Miami Beach (April 19, 2009)

The last day of the trip… and I don’t really feel like going through every detail since the trip is long over and I’m just filling the square of having blogged the last day.  There are so many things I ought to talk about… Lincoln Road, our Breakfast for lunch. The 4am tazer episode in the hall of our crap hotel. Our drive to find a gas station near the airport. Our hour wait on the tarmac because of a broke plane in Atlanta. Starting a new book: Twilight. Having 7 minutes to get from B4 in Atlanta to A5, but thinking I had to go to A29, yet still made the flight… and my luggage did too… and my 57 year old mother beat me to the gate… and almost passing out from a heart attack running so fast… and jumping over small children with my roller bag… and plowing through everybody standing on the down escalator… I almost want to make a short film.

Wonderful trip… picked up by Alyssa at the Airport with Ruby who was very excited to see me.  Mom and I finished our last meal at midnight from Taco Bell… so the vacation started and ended with fast food.  Sigh. Back to the real world.

Miami Beach (April 18, 2009)

The last night of our trip…  lets hope it is better than last night.  Our hotel proved too much even for my patience as we tried to sleep. The Chesterfield is not a hotel.  It is a club/dorm. It reminds me more of a hostel. It really is a shame.  This could be a nice hotel if the residents of it would simply respect each other. Last night, our third floor room was bomblasted from all sides – doors slamming in the hall at all hours; a rooftop party in the building next door level with our window and spitting distance away; a party in the next room; and my favorite… a woman, drunk, sitting in the hallway outside our door talking loudly on her cell phone having a fight with her boyfriend about 3am. She was the one who broke my last nerve and I went out in the hall in my shorts to kindly ask her to relocate.  When it was clear she had no intention of moving, I turned into Godzilla. And she had the nerve to call me rude. 

We awoke to people having a conversation in the hall at either end about breakfast options. The designer of this hotel clearly only thought about form and not function. There is no soundproofing whatsoever. I mean really – would it have been so difficult to insulate the rooms from sound?

Mom and I got ready and on our way out, complained to management who agreed to move us to a different room. Unfortunately if we went to a lower floor, we would have to deal with the all night club in the lobby, whose sound makes it up to the third floor through the stairwell, but I can’t imagine being any closer to it. So we were stuck on the third floor… but at least on the other side away from the roof top deck and down the hall a bit away from the elevator noise and stairwell.  We are still dealing with the hallway noise though.

Breakfast was surprisingly good… from a little café around the corner. Eggs, bacon, salad, a bagel and fresh squeezed grapefruit juice.  I’m definitely game for that again tomorrow.  From there, I got out my camera and started my photo safari. My safari this time focused on the “details” of south beach… but then expanded. At first, I was only taking pictures of architectural art deco details, but expanded it to details about people, cars and other little surprises like a chair in the ally.  We’ll see what kind of collections I can make out of these photos.

Oddly enough, we happened right onto the gay pride parade.  I don’t think most people knew it was happening… the gathered when the parade started.  Mom and I grabbed a table and a few drinks for curbside view in the shade. The best part of the parade was easily the droves of cars each with a gay couple who have been together longer than 20 years.  The longest anniversary that I saw was 65 years.

The worst part of the parade wasn’t anything to do with the parade at all, but these overzealous, bigoted, Christian extremists who wanted to instill the fear of a vengeful, hateful God in all the fags and dykes on the street.  These people really are extremists… I saw no difference between their hate and the Islamic extremists blowing things up also out of hate.

After the parade, mom and I meandered down Ocean drive, popping over to see the beautiful and packed beach for just a moment.  My photo safari kept going and I added shooting the names of the famous old art deco hotels too. 

We stopped for lunch at a streetside restaurant and had salads and people watched.

After lunch, we decided to make our way back a few blocks and over to Washington where the Wofsonian museum is located.  Washington st was a stark contrast to the glitz and glamour of Ocean drive with a Pride parade.  This street had tattoo parlors, cheap t-shirt shops and was just plain dirty.  Hard to believe it was only 2 blocks away.  We made it to the Wolfsonian, which was a really different museum.  I didn’t read up on it much – its origins or anything… but the concept was a museum dedicated to the early century and how economic and political events drove the design of every day things…. Such as the concept of streamlining after the depression which started out in kitchen appliances and instilled a hope for the future.  It was also amazing to see the effort put into such design back then before computers… with all the modeling needed to create these shapes.

