I didn’t want to cause too much of a scene getting first aid for my coral collision back at the ferry. To be honest, I truly thought if they saw the blood dripping down my leg, they might quarantine me in some cordoned-off locker on the boat. I could see myself sitting alone on one of the boat benches with yellow crime scene tape draped around me. And, you’ve seen how beautiful it was out there.
There was no WAY they were keeping me off Garden Key any longer than necessary. So, I tried to play a little coy with the ferry boy, but he was a wiley one:
Annie: “Excuse me, sir? I just need a little band-aid please.”
Ferry Boy: “What for?”
Annie (thinking to stop the gushing river from my calf): “Uhhh … it’s just a nick.”
Ferry Boy: “Lemme see.”
Annie: “No, really, it’s nothing. Nevermind. I’ll just … ”
Ferry Boy: “Just let me see it. We’ll get you doctored up and back out there in no time.”
Ahhh … Okay, I thought. Whew. They’re not going to banish me to the lower barracks. The folks on the ferry were great. They washed my bloody patch right up, smeared some Neosporin on it and sent me back out to play. Phillip and I had just about an hour left on the island, so we kicked back in the sand and continued breathing in the view.
I was really surprised by how many different types of people that had come over with us on the ferry tour. I hate to say I fully expected to see only the plump-type tourists sporting their fanny packs and fanning themselves in the heat.
“Now ya’ll get together there Edna, and say cheese!”
And, while there were a few of them, there were also plenty of others from varying nationalities. Two young ladies who rode behind us on the way there sounded like they were speaking Portugese. There were two families who looked to be Pakistani or some other middle eastern descent, and there was this one couple on the beach that really caught our eye. You know when you see beautiful people, you just can’t help but stop and stare for a minute? It was like these two had just walked by:
They laugh because they know they’re prettier than you. Ha ha ha!
But, the couple on the beach had to be European. The woman had this almost inhuman hourglass shape, long cascading dark hair and a tiny string bikini. And, the guy was sporting an even teenier speedo without an ounce of body fat on him. I know, I should have taken pictures so you could see, but we were just kind of mesmerized. And I didn’t want to play the role of creepy tourist that day. They set up a little picnic spot next to us and fed each other little niblets of prosciutto. Like I said, very European. But, it was nice to see so many different types of people, all there enjoying the same breathtaking views.
After our last hour in the sun, the ferry crew started to herd us back to the boat so we could start making the two-hour passage back to Key West. Finding the AC-chilled section of the boat to feel more like a meat locker than a luxury, Phillip and I snagged two sun chairs on the Lido deck to make the cruise home al fresco. And, the best part about the ride home was the drink service! For the cruise back, the friendly ferry crew opened up a full bar for these thirsty Tortuga go-ers! (Well, and by “full,” I mean rum, vodka and beer – but hey, rum works just fine for this Mate, so no complaints here!).
“Well, have two rum runners with an extra shot, please.”
Cheers!
We also found the view from the back deck of the ferry made the perfect backdrop for an all-out photo shoot of the Dry Tortugas! Roll that beautiful footage!
Okay, so there were SOME fanny-packers …
“Next time, we’ll be over THERE!”
“On the ole’ Rest, anchored out with the rest of the sailboats!”
I know, we (well, and by “we” I mean I) went a little crazy with the picture-taking. But, it was so frustrating trying to capture the beauty of the place, the electric green of the water, but finding the photos just didn’t do it justice. I kept snapping anyway, thinking at least the pictures would at least remind me of what it really looked like to see it in person.
There! You see that bright, neon stripe on the water? That’s how green it was! Like what I imagine the color turquoise would like look, if you were on acid. I can only imagine …
We watched as the last white spits of land disappear on the horizon,
before settling into our sun chairs and kicking back for the cruise home. We read, napped, ordered two more rum runners, read and napped some more while the boat cruised along at 28 knots. While we will definitely be coming back to this pristine place someday on the s/v Plaintiff’s Rest, it was kind of nice to make the trip there and back in one day on the comfort of a big steaming ferry.
While the trip there by sailboat is typically about a 15 hour-passage, that is–as is everything with sailing–assuming good weather and a favorable sea state. Case in point, the day after we came and went to the Dry Tortugas via ferry, our buddy Johnny Walker (there he is!)
who made the trip from Ft. Myers Beach down to Key West with us, headed out to the Dry Tortugas from Key West on his 38′ Morgan. And while it was a quick, 14-hour sail there, the sail back turned out to be a 24-hour, 4-6 foot beatdown. The auto-pilot wouldn’t hold and Johnny pretty much had to hold the wheel the entire time. Did I also mention that Johnny is just a few months shy of 72 and still out there sailing like a hellion? A total badass, that one! But, he said it was exhausting. A really rough trip. So, while we do plan to make the trip from Key West to the Dry Tortugas on the Plaintiff’s Rest some day, we know we’ll have to plan at least a week or more to time the weather and sea-state right and really enjoy the trip.
