, a turkey vulture hovers expectantly above.
We pass under a rusty railway swing bridge, which Steve tells me is still in use a few times a week to take goods to and from the Arizona Chemical plant. The Apalachicola Northern Rail Road apparently which, sadly, like so many of north America's railways, carries only freight.
There's just time to meet Seth Blitch at the National Estuariane Research Reserve. Seth is generous with his time, explaining just why the area is, ecologically, quite so special. I learn about local snakes, poisonous of course, one of which enjoys spending time draped around Seth's 10 year old daughter's neck.
The charming little Dixie Theatre has a current production, but I just don't have the time to fit it in. But it's lovely just to be able to soak up the atmosphere.
Back at the Coombs House Inn, owner Bill Spohrer pops by to invite me out to dinner. His interior designer wife, Lynn Wilson, will hopefully join us later. Although I have a bag to pack, I hop on one of the hotel's bright yellow bikes for another tour around the town.
There are few places where I have been in over 30 years of international travel writing which have absolutely knocked me out. It's not that the history in Apalachicola is especially wonderful, well not to a European, as Anita Grove, my most welcoming and generous host from the town's Chamber of Commerce keeps pointing out.
I have just had one of the most splendid days I have ever had in travel journalism. Anita has totally understood my mission and has bent over backwards to make sure that the townsfolk have responded. Which they have, magnificently.
Apalachicola has set an incredibly high standard. Anita has even presented me with a jar of the very special Tupelo Honey, about the best there is.
Tomorrow, a three and a half hour drive back to Pensacola to see the King and Queen of Spain.
As you do.

2009-02-17T21:18:00.001-08:00

is enjoying his stay in the lovely Coombs Inn in Apalachicola

In search of the 'Hidden Florida'. Apalachicola, Tuesday Midnight.

