is enjoying his stay in the lovely Coombs Inn in Apalachicola

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.

has been uploading his latest photographs from his Florida trip. http://ping.fm/3AqwZ

AirTran Airways Flight 511 Monday noon LOCAL

Clearing the sometimes chaotic US Immigration and Customs last night was, for once, amazingly swift. As the plane is 40 minutes early, I am in fact happily ensconced in my luxurious Aventura Limo (www.aventuralimo.com) before we are even due to have landed! I achieve this by leaving the aircraft first and then walking ahead of the hordes at a brisk trot. However, the people at the end of the queue off the Virgin flight from Heathrow would have a different tale to tell. Having waited an hour to get to immigration, they are understandably livid when the BA wheelchair cases and families with babies are given priority over them.
Having spent ages filling up the ESTA electronic visa waiver, it transpires that the technology is a bit ahead of the reality and pieces of paper still have to be completed. When I query this with the, actually very friendly, immigration officer, he tells me that he can see my electronic approval, but that the system is not yet fully implemented. God alone knows why then it's a British Airways requirement that passengers complete it in advance.
Neil Goodman of Aventura Limo has sent a rather splendid Lincoln Town car to pick me up. It certainly beats having to negotiate airport taxis and the horrors that can arise from them. I had half expected Neil to turn up in his Mini Cooper, but maybe he has had word of my accompanying baggage! My driver, Wolf, whose parents comes from Scandinavia, is not the chattiest of folk, but that may be more to do with my gathering travel weariness than him appearing to be somewhat monosyllabic.
My hotel on Miami Beach, www.theanglersresort.com, is rather splendid. But I have been allocated a room adjacent to a party being held by the general manager's wife, with an indeterminate end time. But they accept my view that a noisy party is not the best neighbour for an increasingly weary traveller and I am moved to a much quieter location. The Angler's does things in some style. My $300 room is much better equipped - and probably just as spacious, as my suite in the Grosvenor House. A very natty sound system even allows me to plug my iPod in and listen to 'From our own Correspondent' while I wash away the stresses and strains of a long journey. I have forgotten just how well Americans do showers. This is enormous, wide enough so that my fully-outstretched elbows don't even touch the walls. Mind you, I discover that mint shampoo can bring a tear to ones' eyes if allowed too close to sensitive bits!
I am invited to dinner, but the staff is, quite clearly, much more focussed on the GM's wife's party and I wait. And wait. And wait. So, I nip across the road to the Outback restaurant, have a very tasty burger that's almost up to the standard of Zak's in Norwich. By 10pm, I am in the land of nod.
At 3.30 am, I am fully awake, very bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Try as I might, jet lag has beaten me.
But there are benefits, I bring yesterday's blog up to date, sort out my luggage for the journey north and, am so ahead of myself, that able to join the joggers along Ocean Drive at 7am. I say join, but you know what I mean!
I am sure it's the very best time to see the art deco district, with the sun just coming up. I walk as far as the extraordinary house where Gianni Versace was so tragically gunned down on his own front doorstep. His killer then went on to kill the husband of Chicago socialite, Marilyn Miglin, whom I have met on a couple of occasions through my US Navy buddy, Ken Beachler.
