MANATEES AND MALE MEMBERS

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.

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.