Besides, an adventure like that is not something you want to rush anyway …
That’s right, the westernmost point of the Florida Keys, the furthest island out, the Dry Tortugas! This was the day! When we set off some three weeks prior from Pensacola on this maiden voyage to the Keys, we had originally planned to sail to the Dry Tortugas. We really wanted to make it all the way there via the s/vPlaintiff’s Rest, but we knew when we set off that it might not happen. The Dry Tortugas are another 70 miles west of Key West, so about another 15-20 hour passage there, depending on the sea-state and weather, and then another 15-20 hours back. So, to spend a few days anchored out at the Dry Tortugas would add another 5-6 days to our already-extended trip. All evidence to the contrary (and until we hit it big with the Powerball), we do still have day jobs we had to get back to. But, we weren’t going to let that stop us from seeing one of the most pristine islands in the states. We booked a ferry and set off:
And, you may laugh at this, but I have to say, riding on that ferry kind of blew my mind. We had just traveled some 550 miles at the average speed of 4.5 knots. If we “broke six” on the sailboat, we were making some real time. And, now, here we were on this big ass ferry doing 29 knots. We were flying!
I looked like a goofy dog hanging his head out the back window as we ripped across the Gulf.
“Jeepers, Captain! Look at us go!”
I couldn’t stop staring over the side of the boat!
It really was a strange sensation, though, to be moving SO fast across the water when we had been harnessing the power of the wind for most of our voyage, slowly cruising across the Gulf, picking our way along the coast to avoid the shoals and crab pods. Oh, and the crab pods! I had been so trained while we were sailing to keep a squinted eye out along the horizon for them, that the first one I saw as we were rushing through the water on the ferry, I nudged Phillip and pointed it out. But, before I could get out the words, “Look, Phillip a crab … “ zwhoop! There it went. Sucked right up under the ferry. Dodge crab pods? Please. These people had places to go! It was crazy to see the ferry just mow a path right through them when we had taken such care all through the Gulf to gingerly pick our way around them. Big. Fast. Motorboats. That certainly was new to us.
But, cruising on the ferry was pretty nice. We left around 8:00 a.m., and they had a little breakfast buffet spread out for us. The typical kind of hotel continental breakfast food (bagels, cream cheese, toast, bright yellow fluff eggs) but it was air-conditioned inside the galley and there were plenty of places to curl up with a book and just relax. I finished The Paris Wife, which we had picked up at the book swap in Port St. Joe. It was somewhat of a tragic, but touching read. Incredibly creative historical fiction viewpoint through the eyes of Hemingway’s first wife. Highly recommend it. And, Phillip dug into In Our Time – the bikini sprint birthday book. We enjoyed sipping our coffee and reading while we cruised along. Around mid-morning, we started to spot some islands on the horizon.
And, then she started to come into view.
Fort Jefferson.
I couldn’t believe the color of the water around her–so bright it was almost electric. This piercing, neon green. These photos can’t even begin to capture it. It’s hard to take your eyes off of it, it’s so striking.
Just as we were pulling in, a sea plane landed.
And, then I saw the sign:
Ha! What a laugh. It should just say: <— Poor Folk Millionaires —>
When the ferry docked, we were free to explore. Both Phillip and I were a little hesitant when we first booked the ferry because we really would have liked to have come to this beautiful island on our own sailboat and explored at our leisure. Having to follow the rest of the fanny-pack clad tourists along, brochure in hand, being lead every step of the way by a verbose tour guide, is not how we wanted to experience this pristine landscape. But, I will say, the folks running this ferry tour did a great job of allowing us the freedom and flexibility to experience the island on our own terms. The ferry docked around 11:00 a.m. and a lunch spread was laid out. You were then given the choice to either follow the formal tour guide, brochure in hand, and get a detailed history of the fort or you could explore on your own. And, you didn’t have to eat lunch on the boat. (You could if you wanted to, and many did because it was air-conditioned.) But, you were also free to pack your own sandwiches and snacks up and set up your own picnic style lunch wherever you wanted on the island. Snorkel gear was available in all sizes. You could just check it out and bring it back at your leisure. It was really a great “hands-off” approach to a tour.
Once the ferry docked, we set off for the Fort.
It reminded me a lot of Fort Pickens back in Pensacola. Lots of underground artillery bunkers, windows set up with a swivel gun for firing, twisted corridors and barracks for storage.
We came across some neat finds while we were down there:
One of the makeshift boats they used to cross from Cuba.
An old Fort tower, lighthouse-slash-lookout.
We also learned some really interesting history about the Fort while we were poking around. While I had a sinking suspicion that the name of the island had something to do with turtles (and I envisioned a Sir Francis Drake-like character stumbling upon a sea turtle-infested spit of land), I also know I have a tendency to make these type of silly connections on my own initiative that have nothing to do with reality, so I never spoke of it, but alas it was confirmed! We learned that Ponce de Leon discovered the islands in 1513 and named them the Tortugas (which does mean turtle in Spanish) because of the hundreds of sea turtles he and his men found along the islands and shoals. The Dry was added to let other explorers know there were no springs here. It was a pretty rough environment for voyagers. After 30 years on Garden Key, and due to an excruciating lack of sufficient supplies and provisions, the U.S. decided to forego the completion of Fort Jefferson, and it remained abandoned until the late 1800’s when it was used as a prison for a brief stint. I could totally see that.
The place was pretty barren. And, there’s not really anywhere you could go assuming you did escape. It is kind of out there on its own in the middle of the Gulf.
We made it up to the top wall and found a great view of the entire island.
We could see out to the anchorage, too, where we would someday be dropping our hook.
The Captain looked out across the boats, a sigh and a dreamy glaze in his eye.