As we rode the elevator up, we were on it with a few other people taking a private tour.  They seemed like important people… not sure who they were.  But they got to get off on the administrative floors where we were invited to go with them and see parts of the museum others don’t get to see. On that floor were these beautiful windows from a movie palace in Noris, Pennsylvania and a really old pasta machine. Apparently the things in the Wolfsonian were there to either do something or inspire something… not the typical art.

From the museum we made our way home and napped in our new room.

For dinner, we decided to cancel our reservations on Lincoln road and walk the other way on Ocean drive because we were both too worn to go all the way to Lincoln Road again. We ended up eating at the Avalon, which served me some shrimp and grits – a tasty meal… The windy night and location made for good people watching again.  After dinner… we have decided to call it a night.

Key West (Friday, April 17, 2009)

Well, I didn’t finish my book yesterday.  I’m almost done though.  Our Kayak pick up came in a large van… a divorce from Pennsylvania who relocated here 5 years ago was our driver.  Everybody has a story. She brought us to Stock Island where we loaded ourselves into Kayaks with our guide Chris and a family from upstate New York who looked about as comfortable on the water as a fish on the patio. It was like kayaking with the Kardashians.

Blue Sky Kayaking was exactly what it was billed to be… an eco tour through the mangroves.  Except the part where we all – Kardashians included – thought we’d be paddling for most of the time. Chris had us paddle out here and there and through a few mangroves where we had to split our paddles to get through, but the majority of the 2.5 hour trip, we were sitting over sand bars looking for creatures.  And we did find a number.  Yesterday I held a live conch, a sea cucumber (GROSS), a star fish, and a sea urchin.  We also saw jumping terrapin, a poisonous sea urchin and a number of birds. It was more like a discovery channel show than an adventure excursion.  Enjoyable nonetheless.  I managed to survive all that time in the sun with only a sun kissed face… granted, I was reapplying spray on 50 spf every 10 seconds.

Upon our return, we just lazed around the pool a bit.  I had a pina colada, which blew me up later… but man it tasted good. Billy, our barkeep was back and I met a few other couples staying at the hotel.  It seems like everybody is from Pennsylvania.

Mom and I headed out about 6 for dinner.  On the way, we stopped in a store where she found a gift. About this time, we both decided that neither of us needed the expensive keepsakes we both had been contemplating.  Me—my leather vest for Chicago and her—a picture called Pies and Tarts from a nearby gallery.

Dinner last night was at La Te Da, a dinner theater famous for its drag shows. The chef there,  I think her name is Georgia Chase… I haven’t kept up… serves a mediocre  theater menu. While her gazpacho was spicy and fantastic, it was far too large a portion for a starter. My entrée was the citrus mahi, whose sauce was out of this world, but when paired with a piece of fish that had obviously been frozen, was disappointing. And for those of us with lactose issues, a single choice of cheesecake or cheesecake wasn’t going to cut it. When we asked the waitress who was foreign and didn’t remotely understand the question if there were any options (even for an up charge) other than cheesecake, she offered us key lime pie, which we accepted. However, a person who understood the dilemma would have said, the pie has whipped cream and a chocolate crust… what kind of place serves an alternatively lactose free dish that is covered in lactose? But what can you expect when you staff your purportedly top tier restaurant with people who don’t understand the primary language. A second example of this there was when my sugar packet solution to our unlevel table was unsuitable for our waitress and she called the bus boy to fix it… instead of him removing my sugar packets and replacing them with a cork he brought… instead he saw the sugar packets and decided the wobbly table was fixed. If you’re going to have a good restaurant, the competence of your wait staff must be unquestionable. The ambiance of the place… being outside… could have been spectacular under the shade trees on a breezy evening. But instead, there were screaming children poolside who were residents of the hotel and smokers who felt it appropriate to light up in the eating area – a practice I find rude and reprehensible no matter the one human family blah blah blah acceptance down here. I will not ever couple dinner with a show at La Te Da again.

After dinner, we had a little time, so we walked back to the hotel to retrieve mom’s glasses so she could see the show and rode back to the place on our $15 pedicab where we learned of the Serbian pedicab mafia.  Our driver, Nikola from Serbia, pedals for 12 hours a day! What a great cardio work out. He alerted me to the closure of Machu Pichu in a few years… need to move that up on my travel list.

