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?

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.