“We’re going to be right there,” he’d tell me. “Right there … ” And, we will. I can assure you. Next time we come to the Dry Tortugas, the Plaintiff’s Rest will be resting her tired hull right there!
But, we were thrilled also to be there by ferry. No matter how we got there, it was too beautiful not to enjoy.
The water, again, is what continued to captivate me. A glowing turquoise.
Being the rogue travel rebels we are, we decided to pack up a lunch and eat on the wall that forms the moat around the Fort.
“Moat seating for two, please?”
With a view like that, I don’t think I’ve ever had a ham sandwich that tasted that good. We were fine dining al fresco! You could lean over the wall and look down at the water and see all kind of fish and marine activity.
We saw so much wildlife that day. Even whales!
So tame they would just float right by!
We had a great time picnicking on the moat. We could have sat there all day … But, you know us. Not much for sitting. We like to go, see and do! So, it was time to see what this crystal green water was all about!
“Lose those clothes, Mate! It’s time to get in!”
“Roger that, Cap’n!”
We snapped up some snorkel gear and set to it.
I have only snorkeled a handful of times in my life, so I’m positively spoiled now. Sorry Captain – you created this monster. Because, the snorkeling there, at the Dry Tortugas, was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Not six inches below the waterline and you could see a whole spectrum of colors and coral and wildlife.
There were tons of coral heads just teeming with life. Many of them had these little (I’m struggling to describe it) swirly poof things, kind of like a flower blossom, that stuck out of them and when you swished your hand by them, they would suck back in to the coral. You wouldn’t even have known they were alive, until you awakened them with a swish of water. It was the coolest thing.
We snorkeled around the moat wall and then headed out about 100 yards off the western side of the island to the coral heads. Phillip had a real eye for the wildlife and he pointed out a huge grouper, even a nurse shark. I know what they say about sharks – don’t bother them and they won’t bother you – but I’ll say I kicked away slowly and steadily, keeping my eye on that guy. This is one Mate who had no desire to be shark bait that day. We snorkeled around for an hour or so and then kicked back on the beach to bask in the sun.
After a short rest, we decided to walk along the moat wall around to the south side of the island to snorkel around the pilings. The walk alone was beautiful enough,
but, I got really excited when I saw the pilings.
Can you imagine the marine life we’re going to find in there? Let me tell you, you can’t. You just have to see it. We dove in, and it felt like we were swimming in a dream. Clouds of fish would swirl around you until you poked your finger out and swished them apart like a puff of air. There were hundreds, thousands of them, swimming together and swirling around like some chained piece of jewelry. It was mesmerizing.
So much so I forgot I was even human. Legs? What legs? I don’t have appendages, I’m a fish! The sting of it surprised me when it struck and I snorkeled around for a bit in denial. Throbbing leg? What throbbing leg? There are fish to be seen and poked! But Phillip rightly pulled me out when a light, murky cloud started to form around me. I did mention the shark, right?
Break out the old first aid kit … First Mate done got into something again!
Okay, I’m going to be honest. We awoke from the previous day’s Big FOUR-OH in a bit of a drunken slumber. The sun rose, we moaned and groaned our way back into the upright position and stumbled our way back over to the Cuban Coffee Hut,
to do more stupid things … but not faster. With the vast quantities of rum and tequila still swimming in our veins, three Cuban coffee queens and we would still only be doing things at normal stupid human speed. But, we were Day One into Phillip’s second forty years and still on the hunt for new adventures in Key West. It seemed everywhere we walked there were plenty of interesting sites and scenes to take in.
“What the truck?!?”
“Don’t dredge on me!” it says. You gotta love the quirky conch personalities on this little island. Take this for example.
I know you see her. That pirate-clad pixie up in the upstairs window. What’s she sayin?
“Help me!”
Uhh-uuhhh Miss Sparrow. You got yourself commandeered up there. We want no part of your pirate drama! But, do feel free to show us some pirate booty!
I know, I know …
Speaking of, while we were mozeying around downtown, I got to show Phillip the little hole-in-the-wall bookstore where I stormed in during my first blaze down Duval Street to get his birthday book. For some reason, the Captain didn’t think that story was funny the fifth time I told it … “C’mon, that’s good stuff! Wait till I write up the blog on it!”
But, a couple of coffees down and now on the hunt for lunch, right around the corner we found our haven. A pink stucco gas station-turned-Cuban Caribbean eatery! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Paseo’s!
Take it in …
Phillip ordered up a hot pressed Cuban sandwich,
and I got the Paseo’s Greens bowl.
Basically, a huge Carribean bowl filled with pickled beets, cabbage, and piled high with the most succulent chicken thighs I have ever put in my mouth.
And … I’m a champion wing eater! That chicken was so moist I started to think they had to be wringing their necks out behind by the building upon order and roasting them up in house. And, then my suspicious were confirmed! Because …
... that’s when the roosters came!
They were clucking around all over the place!
Even little baby ones!
Right by my feet!
“Those must be the thighs I ordered! Grab ’em Pedro!”
The roosters really started to rally the troops when our shared side came out – a whole roasted ear of corn (still in the shuck), slathered with seasoned sour cream and topped with fresh chopped cilantro.