2009-02-17T21:04:00.001-08:00

I can't think of many times that I have been as despondent on my travels as I was last night and the early part of today. Not helped by the restaurant in my hotel in Pensacola Beach closing at seven pm. Had it not been for the very helpful man at K Mart a couple of miles down the road, my first ever dinner in the Panhandle would have been a microwaved hamburger.
This morning, I washed and shaved in the kitchen sink in my room, there being no facilities in the bathroom to do so. Thank goodness I have remembered to bring my universal sink plug. This is not in the script and I am not at all a happy bunny. But the receptionist at the Paradise Inn is very chatty and friendly. Angel, the housekeeper is working on her birthday. I am not making this up. Truly, an Angel in Paradise!
Then, not ever being a lover of long distance driving, my recommended 'scenic route' to Apalachicola turned out to be endless apartment complexes, fast food joints and billboards. The gorgeous dazzling white sands and views of the ocean are completely obscured by tourist overdevelopment. Santa Rosa island offers a brief respite and is truly breathtaking in its' beauty.
Condominium country is not at all what is wanted, so I deviate from the route and head north. My Hertz 'NeverLost' GPS system complains bitterly, but I refuse to 'make a u turn when legally possible' and go in search for the Florida I want to discover. Mind you, the GPS is in disgrace, having failed in her first test to take me to Pensacola Beach.
At Highway 20, I head due East, the compass in the Volvo Estate reminding me that Navigation in the US of A is very much a case of knowing the four main points of the compass. Hurrah! Instant relief. There's very little traffic, views of wonderful forests, lakes and creeks. 'Never Lost' tries her best to direct me towards Niceville and Panama City, which I stoically ignore. I am told later that if I thought what I had seen was ghastly, I would have been appalled had I carried on to Panama City.
By the time I head south for the hour long drive through the Apalachicola Forest, I really do begin to believe that there is a point in this trip. I see almost no traffic, apart from enormous logging lorries. The road runs parallel with a railway line. At one point an hug train of oil wagons, probably half a mile long, potters ponderously north.
At Corinth Baptist Church, I am delighted that they have heard of my trip. They have run out of black apostrophes and Mike, so they use a red one and call me Kevin. But the thought is there.
I have never seen so many churches in my life. Every few yards, there's another one, of all shapes and hues. I am amused by the sign outside Sumatra's Baptish Church which offers 'Free Trips to Heaven. Details Inside'.
Rather alarmingly, an electronic message has started to appear in the Volvo that one of the tyres needs air. But the message has gone from a gentle prod to one of some insistence. so, at the first opportunity, I stop at a garage to pump it up again. As I need to leave early on Thursday for to go back to Pensacola for the King of Spain's speech, I decide to fill up the tank as well. After a bit of poking and prodding by both of us, the lady at the till rings her husband to find out where to locate the button to open the petrol catch!
My Hertz 'Never Lost' announces 'I have arrived at my destination' and I have discovered, with the help of Anita Grove of the Apalachicola Bay Chamber of Commerce EXACTLY what I have been looking for. The Coombs House Inn (www.coombshouseinn.com) dates from 1905 and has deservedly won many awards since it was completely restored in 1994. Beautifully decorated and filled with antiques from the collection of the co owner, interior designer, Lynn Wilson. It is utterly, utterly a delight.
I discover I have arrived an hour later than expected. Nobody has thought to tell me that, in this part of the State, we are back on Miami time. How confusing having two time zones in one state must be!
Anita takes me on a quick trip round the town, which has a really nice feel to it. It made its' original money from logging, and is doing very nicely thank you with a very successful oyster industry. So well is it doing that 10% of all of America's oysters come from Apalachicola.
Anita kindly takes me to the Boss Oyster restaurant, where there are 22 varieties of the delicacy on the menu. I have to confess, I have never, perhaps surprisingly, tasted an oyster, but Anita orders a variety which are baked with parmesan cheese, then placed on a saltine cracker, with a dash of Crystal sauce. The sauce, made just outside New Orleans, a three hour drive away, was hoarded locally after it was rumoured, quite wrongly, that the factory had been destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. Despite the warnings on the restaurant wall of terrible things that can happen if you eat a bad oyster, I am alive and well as I write this.
I chat away in Spanish to a Mexican and a Guatemalan, employed as 'shuckers', or shell openers. It reminds me that, down south in Miami, Spanish is spoken by more people than English.
Back at the hotel, I have a jolly banter about matters colonial with a group of Alabamans, visiting the 'Redneck Riviera'. They are all impressed with my time exposure photos of the hotel and persuade me to email copies to the hotel computer, so the receptionist can put them on her big screen.
The receptionist is great. She's not only washed and dried my laundry, but a little while ago, seeing I was still working, brought me a good night cup of tea.
What a difference a day makes.

2009-02-17T19:53:00.001-08:00

has been uploading his latest photographs from his Florida trip. http://ping.fm/3AqwZ