The municipal parks' department is busy watering the flowers. Impressively, a man drives a lorry with a water tank on the back, then leaps up and points a hose pipe at the plants. Beats watering cans, for sure.
Back at the Angler's, breakfast takes an age to arrive, despite the fact I am the only early-riser waiting. When I question the delay, the girl tells me that she'll deliver my breakfast cereal at the same time as oven baked egg. Very odd. When my granola arrives, it's very tasty but the strawberries are still deep-frozen. The 'Eggs Barnard' with its creamy mushrooms and Virginia ham crisps is tasty, but, at $13 is rather a lot to pay for poached eggs in a bacon nest. Especially with potato wedges which seem to be left-overs from last night's party.
Clearly I haven't spent enough time in mid air, so another wonderful limo arrives at the hotel front door to whisk me, in rather more style than Neil's Mini Cooper, back to the airport! My driver this time is Guillermo, a Columbian. He's thrilled to bits that I can speak Spanish and we pass away the 20 minute transfer to the airport enjoying mixing our languages. He tells me that he can tell my accent is Spanish, rather than south American. I further impress him with my demonstration of Andaluz, which I describe as a Brummie version of English!
I am to have my first experience AirTran airways, an Orlando based operation that, in only 15 years, has grown to become one of the US's biggest low cost carriers, rivalling Air Berlin in size but mimicking an Easy Jet business plan. It clearly works. The Boeing 717 flight (the airline operates an all Boeing fleet) is completely full and a transiting crew member has to squeeze into the jump seat. It's nice to see that, while on the ground, passengers are welcome to visit the flight deck.
I tune into the satellite radio, which has a choice of some 200 channels. Here I am, half way between Miami and Atlanta, listening to the BBC World Service. How weird is that?
Air Tran differs from Easy Jet, in that it offers a small but real business class cabin. I have dressed appropriately, with smart shirt and trousers, but I am the only one. Jeans and trainers are the order of the day. Three passengers even wear baseball caps throughout the flight. I'd forgotten that Americans, and increasingly those people who follow that country's customs, don't remove their hats in spaces that are considered to be indoors. Complimentary alcoholic and soft drinks are served before take off and during the flight, while even passengers in the main cabin get free soft drinks. Eat your heart out Stelios!
I ask cabin crew member Kathy why my connecting flight to Pensacola appears to take only six minutes. I am amused to learn that 'you go back in time to the Panhandle', as Florida's north west is dubbed.
Kathy and I get into quite a chat when I learn that her husband was a naval aviator and was based at the US base at Rota, not far from where I live in Spain. The last time I was there was to visit a Spanish Navy friend and to see the aircraft carrier Principe de Asturias. Amazingly, she doesn't know that the King and Queen of Spain are to visit in only a few days, which may be something to do with security. I have a personal thought that President Obama might put in an appearance, with no substance whatsoever to that view. But it seems to me to be illogical that a foreign monarch whose country supported the Bush-inspired Iraqi war is visiting, and the newly elected President wouldn't pop by to say hello. Or maybe the link with Bush is one very good reason why he would NOT put in an appearance!
My new best friend, Kathy, brings me a cuppa. Fortnum and Mason tea with Walkers shortbread. Here I am at 33,000 feet, drinking English tea, nibbling Scottish shortbread and listening to the BBC. Only in America. Or , of course, in London.
Where Mrs. Manners would surely dictate that the tea should not be drunk while be-hatted?