I mean …
The Captain and I ate ourselves just about sick. It was hard to sit upright after we finished. A good fifteen minutes after our meal, and we were still kicked back under the gas station awning, picking corn from our teeth and letting the misters spray us down.
Ahhh …
After that meal, we were stuffed! We headed back to the boat to nap it off. Because that’s what you do in Key West. Drink, eat and nap. In that order. Oh, and wash your boat. We did that, too. Since the previous day had been devoted entirely to celebratory matters, we spent most of the afternoon getting our boat chores done – filling the tanks with water, filling our spare diesel cans and giving the boat a good, long scrub-down. She was literally caked with salt from the passage. You could physically see it on the handrails and stanchions. Our girl was itching for a bath. And, it was a hot day to do it, but there’s just something about getting that boat all cleaned up, even in the sweaty heat of day, that’s truly rewarding. We showered up afterward, too, and the boat and crew all felt better for it.
As you may recall, we had plans that night to have dinner with our buddy Postal Bob on his Catalina 34. Remember, we had the mackerel, he had the shark, and Captain Ron was coming with the yellowfin tuna!
Bob invited us over around dusk to start with some sundowners and tall tales at sea.
“C’mon on board!”
And, there’s Johnny, too! Mr. Walker and his son made the trip from Ft. Myers to Key West with us on his 38′ Morgan, the s/v Windwalker. Bob’s boat was set up perfect for hosting. A big spread was laid out in the cockpit, a full bar was opened to everyone below. Bob had a specified “beer cooler” in the cockpit full of brewskies and he was working on a four-course feast when we arrived! Not to mention his boat. Gees! It was like a condo at the marina. He had A/C, a microwave, TV … That’s living! We sat down below in the A/C for about all of fifteen minutes before our teeth were chattering. It seems we had fully acclimated and preferred to dine al fresco. It was a beautiful evening out anyway, and the cockpit is just always a great place to gather.
There’s the Windwalker/Plaintiff’s Rest crew. Johnny next to me, and his son, Jeremy, next to Phillip. They were a lot of fun and, thankfully, they hadn’t yet heard all of my crazy stories.
“No, wait, wait. Let me tell you boys about my bikini sprint to the bookstore … “
Bob was such a generous host, too. He did all of the prep work himself down below and plated everything up while we were visiting in the cockpit.
“You keep passing drinks up here and we’re going to want some dinner to go with it!” I call it the “Give a Mouse a Cookie” phenomenon. But Bob had us covered. He cooked up the mackerel we had caught on the way down to the Keys (yes, we still had plenty enough left over to feed the whole crew). That was one big fish!
And, Bob taught us a great trick about mackerel, too. We had cooked up a few filets our first night in the Keys and while it was good, it had turned out a bit more meaty, a little tougher, than other fresh fish we had caught and cooked up. But, Bob said “just soak it in milk!” He let the filets we brought over soak for a bit before he grilled them up, and that did the trick!
That mackerel was perfect. And, Bob had made beans and rice, a salad with fresh grated parmesan and grilled zucchini and squash! See? A four-course meal … pretty much. Certainly a fit feast for a boat. We passed a few plates around and this crew didn’t wait to dig in!
“Thanks Bob!”
It was a great night spent with great fellow sailors down in the Keys. Phillip and I really felt like two of the group. We were cruisers now! We watched a beautiful sunset from the dock while we polished off the mackerel and another round of drinks.
We decided to call it an early night because we had a big day the next day. The biggest of the whole trip perhaps (aside from the Captain’s birthday).
Where were we going tomorrow you ask?? I’ll let you wager a guess …
A BIG day for Phillip. And, a BIG day for us. Waking up in the Keys. Does it get any better? After taking in the carnie sights and sunset at Mallory Square and cooking up our fresh-caught mackerel the evening before, we woke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on Phillip’s birthday – ready to paint the island red! Like any other thirsty sailor, we headed out for our first drink of the day – COFFEE! Not a few blocks from the boat, we ran into none other than Postal Bob! That man was everywhere. He told us we needed to try this great little Cuban coffee stand just a few blocks over and we started putting together some plans to have dinner on his boat the following evening. Still having plenty left from our hefty Gulf catch, we said we could bring mackerel. Bob said he had some shark. And, then this salty surfer looking dude …
Yeah, something like that
who was just randomly walking by said “Well, I’ve got some yellowfin tuna I can bring. Where we meeting?” You gotta love the Keys!
We bid Bob farewell and headed over to the famous Cuban Coffee Queen hut.
Not a bad little jaunt from the boat. And, in addition to the yellowfin tuna guy, there were plenty of quirky little Key West sights to take in along the way.
Two hundred miles from everywhere!
The sight at the coffee hut certainly had that authentic Cuban charm. There were roosters clucking around. Coffee runners (each of whom seemed to sport the same style dreads and flip-flops) loading up mopeds to go make Cuban Coffee Queen deliveries. A line of folks waiting for their coffee and breakfast sandwiches. This was definitely the happening coffee spot!
The guy at the counter cracked us up, too. We didn’t see any orange juice on the menu so Phillip asked “Do you have any OJ?” The guy sloshed around a huge vat of juice for us to see, which wasn’t really an answer, so Phillip asked “Is it for sale?” To which the sweaty Cuban coffee clerk replied, “Sir, everything’s for sale. I’ll sell you the shirt off my back if you want it.” I liked that guy.