AirTran Airways Flight 511 Monday noon LOCAL

2009-02-16T15:40:00.000-08:00

Clearing the sometimes chaotic US Immigration and Customs last night was, for once, amazingly swift. As the plane is 40 minutes early, I am in fact happily ensconced in my luxurious Aventura Limo (www.aventuralimo.com) before we are even due to have landed! I achieve this by leaving the aircraft first and then walking ahead of the hordes at a brisk trot. However, the people at the end of the queue off the Virgin flight from Heathrow would have a different tale to tell. Having waited an hour to get to immigration, they are understandably livid when the BA wheelchair cases and families with babies are given priority over them.
Having spent ages filling up the ESTA electronic visa waiver, it transpires that the technology is a bit ahead of the reality and pieces of paper still have to be completed. When I query this with the, actually very friendly, immigration officer, he tells me that he can see my electronic approval, but that the system is not yet fully implemented. God alone knows why then it's a British Airways requirement that passengers complete it in advance.
Neil Goodman of Aventura Limo has sent a rather splendid Lincoln Town car to pick me up. It certainly beats having to negotiate airport taxis and the horrors that can arise from them. I had half expected Neil to turn up in his Mini Cooper, but maybe he has had word of my accompanying baggage! My driver, Wolf, whose parents comes from Scandinavia, is not the chattiest of folk, but that may be more to do with my gathering travel weariness than him appearing to be somewhat monosyllabic.
My hotel on Miami Beach, www.theanglersresort.com, is rather splendid. But I have been allocated a room adjacent to a party being held by the general manager's wife, with an indeterminate end time. But they accept my view that a noisy party is not the best neighbour for an increasingly weary traveller and I am moved to a much quieter location. The Angler's does things in some style. My $300 room is much better equipped - and probably just as spacious, as my suite in the Grosvenor House. A very natty sound system even allows me to plug my iPod in and listen to 'From our own Correspondent' while I wash away the stresses and strains of a long journey. I have forgotten just how well Americans do showers. This is enormous, wide enough so that my fully-outstretched elbows don't even touch the walls. Mind you, I discover that mint shampoo can bring a tear to ones' eyes if allowed too close to sensitive bits!
I am invited to dinner, but the staff is, quite clearly, much more focussed on the GM's wife's party and I wait. And wait. And wait. So, I nip across the road to the Outback restaurant, have a very tasty burger that's almost up to the standard of Zak's in Norwich. By 10pm, I am in the land of nod.
At 3.30 am, I am fully awake, very bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Try as I might, jet lag has beaten me.
But there are benefits, I bring yesterday's blog up to date, sort out my luggage for the journey north and, am so ahead of myself, that able to join the joggers along Ocean Drive at 7am. I say join, but you know what I mean!
I am sure it's the very best time to see the art deco district, with the sun just coming up. I walk as far as the extraordinary house where Gianni Versace was so tragically gunned down on his own front doorstep. His killer then went on to kill the husband of Chicago socialite, Marilyn Miglin, whom I have met on a couple of occasions through my US Navy buddy, Ken Beachler.
The municipal parks' department is busy watering the flowers. Impressively, a man drives a lorry with a water tank on the back, then leaps up and points a hose pipe at the plants. Beats watering cans, for sure.
Back at the Angler's, breakfast takes an age to arrive, despite the fact I am the only early-riser waiting. When I question the delay, the girl tells me that she'll deliver my breakfast cereal at the same time as oven baked egg. Very odd. When my granola arrives, it's very tasty but the strawberries are still deep-frozen. The 'Eggs Barnard' with its creamy mushrooms and Virginia ham crisps is tasty, but, at $13 is rather a lot to pay for poached eggs in a bacon nest. Especially with potato wedges which seem to be left-overs from last night's party.
Clearly I haven't spent enough time in mid air, so another wonderful limo arrives at the hotel front door to whisk me, in rather more style than Neil's Mini Cooper, back to the airport! My driver this time is Guillermo, a Columbian. He's thrilled to bits that I can speak Spanish and we pass away the 20 minute transfer to the airport enjoying mixing our languages. He tells me that he can tell my accent is Spanish, rather than south American. I further impress him with my demonstration of Andaluz, which I describe as a Brummie version of English!
I am to have my first experience AirTran airways, an Orlando based operation that, in only 15 years, has grown to become one of the US's biggest low cost carriers, rivalling Air Berlin in size but mimicking an Easy Jet business plan. It clearly works. The Boeing 717 flight (the airline operates an all Boeing fleet) is completely full and a transiting crew member has to squeeze into the jump seat. It's nice to see that, while on the ground, passengers are welcome to visit the flight deck.
I tune into the satellite radio, which has a choice of some 200 channels. Here I am, half way between Miami and Atlanta, listening to the BBC World Service. How weird is that?
Air Tran differs from Easy Jet, in that it offers a small but real business class cabin. I have dressed appropriately, with smart shirt and trousers, but I am the only one. Jeans and trainers are the order of the day. Three passengers even wear baseball caps throughout the flight. I'd forgotten that Americans, and increasingly those people who follow that country's customs, don't remove their hats in spaces that are considered to be indoors. Complimentary alcoholic and soft drinks are served before take off and during the flight, while even passengers in the main cabin get free soft drinks. Eat your heart out Stelios!
I ask cabin crew member Kathy why my connecting flight to Pensacola appears to take only six minutes. I am amused to learn that 'you go back in time to the Panhandle', as Florida's north west is dubbed.
Kathy and I get into quite a chat when I learn that her husband was a naval aviator and was based at the US base at Rota, not far from where I live in Spain. The last time I was there was to visit a Spanish Navy friend and to see the aircraft carrier Principe de Asturias. Amazingly, she doesn't know that the King and Queen of Spain are to visit in only a few days, which may be something to do with security. I have a personal thought that President Obama might put in an appearance, with no substance whatsoever to that view. But it seems to me to be illogical that a foreign monarch whose country supported the Bush-inspired Iraqi war is visiting, and the newly elected President wouldn't pop by to say hello. Or maybe the link with Bush is one very good reason why he would NOT put in an appearance!
My new best friend, Kathy, brings me a cuppa. Fortnum and Mason tea with Walkers shortbread. Here I am at 33,000 feet, drinking English tea, nibbling Scottish shortbread and listening to the BBC. Only in America. Or , of course, in London.
Where Mrs. Manners would surely dictate that the tea should not be drunk while be-hatted?