Back at the theater, mom and I had a few drinks… and couldn’t decide where to sit.  We settled on a bar stool table up near the front on the side… which was a great position I thought. The show was Randy Roberts Live, which was hilarious. Randi did three impersonations: Cher, a Cuban named Consuela and Randi. All three were great. My favorite was the Cuban as she spoke Spanish a mile a minute with all the typical ethnic flare. We laughed a lot last night. Mom decided after the show to point out how rare redheads with brown eyes are… to which Randy’s reply was a snarky “It’s a wig.”  Bitch.

Mom and I finished our evening with a game of scrabble, which she won… and I went out for the night after she went to bed.  I met two 20-something fun locals named J.R. from Jersey and Mason from Kansas. The three of us bar hopped for a few hours enjoying each other’s company. We were a pretty diverse group J.R. was an ethnic rich kid into labels and music escaping reality here. Mason was a runaway from an abusive home with piercings all over his face, and me… the average guy with a real job. I love that in Key West three guys who have absolutely nothing on the surface in common can hang out and have fun like that.

To bed… a wake up in the pool… journaling, packing and checkout… a stop at Blue Heaven on the way out and then to Miami is today’s plan.

The drive up was uneventful, but took much longer than the drive down.  Now that mom has done the drive, I hope my next trip to Key West doesn’t include that drive from or to Miami.  We are staying at the Chesterfield, a hip, retro boutique hotel in the art deco area of Miami Beach that belongs to the South Beach Group of hoteliers. I can tell mom is uncomfortable staying here.  My description of hip translates to our lobby filled with loud bump bump bump music that she is accustomed to hearing from the bass-induced crackhead driving uber ginormous SUVs on Western boulevard.  Our halls are lively, which translates to people talking outside our doors, which this being a vintage hotel translates to no sound-proofing.  Our sleek bathroom translates to no place to put your clothes and keep them dry when you shower. There really is no pleasing her today.  The only semi complements she’s given thus far of the hotel is that the floor is clean and for our bed’s headboard, which she said looks like something Ty would make in the Cry-Me-A-House show.  I’m perfectly content with our hotel… of course my pills would make me perfectly content in a cardboard box on the sidewalk too.  I am certainly sensitive to negativity these days.  I love my pills.  They really have made me a better person.

After a nap for an hour, which I really needed having stayed up all night last night, I woke mom up for the happy hour.  Me being ready, she decided to take a shower, delaying our departure.  So I wandered down to the happy hour, which was a bit out of my comfort zone.  Lots of hip hop people hollering and carrying on for free drinks.  I had two vodka pineapples and chatted with two pretty girls from Minneapolis who were so far out of their element, I’m surprised they weren’t wearing crocks and carrying Vera Bradley.

When mom came down, we headed out the door and through some more people being obnoxious and a few people looking for an 8-ball, which if I’m not mistaken is some sort of drug reference.

Collier proved too thin of sidewalks, so we headed over to Ocean Dr and walked through the sidewalk restaurants and shops.  In a little hip art store, I bought a picture for my bedroom of a schnauzer in a modern cartoony style with a red leash.

Walking through all the sidewalk restaurants in South Beach tonight and checking out all the menus as we did, we settled on an Italian place called Hosteria Romano, which billed itself as the Italian restaurant that Italians go to.  I was happy with Italian tonight, wanting something hearty and easy on my stomach. Plus, this place’s red check table clothes looked a little closer to something mom would enjoy versus the encrusted and infused Miami glitterati restaurants.  We both wanted the same two dishes, so we each ate half and traded plates.  She ordered the pesto gnocchi and I had the Mushroom Risotto.  Both were mui fantistico. My risotto was served direct from the pot and ladled onto my plate. While more al dente that I typically have eaten risotto, the mushroom taste was pungent. We ended our meals with coffee Americano and a canoli filled with mascarpone, bits of fruit, chocolate chips and a side of pistachio ice cream.  Don’t tell grandma, but this was loads better than hers. The ambiance was festive and the service impeccable.  The ocean breeze from across the street kept the night cool for us. Empty chianti bottles hung from the rafters of the overhang. “Nona” the matriarch watched from her perch and “Papa” peppered our dishes and randomly banged on a set of drums to complement whatever Sinatra song was playing at the time.  Everybody spoke Italian and indeed, some Italians were dining there. Our waiter, Alex was attentive, not pushy and let us enjoy our meal without the feeling of being rushed.  This was by far one of the better Italian experiences out I’ve ever had… even the ones in Italy.