FIVE MILE HIGH CLUB

I am at 36000 feet, flying at 566 miles an hour above St. John's in Newfoundland. Even better, I have had a couple of hours kip.
This morning's journey from the Grosvenor House Hotel to Terminal 5 was an absolute dream. Clearly, Sunday morning is the time to do it!
I have the First Class compartment of the excellent Heathrow Express all to myself. reflect on the ghastly journey of yesteryear on the Piccadilly Line underground. But of course the speed and the comfort comes at a price. A return journey 'Express Class' is £32, with First a whopping £50. Great if someone else is paying!
It's my first sight of Terminal 5, which really is most impressive. Lifts glide up and down totally automatically, so the journey to check in from the train is very easy. I've been checked in on-line, so I take my bag to 'Fast Drop' and am through security at record speed and with the minimum of stress. Marvellous!
I have, in fact, saved so much time, that I pop in to have my iris scanned. In theory, when I return to the UK, I just look into a machine, it recognises me, and the door to the Promised Land, sorry Brown's Britain, will open to grant me access.
But I am so short-sighted, that I have trouble lining up my eyes with the requisite green dots. In fact, I can hardly see the wretched things. But the girl is very patient, teaches me how to open my eyes wide and make the technology work. We will see in a month whether it does!
I do not realise that a whole section of gates at the new terminal are a transit train ride away, a fact worth bearing in mind if you are travelling British Airways from Heathrow. Terminal 5 is massive.
There's time to stop off to see the new Terraces lounge, which is pretty impressive and, hurrah, now has free wifi internet access, which was not the case before BA moved.
My friend Alan managed to do my online check-in while I was in mid air on my way to London and secured my preferred seat on the jumbo's upper deck. It's the first time since I flew with the RAF from Singapore to the UK in 1971 that I have flown backwards. I am not sure I like the configuration, which has you facing a complete stranger about two feet away. Rather too close for my comfort, But after take off, a 'privacy panel' can be raised, which improves things a lot. The tranquillity of my own little eyrie is only spoiled when, during the dinner service, the Cabin Services Director suddenly lowers the screen to pass through my dinner. He assures me it's the way they do things, but his staff have served me from the front. If his way is what BA teaches staff to do, I think it's a pretty rude way of doing things.
Apart from that, the journey passes very pleasantly and I devour more papers and magazines in a nine-hour period than I generally read in a month. There's literally hundreds of on demand CD's, films, games and so on, but there all surplus to my requirements.
Afternoon tea will arrive shortly, Bangor, Maine, is off to starboard and the delights of U.S. Homeland Security awaits in a shade over three hours.