FIVE MILE HIGH CLUB

2009-02-15T17:33:00.000-08:00

I am at 36000 feet, flying at 566 miles an hour above St. John's in Newfoundland. Even better, I have had a couple of hours kip.
This morning's journey from the Grosvenor House Hotel to Terminal 5 was an absolute dream. Clearly, Sunday morning is the time to do it!
I have the First Class compartment of the excellent Heathrow Express all to myself. reflect on the ghastly journey of yesteryear on the Piccadilly Line underground. But of course the speed and the comfort comes at a price. A return journey 'Express Class' is £32, with First a whopping £50. Great if someone else is paying!
It's my first sight of Terminal 5, which really is most impressive. Lifts glide up and down totally automatically, so the journey to check in from the train is very easy. I've been checked in on-line, so I take my bag to 'Fast Drop' and am through security at record speed and with the minimum of stress. Marvellous!
I have, in fact, saved so much time, that I pop in to have my iris scanned. In theory, when I return to the UK, I just look into a machine, it recognises me, and the door to the Promised Land, sorry Brown's Britain, will open to grant me access.
But I am so short-sighted, that I have trouble lining up my eyes with the requisite green dots. In fact, I can hardly see the wretched things. But the girl is very patient, teaches me how to open my eyes wide and make the technology work. We will see in a month whether it does!
I do not realise that a whole section of gates at the new terminal are a transit train ride away, a fact worth bearing in mind if you are travelling British Airways from Heathrow. Terminal 5 is massive.
There's time to stop off to see the new Terraces lounge, which is pretty impressive and, hurrah, now has free wifi internet access, which was not the case before BA moved.
My friend Alan managed to do my online check-in while I was in mid air on my way to London and secured my preferred seat on the jumbo's upper deck. It's the first time since I flew with the RAF from Singapore to the UK in 1971 that I have flown backwards. I am not sure I like the configuration, which has you facing a complete stranger about two feet away. Rather too close for my comfort, But after take off, a 'privacy panel' can be raised, which improves things a lot. The tranquillity of my own little eyrie is only spoiled when, during the dinner service, the Cabin Services Director suddenly lowers the screen to pass through my dinner. He assures me it's the way they do things, but his staff have served me from the front. If his way is what BA teaches staff to do, I think it's a pretty rude way of doing things.
Apart from that, the journey passes very pleasantly and I devour more papers and magazines in a nine-hour period than I generally read in a month. There's literally hundreds of on demand CD's, films, games and so on, but there all surplus to my requirements.
Afternoon tea will arrive shortly, Bangor, Maine, is off to starboard and the delights of U.S. Homeland Security awaits in a shade over three hours.

