Millionaire's mansions to Everglades City

Everglades City, Tuesday 3 March

I've hardly started on the daily paper when Cathy arrives. 'What's a flannel?', she asks. I explain that Americans probably call it a facecloth. But that it could also be trousers, as in blazer and flannels. Susan, the front of house manager passes by and is fascinated. It's apparently been the talk of the office after an English couple asked if the hotel supplied them. They do.
A young Columbian waiter comes to take my order. 'Where is the restroom Camillo?', asks Cathy. He breaks into a broad smile. Apparently another guest had the same trouble as me understanding directions yesterday and both Camillo and his sister Monica, as quoted in yesterday's blog, have both seen what I have written and think it terribly funny. Cathy goes on a mission to her office while Camillo and chat away in Spanish. His family came here 12 years ago, he is hoping to visit Barcelona this year. I enjoy chatting to him, especially after he compliments me on my knowledge of his native tongue.
Cathy returns, and we discuss the Inn on Fifth's important UK market. Europeans account for a third of her client base and while there's undoubtedly a slight drop off in British enquiries, that's more than compensated for by Germans. They are coming back, she says, because they wouldn't come to the US while Bush was President.
I have a lovely mountain bike waiting for me in the hotel store, courtesy of Trek Bikes. http://trekbikesflorida.com/.This is a seriously well-built and equipped cycle, but I need a decent map to go and see how the seriously wealthy live in the Port Royal area. Tourist Information doesn't have one, so the volunteer helpfully suggests I visit a real estate firm, who'll probably be able to help.
I happen upon Raymond Bowie, who seems to be a very bright chap. His elegant card says he has an MBA and a Ph. D. Who my father used to say could be described as a clever doctor, rather than a medical one. He raises his eyebrows when I say I am cycling to Port Royal, but I am sure it's a ride of about 20 minutes or so. His colleague suggests I go to City Hall, who produce an excellent map, totally free of charge. I seem to recall I saw them in the Tourist Information office, on sale for $4.
City Hall is also selling a lady an annual beach car parking pass for $50. With an average daily charge being $8, the pass represents exceptionally good value.
Naples sidewalks are excellent for biking, except when they suddenly stop, are closed for maintenance or have nasty deep gutters, all of which happen often. But Gordon Drive has a proper cycleway and speeds me into the ultra exclusive area that is Port Royal. Hardly anyone is at home, but there are Porches and Rollers scattered about. These may well belong to the gardening contractors who are everywhere, blowing, cutting and clearing. The place is immaculate. Everywhere, there are security cameras, alarmed gates and signs warning of dire consequences if you trespass. I wonder who on earth would want to live in this goldfish bowl? The houses are sensational, often vulgar, but published statistics suggest they are used on average for only eight weeks a year.
I think I shall volunteer to be a live-in caretaker. I'd even volunteer to clean the roller.
I arrive back at the hotel, to find JoNell and Angela from the local Convention and Visitor Bureau waiting to take me to north Naples to have lunch with Suzanne Lennon, who does the PR for the Bay Shore restaurant. http://www.bayhousenaples.com/
The location is wonderful, overlooking the Cocohatchee River. Having literally come from bike saddle to restaurant, I am a bit too informally dressed. But, with the exception of my three hosts and the staff, I am also, by at least 25 years, the youngest present. There are some lovely old varnished wooden boats suspended from the roof and I muse that it would be excellent to have them in the water, with wicker basket picnics and chilled Chardonnay. I claim a commission should they ever do it.
It's an excellent meal and convivial company. I would have loved to have tried some wine, but I have to drive to Everglades City.
It doesn't take long for the urban sprawl of beatifully manicured south Naples to give way to exceptionally lovely national parkland. I stop a few times to take pictures, fill up with fuel with my new American debit card, thus avoiding paying yet more commission to Mr. Barclaycard.
My base for the night is the Ivey House, where I am booked on an early morning eco-adventure. But the people co-ordinating my programme haven't been co-ordinating with each other. I am due back from the eco tour at 2.30 and am due to be in Key Largo 15 minutes later to swim with dolphins. Unfortunately, it's a three hour drive.
So, after consulting with JoNell, the eco-tour sadly will have to go without me at 7.30am, which is a real pity, because it looks absolutely splendid.
I completely unpack the 'trunk' of my car which is in some disarray and fill my main suitcase, hoping not to have to open it again until I get home.
Everglades City seems to have completely gone to bed by 10pm, so I shall have an early night too. I have two King-sized beds in my room, so the biggest decision of the day is to choose which one.
Tough, yes?

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

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.

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

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.

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.