Flying and Five Star

Sunday 15 February, London

I have had about three hours sleep. I have overnighted in one of London’s leading hotels in a suite that would have cost me £500, had I paid. Just for the room. The air conditioning was horribly noisy. Thrum, thrum, thrum. I pressed every button there was to slow down the fan, lower the temperature, or just TURN THE BLOODY THING OFF. To no avail.
The king sized bed was extremely comfortable with crisply starched linen and more pillows on the one bed than I have at home. But thrum bloody thrum.
It wasn’t helped by the fact that the only way to listen to the radio at bedtime, was to put on one of the televisions. But I giant beacon remained on the screen. HOTEL RADIO. I listened to Radio Four’s Book at Bedtime under a bloody searchlight.
But I am getting rather ahead of myself.
The Iberia check in girl at Malaga airport could see that I had been granted an extra luggage allowance, but she was being bureaucratically Spanish at her pernickety best. Luckily, I stood my ground and all was well in the end.
At security, OH how I love security at airports, I was dressing myself when an American woman was pleading not to have her very expensive looking manicure set thrown away. VERY expensive looking. Quite why the stupid woman was bringing it through security beggars belief. But the show made me forget my watch and it took the intervention of an elderly Guardia Civil officer a couple of minutes later to retrieve it.
Why is it that people with walking sticks wear trainers? I ask that, because Monarch’s plane to Luton is full to the brim with such folk. Several of them in football tops. There are more wheelchair passengers than I have ever seen on an aircraft. While I have every support and sympathy for people with disabilities, I cannot understand why airlines insist on totally clogging up the aisles with a few people needing assistance while 200 others wait?
On the day when a 13 year old father is in the news, the majority of the cabin crew don’t look all that much older. One passenger buys an exclusive Monarch Airlines Barbie doll, which seems highly appropriate. I am fascinated that one of the girls has hair which drops down straight to her collar, then projects horizontally for several inches. How does that work?
I enjoy a brandy and dry ginger for which I pay £4 and am looking forward to my hot lunch. But, by the time the trolley has reached row 8, they have run out. ‘People seem to be hungry today’ said one of the Barbie Dolls. Not surprising really, seeing as it is a lunchtime departure!
The sausage and mash looks horrible, but actually tasts very nice. The apple crumble is nothing like my mum’s, of course, but a tasty bit of Croxton cheddar rounded things off. Not bad for £6.
Fast ticket collection at Luton Airport Parkway station was anything but. My code was not being accepted. Had I just paid, I would not have missed the fast train to St. Pancras. The man at the station tells me it’s a common occurrence. Mr. Trainline dot com will be having a Soutergram!
I am looking forward to my night in the capital. I have been lucky to have stayed in many of the world’s leading hotels, but never in the Grosvenor House, just off Park Lane. It’s being refurbished and rebranded and every time you say GH, you have to add A JW Marriott Hotel. Branding is something that I know rather a lot about. But this is bonkers. Who cares a toss? Some overpaid advertising geek who should have been told to get back in his or her box. It’s everywhere. GRRRRR.
I am surprised that they have changed my booking for afternoon tea, especially as they know I am expecting a journalist friend, Adrian Finighan, who I knew from my broadcasting days in Norfolk and Suffolk and who is now the main London anchor for CNN.
But I have been upgraded to a suite. It’s so big that it almost needs a map to help me find my way around. Very nicely furnished.
Someone called Vicki Richards has left me a ‘Dear Mike’ note, welcoming me to the hotel. She turns out, according to reception, to be the sales and marketing director, but I don’t know her, have never met her and I am a bit unimpressed by the informal approach. Especially in a leading hotel.
My laptop connects easily to the £20 a day broadband connection and I read a note from Adrian who has been called away to Barcelona, so he is busy ironing his TV presenter’s shirt. It’s the first time I have ever been stood up on St. Valentine’s Day. Mind you, I am not sure I have ever before had an afternoon assignation on February 14!
Because of the romantic nature of the day, the hotel is full and so are the restaurants. But they have kindly offered me afternoon tea in the Park Room. The blurb paints a picture of a lovely view across to Hyde Park, but, in reality, it’s constant traffic and vibration.
There’s a hiatus when I point out that my champagne glass has been used, which sends a series of folk to the table to apologise. Carlos, who’s from Portugal, but who was brought up in Germany, a Portuguese girl from guest relations, Sandro the Italian F and B manager and Samuel, the poor Irish lad whose fault it was. All I wanted to do was tuck into my £28.50 feast with my ‘Grosvenor House a JW Marriott Hotel’Royal Blend’ of Assam and Ceylon tea. Plus 12.5% discretionary service charge.
Scrumptious sandwiches, wonderful scones with comb honey or strawberry jam with clotted cream and excellent pastries. A very talented pianist playing all my favourites from Gershwin to Lloyd Webber. Adrian, you missed a treat!
Carlos shows me the lunch menu. May I recommend 30g of Beluga caviar for £155, the gin for £9.25, tonic extra and, especially, a bottle of Quinta do Noval 1931 port. A snip at £1295. No decimal point. Not anywhere. Plus, of course, a 12.5% discretionary service charge. I am sure they’d accept £100.
Later in the evening, in my suite, I search for my advertised ‘complimentary coffee and tea’, only to be told that, ‘owing to the refurbishment, not all rooms have it yet’. But a tray duly arrives. Neither the man who brought it, nor I, could find a plug for the kettle. He left me searching. I still am. Oh there ARE plugs. Just that you either have to unplug the television or the telephone or hold the kettle in mid air as it boils.
The shortage of sockets is indeed acute. I spend the evening swapping my mobile phone, camera battery charger, iPod dock et al in the bathroom shaver socket.
Luckily, a pot of early morning tea can be delivered. £5.60 for that. But my Sunday Times, supposedly to be delivered at the same time, has failed to materialise.
Attention to detail. There’s a lot the branding people could learn from the Taj.

Postcript

Delightful as the setting is for my £26.50 breakfast, heads will roll over the stone cold black pudding on the buffet. Not that I can ever support cafeteria style messing in hotels of this quality and cost. Luckily the hotel's George McIntosh, a fellow Scot, is well aware of the problems that can be caused by the potential for bacteria to lurk. Especially in blood products. On that happy note, to Heathrow and British Airways, the only company that I know for sure has given me a nasty dose of food poisoning. Which resulted in a stay in Ruchill Hospital in Glasgow with suspected cholera. But that is 30 years ago.....