Flying and Five Star

2009-02-15T00:25:00.000-08:00

Sunday 15 February, London

I have had about three hours sleep. I have overnighted in one of London’s leading hotels in a suite that would have cost me £500, had I paid. Just for the room. The air conditioning was horribly noisy. Thrum, thrum, thrum. I pressed every button there was to slow down the fan, lower the temperature, or just TURN THE BLOODY THING OFF. To no avail.
The king sized bed was extremely comfortable with crisply starched linen and more pillows on the one bed than I have at home. But thrum bloody thrum.
It wasn’t helped by the fact that the only way to listen to the radio at bedtime, was to put on one of the televisions. But I giant beacon remained on the screen. HOTEL RADIO. I listened to Radio Four’s Book at Bedtime under a bloody searchlight.
But I am getting rather ahead of myself.
The Iberia check in girl at Malaga airport could see that I had been granted an extra luggage allowance, but she was being bureaucratically Spanish at her pernickety best. Luckily, I stood my ground and all was well in the end.
At security, OH how I love security at airports, I was dressing myself when an American woman was pleading not to have her very expensive looking manicure set thrown away. VERY expensive looking. Quite why the stupid woman was bringing it through security beggars belief. But the show made me forget my watch and it took the intervention of an elderly Guardia Civil officer a couple of minutes later to retrieve it.
Why is it that people with walking sticks wear trainers? I ask that, because Monarch’s plane to Luton is full to the brim with such folk. Several of them in football tops. There are more wheelchair passengers than I have ever seen on an aircraft. While I have every support and sympathy for people with disabilities, I cannot understand why airlines insist on totally clogging up the aisles with a few people needing assistance while 200 others wait?
On the day when a 13 year old father is in the news, the majority of the cabin crew don’t look all that much older. One passenger buys an exclusive Monarch Airlines Barbie doll, which seems highly appropriate. I am fascinated that one of the girls has hair which drops down straight to her collar, then projects horizontally for several inches. How does that work?
I enjoy a brandy and dry ginger for which I pay £4 and am looking forward to my hot lunch. But, by the time the trolley has reached row 8, they have run out. ‘People seem to be hungry today’ said one of the Barbie Dolls. Not surprising really, seeing as it is a lunchtime departure!
The sausage and mash looks horrible, but actually tasts very nice. The apple crumble is nothing like my mum’s, of course, but a tasty bit of Croxton cheddar rounded things off. Not bad for £6.
Fast ticket collection at Luton Airport Parkway station was anything but. My code was not being accepted. Had I just paid, I would not have missed the fast train to St. Pancras. The man at the station tells me it’s a common occurrence. Mr. Trainline dot com will be having a Soutergram!
I am looking forward to my night in the capital. I have been lucky to have stayed in many of the world’s leading hotels, but never in the Grosvenor House, just off Park Lane. It’s being refurbished and rebranded and every time you say GH, you have to add A JW Marriott Hotel. Branding is something that I know rather a lot about. But this is bonkers. Who cares a toss? Some overpaid advertising geek who should have been told to get back in his or her box. It’s everywhere. GRRRRR.
I am surprised that they have changed my booking for afternoon tea, especially as they know I am expecting a journalist friend, Adrian Finighan, who I knew from my broadcasting days in Norfolk and Suffolk and who is now the main London anchor for CNN.
But I have been upgraded to a suite. It’s so big that it almost needs a map to help me find my way around. Very nicely furnished.
Someone called Vicki Richards has left me a ‘Dear Mike’ note, welcoming me to the hotel. She turns out, according to reception, to be the sales and marketing director, but I don’t know her, have never met her and I am a bit unimpressed by the informal approach. Especially in a leading hotel.
My laptop connects easily to the £20 a day broadband connection and I read a note from Adrian who has been called away to Barcelona, so he is busy ironing his TV presenter’s shirt. It’s the first time I have ever been stood up on St. Valentine’s Day. Mind you, I am not sure I have ever before had an afternoon assignation on February 14!
Because of the romantic nature of the day, the hotel is full and so are the restaurants. But they have kindly offered me afternoon tea in the Park Room. The blurb paints a picture of a lovely view across to Hyde Park, but, in reality, it’s constant traffic and vibration.
There’s a hiatus when I point out that my champagne glass has been used, which sends a series of folk to the table to apologise. Carlos, who’s from Portugal, but who was brought up in Germany, a Portuguese girl from guest relations, Sandro the Italian F and B manager and Samuel, the poor Irish lad whose fault it was. All I wanted to do was tuck into my £28.50 feast with my ‘Grosvenor House a JW Marriott Hotel’Royal Blend’ of Assam and Ceylon tea. Plus 12.5% discretionary service charge.
Scrumptious sandwiches, wonderful scones with comb honey or strawberry jam with clotted cream and excellent pastries. A very talented pianist playing all my favourites from Gershwin to Lloyd Webber. Adrian, you missed a treat!
Carlos shows me the lunch menu. May I recommend 30g of Beluga caviar for £155, the gin for £9.25, tonic extra and, especially, a bottle of Quinta do Noval 1931 port. A snip at £1295. No decimal point. Not anywhere. Plus, of course, a 12.5% discretionary service charge. I am sure they’d accept £100.
Later in the evening, in my suite, I search for my advertised ‘complimentary coffee and tea’, only to be told that, ‘owing to the refurbishment, not all rooms have it yet’. But a tray duly arrives. Neither the man who brought it, nor I, could find a plug for the kettle. He left me searching. I still am. Oh there ARE plugs. Just that you either have to unplug the television or the telephone or hold the kettle in mid air as it boils.
The shortage of sockets is indeed acute. I spend the evening swapping my mobile phone, camera battery charger, iPod dock et al in the bathroom shaver socket.
Luckily, a pot of early morning tea can be delivered. £5.60 for that. But my Sunday Times, supposedly to be delivered at the same time, has failed to materialise.
Attention to detail. There’s a lot the branding people could learn from the Taj.