We got two piping cups of Cuban coffee and an awesome pressed Cuban sandwich.
Yum!
Even the merchandise seemed to have a good sense of humor.
We were definitely pleased. The coffee hut was going to be our regular stop every morning for sure! After coffee we ventured back toward the north side of the island near Mallory Square, where we found some great sculptures and tourist pieces.
This whimsical number is located near the Custom’s House and is intended, I presume, to be a boy dreaming about … well what all boys dream about.
I decided to take some liberties and show him a little bit of the real deal …
But he couldn’t handle it!
And, besides, this guy was painting the scene while we were there, so I didn’t want to taint his muse.
But, being a sculpture too, he seemed to also be impervious to my charms.
Thankfully, this man is not!
There were a ton of great “touristy things” to check out near the Square.
Which makes sense. That’s right where the cruise boats come in.
Not so big from afar.
After the Square, we headed over to the north side of the island to check out some of the houses and gated properties. The other side of the tracks I guess you would say. No roosters clucking around or grungy coffee runners on mopeds here. This part of town was pristine.
The houses were gorgeous. Bright local brush and flowers spilled over every fence and seemed to reach out for you. We scoped out a few lunch spots but decided to head over to Hemingway’s House and do the tour first.
Come on in!
We got lucky and scored an exceptional tour guide. This young, bright-eyed college-looking kid, but he was super knowledgeable about all things Hemingway, and he had a real passion for sharing the trouble writer’s story and pointing out so many little idiosyncrasies about the house and its former (and current!) inhabitants.
Have you ever heard of the six-toed cats? It seems some cats that came over on ships developed a sixth toe (making them polydactyl), and those that did were sought after for their improved mice-catching capabilities. Apparently Hemingway also developed a bit of fondness for the finger-favored felines and started a small collection. The house is now home to about 40-50 six-toed cats. That’s like 1,200 toes!
The cats are lying around all over the house, completely oblivious to the hundreds of tourists passing through.
I mean, I wouldn’t give much mind to us either. We’re just walking around staring all of the time. These cats have their own personal veterinarian who comes to check on them all, make sure they’re properly fed, cared for and maintained. So, yeah, all they have to do is lie around and snooze. What a life!
One of my favorite parts about the tour was the story of Hemingway’s “Last Red Cent!” It seems Hemingway’s second wife, Pauline, was none too pleased with Hemingway’s constant travels as a war correspondent, probably because it also helped to foster his philandering ways, so she had a $330,000 (in today’s dollars) pool built while he was away.
Legend has it when Hemingway returned from the Spanish Civil War and learned of Pauline’s pricey pool, he threw a penny at her and said, “Well you might as well have my last red cent!” Pauline was happy to. She claimed that and plenty more when the couple later divorced, and she had the cent embedded in glass near the pool to show her friends when she hosted grand cocktail parties by the pool.
Take that Hemingway! Plenty more stories about Hemingway’s House if you’re interested HERE.
But, I have to say, my ACTUAL favorite part was Hemingway’s office. He had a suite built out where he would spend the better part of the day every morning toiling away on this vicious craft. Writing can be so exciting, so invigorating one day, and so draining and absolutely depressing the next. It’s a terrible burden to know you’ve written something that can be better, but also a blessing to know that you can write it better – if you’re willing to sit down and push yourself there. If you have it, which Hemingway, certainly did, it’s a torturous gift, and it certainly tortured him. It was incredibly humbling for me to see the actual room where Hemingway chipped away at the same stone.
After Hemingway’s house we were famished. We decided to dine at a little Creperia we had passed along the way. La Creperia.
And … Oh. My. Gosh. The best crepe I have ever had. By far. Hands down. No questions about it. Not mine – I ordered the La Campagnarde:
(frisee, lardons, tomatoes, potatoes, shallots, egg over easy, with a red wine vinaigrette), which was good, but Phillip ordered one with chicken, spinach, mushrooms and this decadent bechamel sauce. It tasted like creamy white country gravy melted with cheese and poured over succulent chicken. I don’t have any pictures of it because we tore right into it and devoured it in seconds. My phone never stood a chance of getting in there. The crepes are still ranked to this day one of our top meals on the trip. It was a perfect little bistro setting, too. We sat outside at a cute little rod-iron table, sipped mimosas and ate our fill!
After our gluttonous lunch, we decided to do what any fat, full tourists in Key West would do — lounge it off, sipping cocktails at the pool all afternoon!
(we’ll be stopping in there later in the week), the dinghy dock,
(yes, that’s just for the dinghies!), and some seriously old salts hanging out at the dock,
(watch out National Geographic, here I come!) before we made it to the pool. But, make it we finally did!
Ahhhh … that’s better! We were on Cloud Nine all afternoon, just watching the people, reading (I finished The Paris Wife there!) and napping.
Sexy beast!
