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.

Pensacola, Friday Night

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.

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.