Postcript

Delightful as the setting is for my £26.50 breakfast, heads will roll over the stone cold black pudding on the buffet. Not that I can ever support cafeteria style messing in hotels of this quality and cost. Luckily the hotel's George McIntosh, a fellow Scot, is well aware of the problems that can be caused by the potential for bacteria to lurk. Especially in blood products. On that happy note, to Heathrow and British Airways, the only company that I know for sure has given me a nasty dose of food poisoning. Which resulted in a stay in Ruchill Hospital in Glasgow with suspected cholera. But that is 30 years ago.....

PLANNING AND PACKING

2009-02-11T03:49:00.001-08:00

Three more sleeps before departure, so my bags are almost packed, or at least I have decided what needs to be in them. I am always prone to taking far too much of everything, so I have been pretty ruthless about reducing the load. But the travel kettle HAS to be included and it’s amazing just how much paraphernalia needs to be taken just to ensure that I have the wherewithal to have a decent cup of tea on my travels.

Some years ago, I took the lead from a much-travelled friend who has what he calls his ‘running away bag’. There are huge advantages to be able to just pick that up, knowing that everything a man could possible require en-route has been pre-sorted.

At least, that’s the theory.

For a start, I’ll be travelling on three different airlines within a 48 hour period, all of whom have different regulations about what is permitted in their cabin. To avoid any doubt, and also the potential that my checked in luggage won’t arrive at the same time and place as me, I will carry on board all essentials for at least 3 days. But one airline will allow that case to be 10KG, one 23KG and one seems to tell me that, ‘as long as I can lift it without assistance’, then that’s fine.

Well I can, but only just.

I’ve just turned down a lunch appointment, despite the fact that it’s gloriously sunny outside and I really do need a break from the fairly intense planning I have now being doing over the past three weeks.

But various computer systems are not allowing me to do what should take me moments and I feel the stress levels mounting. Oh how I long for those days when you simply turned up and took off!

On my last trip to the States, I had such a grilling from the man at the immigration desk that I vowed never to return. I felt especially aggrieved that I was there as a Naval Reserve Officer, had a multiple entry Visa and was being treated like the dirt on the smarmy shoes he no doubt was wearing.

Now, you have to fill up a special form online before you travel, which allows you to fly but not necessarily to get in. The link from British Airways to the Department of Homeland Security seems to have been broken for the past 48 hours and even BA can’t update the fact I’m not now staying at the hotel I originally entered into the system. Clearly I am an alien and, Santa Claus having brought me the entire series of the X Files, I am almost beginning to believe.