And, we had some serious entertainment at the pool. There was a noisy, bachelorette bunch near us that underwent complete military-style invasion. There were five girls, hovering around the obvious bride in the center, all laughing and giggling and taking selfies, and you could see this bunch of Ed Hardy-type muscle-bound dudes behind them planning their attack. First, the guys sent over a tray of shots to the ladies, who downed them no problem, with giggles and hiccups and a swipe of the chin (“tee heee! I love buttery nipples!”) but still no penetrable chink in their armor. So, the dudes then sent a drink over – to the bride – smart move and then they started to flank them, one-by-one, approaching with drinks in hand. One guy came toward their circle via the pool and started distracting an obvious weak gazelle on the outer rim. She engaged and started swimming around with Mr. Muscle which left an opening for Guy No. 2 to saunter over. He made his way in and started trying on the next gal’s shades and complimenting her on her style. That soldier fell fast too. They were dropping like flies, leaving the bride pretty open and exposed. We watched each tactical maneuver, commenting and narrating over the rims of our rum drinks – of course, until the guys had completely infiltrated. We were actually impressed. Maybe these guys had a chance, but Phillip called it. “Please? A bachelorette party? Those are the worst odds.” And, he was totally right. A couple of hours later, having burned through a couple-hundred dollar bar tab, I’m sure, the ladies packed up shop, huddled around their bride and marched right off, leaving the chumps behind. It was … awesome!
After a nice, relaxing afternoon by the pool, we decided to stop on our way back to the boat at Alonzo’s Oyster Bar for happy hour and try their 50-cent oysters Postal Bob had been telling us about.
Nothing like a salty oyster and an ice cold glass of white wine to remind you you’re a sailor in love with the sea.
For Phillip’s birthday, we had made reservations at this place called Santiago’s Bodega that we had scoped out the previous day during our conch train tour adventure. We cleaned up around dusk and headed back out on the town for more drinks, of course, before dinner. A little buzzed and definitely feeling a little frisky, we walked the docks waving at all of our marina neighbors and eyeing all of the big yachts we would never be able to afford.
Phillip looked like a kid in a candy store, a goofy smile spread across his face, nudging me and pointing at each one, “Look at that one.” “Hey, did you see this one?” “Check that out!” He was definitely spending some daydream dollars!
Maybe for your fiftieth Captain. … Maybe.
Once we snapped out of it and made our way off the docks, we found ourselves strangely drawn to the scent of Hog’s Breath!
A big guy clutching a guitar was actually singing a Lady Gaga song, Poker Face, as we walked by and we knew this was going to be a treat. His name was Cliff Cody. We saw him there several times during our stay in the Keys, and I swear if you closed your eyes and just listened, you would think you were sitting three feet from Travis Tritt. Cliff sounded JUST like him. The guy was pretty incredible.
But, it was time for dinner! We headed over to Santiago’s and started a seven course tapas feast!
Croquettes, then salad, empanadas, stuffed dates, roast duck … It was a feast fit for kings. Or, fit for the Captain I suppose. We had certainly made a day of it. For a man that craves adventure, I think having sailed his boat all the way down to the Keys with a pretty rough-and-tumble First Mate, who can thankfully pass for pretty some days too, Phillip was feeling pretty content. I know I was – it felt like it had been my birthday too. It seems like we shared it. Such an incredible feat to accomplish sailing down there and such a luxurious day of food, wine and fun to celebrate it.
But, did I say the man craves adventure? I believe so. Two bottles of wine behind us, and this man decides he wants to go on a mission to find the “BEST key lime pie on the island.”“The BEST,” he says. “It has to be the best. Let’s GO!”
And, go we did. We hit Duval in a drunken fury, dancing and singing and poking strangers. We were a riot, and the night was young!!
“Ceeee-lebrate good times, C’MON!” Happy Birthday Captain!
Before we jump right into Phillip’s BIG day, our second day on the Keys and a hugely adventurous day all its own, I fear I have one small tale that I simply must tell. It’s time again, my friends, for another story:
Have You Ever Heard of Hemingway
As you are now aware, we pulled into Key West on a sunny Wednesday, April 23, 2014, the day before the Captain’s birthday on the 24th, and I, unfortunately, found myself admittedly lacking in the gift department. I know that sounds terrible. We had been planning this trip to the Keys for half a year. Surely I could have put two and two together and realized that we would be in the Keys for Phillip’s birthday and that I might ought to think to bring along a gift. Okay, true. I’ll give you that. But, rather than admitting that it actually did slip my mind (which I am not yet prepared to do – I did think about it–often–I could just never decide on the right item). And therein lied the problem. You see, the Captain doesn’t really like gifts. Particularly not useless little items that you buy out of obligation or unnecessary courtesy – you know, a cute little wooden frame with a sailboat on it,
awwwww…
a set of quilted coasters with sailboats on them,
just darlin’ …
a cheap, Chinese-made Captain’s hat with his name embroidered on it.
High fashion.
(But that doesn’t apply to me, Brother. I LOVE cheap, Chinese-made crap with my name on it!)
Captain Jo says “Ahoy!”
No, a real gift to the Captain is a meaningful, well-thought out experience. Something you put more mental effort into than running into T.J. Maxx on your lunch break. Something you had to go the extra mile for. Something that comes with a story.
Well, you know my history with stories. Here’s mine.
When we backed into Key West mid-morning on April 23rd, I had a plan. We had been reading a lot during our sail down to the Keys, particularly one book of interest was The Paris Wife. If you recall we found it at the book swap at Port St. Joe. If I haven’t stressed it enough, I LOVE marina book swaps!
You never know what you might find. There’s usually the typical John Grisham, Dean Koontz, Patricia Cornwell thrillers – many of which you’ve read, or if you’ve read one you feel like you’ve read them all.