When we walked back, the hotel lobby party was still hopping.  Well, hopping is a stretch, but people were actually hopping in the literal sense.  I’ve decided the South Beach scene is overrated. There is no glitterati here, only glitterwannabe. And they all are taking videos of A1A beach front avenue from their rolled down Honda civic windows.  With my disinterest in the proverbial fake scene down here and the fact that it is also somehow gay pride weekend per the roof of the taxi that drove by earlier… I’ve decided to call it a night.

Key West (Thursday, April 16, 2009)

We stayed at breakfast yesterday until after last call.  Only the first day so far has the breakfast special been appealing.  The other days I’ve settled for fruit and an English muffin.  At least they have honey for my hot tea though.  Today’s special is bagels with lox.  Somebody Jewish must have arrived.

After breakfast yesterday, we biked to Truman’s little white house, the only open-to-the-public presidential retreat.  The reason it is open to the public still is because, in my opinion – while indeed it is still used – who would want to go there today? The furniture is uncomfortably outdated even though we were promised the new presidential suite is kept updated and off limits. And while it is near the water, there is no view through the massive condo complex across the street, which used to be a Navy administration building that Truman refused to raze.

Mom was moved to almost, but not buy Truman’s biography. I bought Grandma her birthday present.

After our tourist experience of the day, we were hungry and went in search of the crepe place we passed the previous night. When I asked the vendor on the street which way on Duval was the crepe place, she responded, “You mean the one that burnt down?” … ooops, guess we weren’t too attentive the first pass.

So we settled on a Thanksgiving wrap from Logos, to go, which we ate on our patio with our newly installed ceiling fan.

Mom took a room sabbatical and I read by the pool, in the pool, in the hot tub and back by the pool.  The book I’m reading is Ragtime… I bought it from an online used bookstore because I’m going to see the play in May. While I’m almost done with the book and I see some societal messages within, the character development hasn’t happened throughout the entire book.  I have no idea who the first person narrative is and while there is somewhat of a plot emerging as the primary plot now that I’m three quarters done with it – I don’t understand the tangential stories going on with all the non-fictional characters woven throughout such as Harry Houdini, JP Morgan, Henry Ford and Tom Thumb’s wife. A very strange book indeed.

As the afternoon marched on, I decided to go shop at a novelty store in search for something appropriate for my Memorial Day trip to Chicago, where a niche festival will be happening.  I’m going to visit my friends there, but we have all decided to go to the festival, which requires certain attire. Leather attire. Leather Masters in Key West is something between a clothes store and a sex shop. When I walked in, two burly, hairy gay men were behind the counter with two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels barking for attention.

I wandered around looking for something inexpensive to fill the requirement and didn’t know what to buy, or if I found something, if there would be an alternative unintended meaning to it.  So I told them where I was going and that I needed the “starter kit.”  Picture the scene now in Pretty woman when Richard Gere goes shopping on Rodeo Drive with Julia Roberts and tells the clerks to suck up.  Now picture this in a leather store. There were many snarky comments – instructional books thrown my way and movie quotes… “The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize!” … which proved humorous later as mom and I went to the theater to see Steel Magnolias on stage. I walked out of the store not buying anything, but contemplating a vest, which actually looked good on me and might double one day for a cowboy Halloween costume or something.  It was the only thing in the store I thought might one day have a practical purpose.  At least for my lifestyle.

When I got back to the hotel, mom was already ready.  I had showered earlier in mom’s favorite shower outside so I just changed my shirt and shoes.  We biked back to the theater and picked up our tickets, which included a theater menu at the Pier House resort at the end of Duval.

I was a bit disappointed in the meal at Pier House. The one thing on their regular menu that both of us wanted to try – the conch fritters – were not on the abridged theater menu so we bought those separate.  I started off with a “blue goose” martini, which was supposed to have blue cheese olives in it, but came with regular so I had to remind them of their recipe (vodka, blue cheese olives… how hard is this?) My starter was conch chowder, which may have been what did me in later… very rich and creamy.  The meal was a mayonnaisey mix of veggies, shrimp and conch displayed lovely with a pineapple peal around the mound like a boat floating in a sea of mixed greens.  While the flavor was good, this dish should have been a small plate.  The salad didn’t lend itself to a full entrée. For desert, we found the winningest key lime pie yet here, which had a heaping mound of scorched marange on top of a creamy and not too tart yellow filling.  The shell was graham cracker based, but a bit soggy.  While the wait staff at the restaurant seemed untrained or new, they were friendly and pleasant.  As the first customers to use the dinner option, I was impressed by the manager’s personal attention to us complementing our decision to go see the play which starred one of his coworkers  The best part of our meal was the ambiance of the restaurant.  Sitting right on the water, shielded from the sunset – a cool breeze was upon us.  Children played on a small beach next to the restaurant and sailboats passed in the sound.  We watched paratroopers drop out of a C-130 in the distance over the Navy base. I thoroughly enjoyed the location, and while the food was okay, I won’t ever recommend this place in good conscience simply because mom and I were both sick by 11:00 – thankfully not attacking us during the play.