I have not so far been hugely impressed with BA, especially their new rules regarding seat allocation. While I can pre-book my seat at the time of reservation on almost any other airline anywhere in the world, unless I have a BA Platinum or Gold card, I can’t now choose my seat until 24 hours before the flight. Before you ask, I’m flying in the Club World cabin. But I expect that, in an attempt to win friends, the same rules now apply to First Class, as well.

I was planning to ask a friend to book my seat, as I’ll be in mid-air en route to London when online seat allocation opens, but the lady in the call centre was unable to access the Business Class cabin plan when I called, so I will probably end up near the toilet or the galley.

I’m highly unamused, but it’s best not to complain too much as the company is largely funding the trip.

I have been surrounded by guide books and maps for about a fortnight. I am not a slave to what they say but, as a contributor to several, I do like to compare notes. Unusually, I am without my Rough Guide as the Spanish distributor has run out and I won’t actually take delivery of my copy until I arrive in London.

But Lonely Planet and the Insight Guide and map have been very useful indeed in putting everything into context. Mind you, the very glossy Insight Guide alone weighs nearly a kilogram and its’ bulk may mean it becomes a casualty of the swingeing cuts I am making to my luggage.

The guides bring me up with a bit of a jolt. I had no real idea that Florida was quite so big and diverse. Early on, I’ll almost be within touching distance of New Orleans, for heavens’ sake! I’ve visited the Sunshine State several times, but not criss-crossed it as I will be doing over the next month.

One book I will be leaving at home is the excellent Bradt guide to USA by rail. I SO wanted to get about by Amtrak. But, despite a flurry of emails to both Amtrak and their main sales agent, I have had no joy in adding any rail to my itinerary.

Most disappointing.

Meeting the brief and understanding the media

2009-01-26T01:58:00.000-08:00

I am in the fortunate position of receiving more invitations to travel than I know what to do with. The trouble is, of course, that when you are young and have the energy to stay on the go for virtually 24/7, you don't have the opportunities that come with experience and reputation. Now I am 55, I like to pace my travels so that there is a bit of recovery time in between.
When you are on an actual trip, especially one that is being laid on by a PR company or a tourism department, they very rarely take note of that, trying to make sure you see as much of their product as you can in the time available.
I have made it clear on more occasions than I care to mention that, when you have an editorial brief to provide a certain number of words, photographs or minutes of air-time, giving you too much information can be totally counter-productive. Just as I teach in my media training courses, losing focus of the main issues means that, all too often, the main messages are buried in the forest. Hence PR's and directors of tourism can be disappointed by what finally appears. I must fly the flag of the journalist. 99% of the time, getting things wrong is not their fault!
The intention of 'Hidden Florida' is to encourage the vast numbers of folk who are not remotely interested in family holidays and theme parks to discover a part of the USA that has a history, culture and climate that is well worth discovering.
As somebody who has spent over thirty years of his life working in the media full time, with fifteen more 'dabbling' in the subject, I probably understand the beast more than most. So I'll be very interested to see both how well Visit Florida manages to stick to the requested topics and just how often, through 'chinese whispers' and otherwise, I am sent to experience things which are not remotely of interest.
I am always particular to ensure that I communicate the requirements in advance. However, many PR people seem to have their 'standard tour' that they dish out to visitors and, often, you have to really stamp your feet to get them away from that. All too often, the regular tour does not remotely fit in with what the journalist actually wants. If only people trying to promote products and services to the media remembered that the key of a successful campaign is to: Think audience.
Endless facts and figures, statistics, the minutiae of historical trivia all have their part to play - if the information is valid to a brief. But if you have 1 minute of air time, 500 words, or six photographs to capture the essence of a destination, how often is all of that absolutely necessary? I would contend, almost never! Quite different if, perhaps, you are writing a book.....
Sometimes, of course, the communication breakdown between the journalist's requirements and the delivered goods, can be blamed on language difficulties.
In trying to discover 'Hidden Florida', there can be no such excuse.