Often there’s a Danielle Steele-type with the Italian-looking long-haired beefcake on the front, his shirt conveniently open to reveal his chiseled abs and some scantily-clad damsel in distress pining for him in the corner.
But, sometimes you come across a real gem. A no-shit book you’ve been wanting to read, a New York Times bestseller, sitting right there for free in the book swap. When we found a treasure like that, we began to call it “book mojo” and while we definitely did NOT have it in many other marinas we popped into, Port St. Joe seemed to be our mojo haven. There we found The Paris Wife, tucked away at the very bottom of the little end table that served as the book swap, buried under a stack of decoy books. The Captain said a friend had recommended The Paris Wife to him a while back (knowing he is an avid Hemingway fan)
and he had been wanting to read it for quite some time. We nabbed it, left behind a mediocre Lee Childs number (sorry PSJ!), and Phillip curled up with it first,
And finished it somewhere between Charlotte Harbor and Ft. Myers Beach and then passed it on to me. I dug in and was about half-way through when we touched down in Key West. I was, of course, still wrestling with the idea of Phillip’s gift and what I was going to do and, after nixing several exceedingly embarrassing ideas (writing a song and singing it for him on the ukulele, writing him a story about one of our passages (boring!), or perhaps perform some other service he would appreciate. You know, clean the entire condo, make him a special dinner … Seriously, people, this is a public blog. And, while he would be grateful, those are pretty mundane things – certainly not 40th-birthday worthy). So, I was thrilled when the idea jumped right out at me from the pages of The Paris Wife.
In the book, the author, Paula McClain, does an incredible job of telling the tale of the Hemingways’ early years in Paris from the imagined perspective of Hemingway’s first wife, Hadley.
(There she is!)
In the book, Hadley offers a pretty riveting account of Hemingway’s early struggles as a writer, how he painstakingly fought over every word, struck and re-wrote every sentence until it was perfect, how he agonized over it. I understand the feeling. I do it, on occasion, when I’m really trying to polish a piece to perfection, and the result is always worth it, but it takes like five days to write two pages. It’s grueling, but ‘tis the life of a true writer. Perhaps with a little more time and gruel, I’ll get there.
I, myself, see the Captain as a bit of a Hemingway character—sure, he’s not a cursing, sparring, riotous drunk—but he does have an insatiable thirst for adventure, experience, all things in life that cannot be bought. With this perception, I grew a bit of a kinship with Hemingway’s first wife while reading the book. I felt a part of me understood her struggles. And, when she was discussing Hemingway’s daily toil and angst over his first book, I knew that was it! It was something Hemingway himself had spent months, years churning over, carving, crafting out of blank papyrus. And, it was also something Hadley spent months, years, encouraging him to do and supporting him while he often neglected her during the process. It was the product of such effort, such sacrifice, and the embodiment of such accomplishment – Hemingway’s First Book!That was it! That was the perfect gift. It was called In Our Time. And, this was OUR time, too. Phillip and I were finally sailing our boat, this beautiful Niagara 35, down to the Keys. We were on the adventure of a lifetime, finding ourselves daily in the simultaneous throws of struggle and triumph. This was OUR time, too. How perfect. Thank you Hadley!
But, here’s the real kicker. I am just blonde enough, while having immersed myself in a book entirely about Hemingway on the way down to the Keys, to have completely forgotten the man’s very history in Key West. (Although I tell myself, looking back now, that The Paris Wife, was all about his time in Paris, so it’s okay that I forgot about his time in the Keys. It is, right?). But, turns out the man did kind of live there for a decade, where he cranked out the majority of his note-worthy novels and his house now stands as a sacred monument and museum. Yeah, that part slipped my mind, when I wondered, worriedly, whether any small-time book store down there might have Hemingway’s first book. Surely this was going to be a long shot …
But, I was on a mission. I was going to go the extra mile. I was going to run to every book store on the island if I had to. I was going to find that book! So, right after we docked at Key West and got the quick tour of the marina and facilities from Postal Bob, I was trying to think of some reason to get away for a bit, just thirty minutes is all I figured I would need to make the run. I was pilfering through potential reasons and excuses in my head, when the Captain gave it to me. “What do you say we hit the shower?” he said.
“Absolutely!”
I told the Captain to go on ahead and get his own suite while I rounded up my toiletries and would be right behind him. Right behind him … Yeah, after I made my jog to the book store. Once he was out of sight, I packed up my shower bag, grabbed my towel and wallet, slipped on my shower shoes and started running. I had no idea where I was going. This was my first time on the Keys—seriously, my first steps in that town were a heated jog in squishy shower shoes. But, I figured in a touristy town like this there HAD to be a bookstore nearby. Surely. And, hopefully they had at least heard of, and carried some books, penned by this famous Ernest Hemingway character. Hopefully.
Yes, these are the real thoughts that ran through my mind as I ran through the streets of Key West.
But, I had two pretty major problems. First, I had my shower bag with all my toiletries, a towel and change of clothes with me. Not something you want to be carrying when you’re trying to make a mad dash. It felt like an awkward ruck-sack, but I slung it way over my left shoulder and held it fast to my back with my left arm, leaving my right arm to swing wildly to keep my balance. Second, I was just wearing my bathing suit. Yes, just a bathing suit. Well, a bikini to be exact.
Yep, that one.