The play was at the Red Barn Theater, tucked away behind the Women’s club on Duval Street.  The theater has been a stage since the late 1800s, which impressed me quite a bit.  In what used to be the home’s carriage house, a number of local theater troops have performed for years.  Steel Magnolias was fantastic.  The locals here really know how to put on a show.  The set, a hairdresser’s shop, was very detailed and well done.  Each actress was perfect for their parts – impressive for a community of only 20,000 people.  My favorites were Ouizer and Clarice – both epitomizing the characters and paying homage to the performances by Olympia Dukakis and Shirley MacLaine in the movie.  The rest of the characters fit their parts but were only okay.  The girl who played Shelby seemed to have early onset Parkinson’s – very jittery and never making eye contact with whoever she was speaking to.

The play ended and we were content with the evening, but with upset stomachs, our night was over.  Not even a scrabble game.

Since I threw up my evening contingent of meds, I woke up with some serious back pain early this morning and decided only the hot tub would fix this problem… so with my book, I ventured out.  Mom woke up and asked the time and what I was doing… she decided to join me.  Hence another day has started…

I am now going to go finish my book and wait to kayak.

Key West (Wednesday, April 15, 2009)

We rode the bikes around winding roads last night for a good while.  I enjoyed looking at all the different houses.  My favorites were the really colorful ones in blues and pink pastels with white trim and a loud color door, with lots of tropical flora and fauna in the yard to the point the house is barely distinguishable. There were many homes for sale, which made me envy the people who might buy them and live this lifestyle of total relaxation with few cares in the world. What do these people do for a living? What have they done in life to trade it all in for this? Are they old? Are they young? How do you achieve a Key West lifestyle?

Our bike ride led us all the way back to the end of Highway One… or the beginning depending on if your cup is half full or not. We posed there for photos with our bikes amazed that this highway stretches all the way to my house and beyond.

We did make our way to the Cuban restaurant that Billy, the pool bar guy recommended and it was exactly the kind of place I like to go to when traveling… seeing and tasting from the local’s perspective. On the corner of Margaret and Catherine Streets (I love that all the street names are names…) is a one story brick home-turned-business with maybe 3 parking spots out front. It is very out of the way for the tourist crowd, but a nice change of pace from the bustling Duval street.  The restaurant’s name is El Siboney and purports itself to be a family friendly Cuban restaurant offering the best in authentic Cuban dishes on budget.  It was filled with mostly locals… little old ladies, Latin families (I assume Cuban) and perhaps 3 tourist families.  I had the grilled pork tenderloin (for some reason, pork says Cuban to me) and mom had the mahi. Each dish was served with black beans, yellow rice and fried plantains. Mom enjoyed her mahi, not having ordered that fish in a number of years which made her question why? We guessed the spices on her fish to be cumin and paprika. My pork loin was served butterflied and was far too large to eat in one sitting. With some lime squeezed over it, it was tender, juicy and flavorful.  While I enjoyed my pork, I wish I had called ahead to order the paella which has lobster and shrimp in it, but takes over an hour to make. The best part of the meal was in the end though, a small bowl of rice pudding.  As a rice pudding fanatic, I can honestly say this was the best I’ve ever had.  Creamy with overpowering vanilla flavor and large grains of rice.  The staff at this restaurant was friendly, attentive and fast, but don’t go there for the ambiance.  A trip to this hole in the wall is strictly for the magnificent food, not for a dining experience.

After dinner, we biked back to the room and then drove out to the Big K to buy a scrabble game.  Garden Hotel has a number of board games, but not our mainstay of scrabble.  We decided we would leave the game for them.  Mom and I began playing the game out on the brick patio outside our room, preferring the wood porch with the ceiling fan and cushy chairs save the fact the fan was broken… so we settled on the café table outside.  A few turns into the game, in which I achieved multiple tiles of every vowel on the planet, the lightening began.  A few minutes later, we felt the big drops of rain begin coming down.  A few drops later, we realized this was going to be quite the storm and relocated to the fanless porch where we finished the game and mom beat me by about 30 points, although I came up from behind and went out first with the word God and ad in one with my D. We then had fun making a scrabble picto-card with all kinds of words from drag queen, cat cat cat, to key lime pie.  We did quite well, leaving only the V’s and O’s.  The board sat out overnight in the rain and is still in tact on the porch.

