Final Two nights in Hollywood, Florida

The DeSoto Oceanview Inn
Hollywood, Florida
Monday Evening

After dinner at Pierre's, I do the ironing, watch a great fund raising music concert featuring David Foster and friends on public television and am asleep before my head hits the pillow.
I'm awakened at 11 by what sounds like a thunderous rain storm outside. I wasn't expecting this! But it's not rain, there's obviously some automatic sprinkler system, but it's more a noisy torrent than a sprinkle. Luckily, I get straight back to sleep.
As dawn breaks across the eastern sky, I walk alone on the perfect beach. It is stunningly beautiful and I so want to come back here for a proper holiday.
I'm dreaming of this plan lying in a superbly comfortable hammock, when another couple disturb my reverie.
I am greatly amused that the only thing I am making in my kitchen is a bowl of microwaved porridge. There is every device conceivable, so I could have produced a banquet, had I so wished.
I need to be in Hollywood by half past one, because I am being met by a local PR girl, who is standing in for the Hollywood Visitor Bureau team, who are off at a sales conference. There are no problems on the road, although I have to keep fishing for toll money for the various turnpikes. My Hertz NeverLost GPS system keeps me right, even round some complex junctions near Miami. The roads are horrendously busy, but I am on schedule for my meeting and to collect a bike.
When I arrive at the Desoto Oceanview Inn in Hollywood (www.thedesoto.com), manager, Steve Welsch, is in a bit of a fluster. Everyone has been late checking out, so things are behind. But, no worries, I stash my consumables in the fridge and have my lunch in the serenity of the Inn's lovely peaceful garden. There's still no sign or sound of my host, my itinerary or my bike, so Steve's Venezuelan partner, Josias, kindly lends me his.
I have a very happy couple of hours exploring the superb beaches and the cycle path round the very attractive Anne Kolb nature centre.
I'm not long back at the inn and about to set off in my car to investigate the local rail station, when my host shows up. She's been 'in a meeting'.
I don't think my final two days of 'Hidden Florida' will add a lot to my story. My proposed itinerary consists largely of suggestions of places to eat. It's very disappointing. I am sure there's a lot more to this place, but somebody somewhere has dropped the ball and I am not best pleased.
I've already copped it from Visit Florida's PR people in London for supposedly being too demanding. With more than thirty years in the leisure and tourism business, I expect high standards of professionalism and get very frustrated when people produce sloppy work. Just like Pensacola, Hollywood has not even thought to let me have a map of the local area. Now, I'll be told off again for allegedly wanting to have my hand held too much. Jeez.
But Steve is great. He makes a few phone calls, comes up with some ideas. Meantime, I pore over my Lonely Planet, Rough Guide and map and come up with a plan which will at least give me something which meets my brief..
When I get back from the local TriRail station, Steve and Josias kindly take me out to dinner at a local Cuban restaurant. I can't thank them enough for their kindness.
Back at the Inn, public television is showing, for the third night running, their special fund raising concert. It's jolly good, but three nights in a row?
Even the BBC wouldn't do that!

Quirky Matlacha

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.

History, art, manatees, hot springs and baseball

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.

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

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.

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

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.