PLANNING AND PACKING

Three more sleeps before departure, so my bags are almost packed, or at least I have decided what needs to be in them. I am always prone to taking far too much of everything, so I have been pretty ruthless about reducing the load. But the travel kettle HAS to be included and it’s amazing just how much paraphernalia needs to be taken just to ensure that I have the wherewithal to have a decent cup of tea on my travels.

Some years ago, I took the lead from a much-travelled friend who has what he calls his ‘running away bag’. There are huge advantages to be able to just pick that up, knowing that everything a man could possible require en-route has been pre-sorted.

At least, that’s the theory.

For a start, I’ll be travelling on three different airlines within a 48 hour period, all of whom have different regulations about what is permitted in their cabin. To avoid any doubt, and also the potential that my checked in luggage won’t arrive at the same time and place as me, I will carry on board all essentials for at least 3 days. But one airline will allow that case to be 10KG, one 23KG and one seems to tell me that, ‘as long as I can lift it without assistance’, then that’s fine.

Well I can, but only just.

I’ve just turned down a lunch appointment, despite the fact that it’s gloriously sunny outside and I really do need a break from the fairly intense planning I have now being doing over the past three weeks.

But various computer systems are not allowing me to do what should take me moments and I feel the stress levels mounting. Oh how I long for those days when you simply turned up and took off!

On my last trip to the States, I had such a grilling from the man at the immigration desk that I vowed never to return. I felt especially aggrieved that I was there as a Naval Reserve Officer, had a multiple entry Visa and was being treated like the dirt on the smarmy shoes he no doubt was wearing.

Now, you have to fill up a special form online before you travel, which allows you to fly but not necessarily to get in. The link from British Airways to the Department of Homeland Security seems to have been broken for the past 48 hours and even BA can’t update the fact I’m not now staying at the hotel I originally entered into the system. Clearly I am an alien and, Santa Claus having brought me the entire series of the X Files, I am almost beginning to believe.

I have not so far been hugely impressed with BA, especially their new rules regarding seat allocation. While I can pre-book my seat at the time of reservation on almost any other airline anywhere in the world, unless I have a BA Platinum or Gold card, I can’t now choose my seat until 24 hours before the flight. Before you ask, I’m flying in the Club World cabin. But I expect that, in an attempt to win friends, the same rules now apply to First Class, as well.

I was planning to ask a friend to book my seat, as I’ll be in mid-air en route to London when online seat allocation opens, but the lady in the call centre was unable to access the Business Class cabin plan when I called, so I will probably end up near the toilet or the galley.

I’m highly unamused, but it’s best not to complain too much as the company is largely funding the trip.

.

I have been surrounded by guide books and maps for about a fortnight. I am not a slave to what they say but, as a contributor to several, I do like to compare notes. Unusually, I am without my Rough Guide as the Spanish distributor has run out and I won’t actually take delivery of my copy until I arrive in London.

But Lonely Planet and the Insight Guide and map have been very useful indeed in putting everything into context. Mind you, the very glossy Insight Guide alone weighs nearly a kilogram and its’ bulk may mean it becomes a casualty of the swingeing cuts I am making to my luggage.

The guides bring me up with a bit of a jolt. I had no real idea that Florida was quite so big and diverse. Early on, I’ll almost be within touching distance of New Orleans, for heavens’ sake! I’ve visited the Sunshine State several times, but not criss-crossed it as I will be doing over the next month.

One book I will be leaving at home is the excellent Bradt guide to USA by rail. I SO wanted to get about by Amtrak. But, despite a flurry of emails to both Amtrak and their main sales agent, I have had no joy in adding any rail to my itinerary.

Most disappointing.