A Jacuzzi tub with bath salts and a couple chapters later, I was sound asleep, to be woken at 7:30 by my iPhone’s cricket alarm clock for yoga with Misha.

I debated getting up, but decided it would be a very pleasant way to start my day.  There were 4 other  people in the class and we did it outside by the bird cage and fish pond. As yoga should, it opened up my airways and gave me a great stretch so early in the morning.  It wasn’t strenuous, but I did feel the heat of some of the poses so after the class, feeling invigorated, I dove into the pool to cool off instead of a shower.

Now, I wait for mom at the breakfast table and will read for a bit with my tea.

Key West (Tuesday, April 14 2009)

There was a chirping cricket or bird close by our room last night that interrupted my sleep off and on throughout the night, but the comfort of my bed and the chilled room under these warm covers quickly put me back into a restful sleep.  I awoke this morning to mom getting ready at 9:15 and then I joined her for breakfast.  The breakfast this morning was wanting.  Their special didn’t appeal to me and they didn’t have the hard cooked eggs that I coveted yesterday, so I settled for an English muffin and fruit after a very long wait from our ESL waiter who forgot about me.  The highlight of breakfast was a syrup colored honey that I put on everything.

Our hotel seems overrun with foreigners.  I hear French and Italian in the courtyard and there were smokers at breakfast.  Mom was annoyed at the rude foreigners in line yesterday at the Hemmingway house bookstore where I purchased “To have and have not.”  I figured if I was going to visit Hemmingway’s house, I ought to own a book by him.  We only happened onto the Hemmingway house yesterday.  As we have no agenda, after our morning by the pool relaxing, we ventured out. 

We began our outing with lunch at Mangoes only a block away, eating the best Turkey wrap on earth with chutney, avocado and turkey like leftover from thanksgiving – thick sliced and juicy.  We each only had half of our wrap, the rest being in our hotel fridge.  I also had a coconut mojito. Every time I have one of those drinks, I picture Glenn Howard asking in rural Florida “Who put these collard greens in my drink?”

Our waiter at Mangoes was a fey, thin man from New York who classicized another table saying they were from New York, but were really from New Jersey.  The horror!

After our relaxing lunch, the food in me, or perhaps the mojito, calmed my anxiousness for getting out of the room.  Mom and I split up for a moment for me to shop for a swimsuit that I had bought 2 years ago on my last trip here, but ruined in Greece by sitting in a too-chlorinated hot tub.  They didn’t have that style anymore.

As we ventured closer to the Hemmingway house, it was getting on to be 4pm.  The place closed at 5, but we went in anyway.  First, we wandered the gardens and then took a tour from an Italian from Boston who added some distinct flavor to the tour.

I was impressed that the place didn’t smell more of cat with 45 of them living on the property – a number of which had 6 toes as they were all descendants from Hemmingway’s own cats for whom he liked the 6-toed species.

The house was lovely, albeit not air-conditioned.  My favorite part was seeing his loft study where he wrote, the typewriter on the table and his chair still posed where he left it 50 years ago.

After this bit of culture and history, where I learned more about Cuba and this literary giant for whom I don’t remember anything from high school English class about… we went down the road a piece more and found a Hawaiian shirt shop.  Mom bought Ric a shirt and Hannah a dress.  I bought Ric a shirt also with airplanes on it since I’m in the Air Force.

Then we went back to the room to clean up for dinner.  Mom has fallen in love with the pool’s bathroom and chose to shower in there again.  I showered my sunscreen off and dressed in all white for our dinner at Hot Tin Roof – a place I had discovered on a past trip here.