On the sailboat and in the marina, a bikini is decidedly the in look. Totally appropriate. While sprinting wildly through the streets of Key West … not so much. It’s kind of a novel sight. I was certainly getting some stares.
But, there were more problems. Let’s face it, I had plenty. A string bikini top is not really the proper sports apparel for sprinting. And, ladies, you can empathize with me on this one – while having your *throat clearing* ladies bouncing wildly around while you’re running in a bikini may work well for Pamela Anderson
when making an overly-dramatic nineties water rescue,
“IIIII’lll be reeeaddy. I’ll be ready!”
in the real world it’s not comfortable, not near as pretty, and is certainly not good for the ladies. Let those things flap around enough and you’ll end up with a pair that look far more like a common household fruit than a Pamela pair.
Yep, that one. Ladies, I think you know what I’m talking about …
Like I said … not pretty.
So, despite the inappropriateness of it (I mean, I’m already running around town in a bikini), I placed a firm right hand on the “ladies” to hold them in place while I ran, thinking the faster I run, the less they’ll see of me. Which didn’t seem to hold true. It seemed the faster I ran, the more attention I garnered, but it was too late. I was on a mission, and I was running out of time. I popped in a few shops and breathlessly asked where the nearest bookstore was. After getting a couple of conflicting reports, I decided to ask at the tourist train station. Surely the people that give TOURS of the bloody island are going to know exactly where the nearest bookstore is. I ran up and grabbed a tall bloke who was dressed like a conductor and spun him around by the arm.
Know that I will later, when Phillip and I are boarding the conch train, have to sheepishly avoid this man’s eye contact and pretend I’ve never seen him before. “No sir, you’ve never seen me before. I’m afraid we’ve never met. Now, Phillip, get on the darn train already! Let’s go!”
I pant out my question to him about the bookstore and, after a few silent seconds of him eyeing me up and down with a frown, he points me seven blocks and two streets over. Seven blocks?! Jesus!
But, I’m committed. I’ve already gone too far. By now it’s been about fifteen minutes. The Captain is probably already lathered up and singing showtunes in the shower by now, thinking I’m in the stall next to him, and I’m still bookless. I grab the ladies and start running. By about the fifth block, my shower shoes are letting out a horrendous squeal with every other step. I’m sweating like a fat farmer at the county fair and I’ve got a raw, red blister forming on the inside of my foot. Things are not looking good. But, I finally see it – the bookstore!There it is!
I fly in. Panting, sweating, pushing wet, matted hairs away from my face. The clerk who is ringing out some polite, well-clad fellow and clearly displeased with my sweaty, wild-eyed entrance, gives me one quick glare and then continues his tedious checkout process, taking his sweet time bidding the old man a farewell and discussing his upcoming reads.
I stand patiently in line, twitching and pulling at my bikini until it’s my turn. The clerk gives me a fervent stare before snarling at me, “Can I help you?”Ahh .. finally! Yes, yes! I hope you can.
“Yes. Tell me, have you heard of Ernest Hemingway? He’s kind of a famous author? Wrote A Farewell to Arms and some others? Would you happen to have any books by him?”
The man looked at me as if I had just pulled my eyelids inside out, stuck out my tongue and said “Dook wut I tan do!” Like I was seriously disabled, disoriented, or just downright disturbed. Completely unaware of my now tangible stupidity, I continued, “Hemingway? Ernest?” And, I’m trying to think of other books by Hemingway to help this poor teller understand the obviously obscure, around these parts anyway, author I am referring to. The poor clerk. Yeah, I know—NOW—the gravity of the situation. The poor Annie.
He looks at me dead-pan and blurts out flatly, “We have a whole Hemingway section.” He points behind me to a huge Hemingway display with the man’s name in big, block letters, pictures of him everywhere, and three whole racks of books by Hemingway, books about Hemingway, books even remotely mentioning Hemingway. How fortuitous! This random little book store in Key West, the place I ran to on an off-chance I would find a Hemingway book and they have a whole section on … Then—yes, only then—it starts dawning on me. Oh yeah, he lived here. This is Hemingway’s home … I remember my own shameful question,“Have you heard of Ernest Hemingway?” Ha! I now realize what a wildly entertaining scene I have made.
But, embarrassing myself is a daily occurrence in my world, and I really could care less what a blithering idiot I must have looked like when I started scouring the shelves and saw it. Right there in front of me. In Our Time … They had it. They actually had it. Hemingway’s first book! Now the whole sweaty, painful, embarrassing adventure was going to be worth it. They had it!
I bought the book, avoided the clerk’s pointed stare as I checked out, declined the 8×11 headshot of Hemingway that they give out free with any Hemingway purchase (although I’m wishing now I had kept it – but I did have a good bit of running left to do), and made my way out the door. I sprinted back to the showers, snuck into a stall and started washing up as fast as I could, texting Phillip and telling him the stalls were all booked when I came and that I’d had to wait to get in, but that “I’d be quick!” I hid the book in my shower bag and later wrapped it in paper towels from the bathroom to give to Phillip the next day. Like I said, the man loves experiences, stories, adventure, not pretty wrapping paper. I knew it wouldn’t matter to him. It’s one of the many things I love about the man. And, I had certainly earned a story to go along with it. I couldn’t wait to tell him, when he opened the gift the next day, all about my shower shoe adventure.