Hot Tin Roof is the restaurant for the Ocean Key Resort and has a beautiful view of the sunset with the address 0 Duval St.  Just above Mallory square and far enough away from the sunset festival to have a nice dinner, but still enjoy the low-key music from the band playing below – this is a higher scale restaurant. Having timed our reservations to coincide with the sunset, we arrived only moments before it became comfortable… the sun glaring in our eyes and the humidity frizzing mom’s hair. Mom and I each started off with a martini.  Mine was a key lime pie martini mixed with Licor 43, which reminded me of the swizlestick bar in Fort Walton Beach.  I started the meal off with shrimp scampi – 2 of them… just a bite to put something in my stomach, although the puff bread did a good job of that too.  The shrimp were pink, large and local. Mom had the grilled scallop served over polenta. My meal was the Yellowtail snapper, which came with a tangy red sauce over it and was a rather large slice of fish.  I couldn’t eat the entire thing, but really wanted to.  The fish was a bit dry, but the flavor of the sauce made up for any misgivings. An Australian Sav. Blanc complemented my meal. Mom had the shrimp risotto, which had arugula in it and proved humorous to watch her slice her grits. Her meal, although good, was far too rich for me. Our meals came only moments after the beautifully clear sunset dropped behind Sunset Key across the water. Not a cloud in the sky that evening. Our wait staff seemed accustomed to the amateur photographers who covered the outside balcony where we sat.  The inside of the restaurant was empty, perhaps expected for a Monday night as the new crop of tourists had not yet descended on the island.  With only moderately good and considerably pricey food, I may opt next time to watch the sunset from the pier and enjoy the festival below instead. A good experience nonetheless.

From dinner, we went down and walked around the vendors in Mallory square.  Nothing appealed much to me, although mom found a beautiful mother of pearl bobble for her necklace.

After dinner, we drove home and went on walk about again.  We saw the beginning and the end of route 1 and attempted a photo, but my camera battery died.  We then stopped into Margarittaville – a tourist trap to be sure – but we wanted some desert and settled again on Key Lime Pie.

From there, I dropped mom off and I went out, first stopping to see the drag show at Aqua and then over to Bourbon street where I sat at the bar outside and watched an episode of Will and Grace.  It was a lonely, albeit enjoyable night.  While watching Will and Grace, I met these 5 guys who are staying at Big Ruby’s, my favorite guest house down here where I’ve stayed the past 2 times.  They were strangers and it reminded me of all my travels how easy it is to link up with people and spend your vacation with them, never really to see them again.

Off to rent bikes now in this humid 90 degree day...

 

 Our Bike excursion lasted a few hours.  It began with a wait for the bikes to be delivered.  I’m betting we could have gotten a better deal had we walked the three blocks, but for $18 to have them delivered and rent for a 24 hour period, didn’t seem obtuse.  Mom’s bike was a misfit and we immediately called back to the guy to have him adjust the seat and oil the wheel.

Our bike delivery guy had bought a one way ticket to Key West in 2000 from Nebraska, never having been here before.  He was tanned, dirty, friendly and an enigma to me.  How does a person leave everything except the shirt on his back and move to a place like this?  I wonder if whatever character trait exists in him to have made him do such a thing exists in me. I am spontaneous, but I don’t think I would ever leave all of my commitments for this lifestyle.  Who takes care of you when you’re old?  What happens?  Or does everybody who shows up on Key West’s doorstep eventually become self sufficient on this seafaring, tourist breeding island?

Our bike tour took us first to the obligatory southern most buoy  where we did the obligatory photo op, then to the southernmost house, which has a house next door, just to its south.  Pretty though.

Then we found the butterfly garden… a tourist attraction to be sure, but one of nature, so it  appealed to me.

We parked our bikes in the shade and cooled off in the gift shop.  The 90 degree heat was getting to me.  Mom needed food and had packed our leftover turkey wraps from yesterday in my knapsack for lunch.  We perched on a bench out front of the butterfly garden and ate our sloppy seconds.

The entrance to the garden was magical.  Butterflies of all colors swarmed around us, my favorite being a large electric blue one.  My camera at the ready, I played the shutterfly for about an hour in there, even though the path was short and could have taken half a minute to walk.  I think of all the people to go through in our group, had we been the first out, we were three times over the last out.  I tracked butterflies with my lens, finally getting the hang of shooting these avoiding creatures.  Some actually posed for me on branches and flowers.  I attempted to shoot mom with a butterfly on her, but only managed to get one flying in front of her.  In going through some of the less focused pictures and deleting them, I accidentally deleted one of my favorite photos.  Mental note… no more deleting on the camera itself.

Once we finally meandered out of the garden, we hopped back on our bikes and tried to get lost in Key West, a task that isn’t easy to do given the grid streets and ease of navigation.  We passed an above ground cemetery, some chickens and I photographed mom riding her bike.  She has tasked me with taking one good picture of her from the trip.

My favorite photo story from the trip so far though is last night at dinner when the sun was setting, mom was proud of herself that she captured a bird in her photo.  I wanted one too.  Mom had her camera at the ready for another shot and naively asked me to tell her when a bird was coming.  About ten minutes later, a bird quickly flew through the shot and I hollered “Bird!” She laughed.  About 10 seconds later, 3 came in the shot and I hollered “bird, bird, bird!”  She lost her total composure at this, as did I.  I love funny moments like that…

Upon coming home, we changed into our bathing suits and headed for the pool. I read a bit more in my book, Ragtime, which I’m over half way complete with and still don’t think there is a plot.  Perhaps a moral, but not a plot.  Certainly not character development.  Bored with my book, I asked the loud and friendly bartender, Billy, if they did frozen drinks.  Surely.  So I ordered a strawberry daiquiri. He made 3… one for me, one for Orlando girl and one for mom… even though nobody but me ordered one.  Mom joined us at the bar after he delivered it to her poolside.  How nice.  I like the Garden Hotel more and more.

After another dip in the pool, we are reading ourselves for another bike ride and for Cuban food for dinner at a local place.  We are celebrating Obama’s decision to allow more flexibility for Cuban Americans in contacting and supporting their relatives there.

Off we go.

Key West (Monday, April 13, 2009)

I realized just now as I wait for my mother to emerge from wherever she left from the pool at our lovely Gardens Hotel in Key West, that the reason I do not enjoy journaling is because I don’t like my penmanship.  Nor can I spell, which makes me hesitate using words I’d like to use when writing long form.  But I do relish reading my travel memories and I do like to type.  So I’ve decided to type a journal.

The door to our room number 7 at the corner of our Garden sanctuary is open. The breeze is whistling through the tropical green trees outside.  The air is smells of humidity and lotion from my shower.  I can hear the fountain outside pour into itself from the mouth of a dancing frog statue.  An airplane jets overhead with tourists coming or going.  I’m not sure which.

My mother and I arrived in Key West in our White Toyota Camery after about 12 hours in the “traveling chair,” a phrase we use to describe the logistics from getting from there to here.  It includes airport waiting areas, airline seats, cars etc.  Mom arrived in DC on Friday night.  Ruby, my loving schnauzer, had left for vacation already with Alyssa to spend Easter and this week with her while I was away.  I missed Ruby so I went out for some retail therapy on Friday shopping for bright, airy clothes and shoes to wear down here.  I am now wearing a very bright blue shirt that really only belongs in a tropical climate from that shopping spree.  My shoe shop was a success as well – all three pair that I bought are the only shoes I have with me now.  I venture to bet though that the Teva flip flops I purchased are the only ones I wear save for a nice evening out.

The flight to Miami was unmemorable.  Just as we got on the eternal Highway 1, we stopped at a Cracker Barrel to rent a book on CD.  We got a strange one about a psychic FBI agent.  We listened for about an hour to it when we both realized neither of us were following the story.

This stop also got us some McDonald’s French fries.  A mistake that proved to be our dinner, but satisfied a desire.

On the long drive down, we stopped along the causeway to watch the sun go down over the Gulf of Mexico. I tried my skill using Hannah’s hand-me-down SLR camera to some success.  This is really my first excursion out with it and I’ve decided to dedicate part of this trip to a photo safari.

That goal was partly achieved this morning as my first task after our lovely continental breakfast on the patio was to take pictures of the garden.  This garden is serene, lush, and with little surprises buried throughout like the carp pool, statues hidden away and charms hanging from trees.  The many buildings of the lodge also provide some decent architectural photos, which I hope to make into a montage.  The stark white of the buildings, their porches with blue ceilings contrast nicely with the clear sky and the green garden.

That garden proved very interesting upon our arrival last night.  The entrance instructions were simple save the map to our room with the yellow highlighter didn’t exactly guide us well in the dark.  We ended up in the back of the garden clutching our large wheeled luggage and navigating the many twists and turns of the path.

Once we finally found our room, we were very satisfied.  A corner room with semi-private porch that houses two cozy chairs.  The room is adorned with stately furnishings, tropical textiles, three windows and subtle lighting.  The bathroom is stocked with anything you’d need from lotions to Q-tips – more so than a typical hotel.  I’m looking forward to making use of the Jacuzzi tub and bath salts one night.

Our morning today has consisted of nothing but relaxation, reading by the pool and in the hot tub, but my craving to explore is itching at me now.  It’s time to venture out.

I’ve relocated to the patio where we ate breakfast to see if mom was out here.  She had showered in the pool bathroom and is almost ready – something I had wondered if she was doing earlier.  So I will check the internet, enjoy this purple orchid on the table and wait a few more minutes.