hurricanes

So… here we are… watchin’ the Northern weather forecasts, thanking our lucky stars for a sustainable groove here in the Southern tip of Florida. Now, Ronnie absolutely hates urban traffic snarls, especially in new territory. We’re close, but not really in the vortex of Miami. Traffic’s still a tangle in rush hours, but Ronnie says he’s getting used to it. We found a fantastic library and reasonable provision outlets. Life may not be Island time, yet, but we’re only 3 hours from Key West. All things considered, conditions couldn’t be much better as weather has been a balmy 55 to 78. The best part…? No skeeters… 😉

So… The Keys? Ya… we took that drive last weekend… here’s the report:

THE GOOD: Imagine a place where the Margaritaville state of mind isn’t just a Jimmy Buffett song, but a freakin’ way of life. Welcome to the Florida Keys, loopers, where Tevas are formal wear and the most pressing decision is whether to have your Key lime pie on a stick or in a graham cracker crust. (Pro tip: get both, you hedonist). And the water? So turquoise and clear it looks like a cement pond built for Jed Clampett himself. Fish practically jump into boats, begging to be fried up with a side of hush puppies. And the sunsets? Forget about it. Like Poseidon took a paintbrush dipped in mango and fire and just went wild across the sky.

THE BAD: Of course, paradise has its price, and in the Keys, it ain’t cheap. Be prepared to shell out some serious clams for a condo that’s smaller than your first apartment. And speaking of shelling out, if you get seriously ill, well, let’s just say the medical facilities here are about as advanced as a World War II field hospital. Oh, and did we mention the hurricanes? Mother Nature throws a tantrum every now and then, and when she does, those pastel-colored houses go flying like confetti in a wind tunnel.

THE UGLY: Remember that turquoise water? Yeah, well, sometimes it’s teeming with more tourists than fish. Think Spring Break on steroids, but with more retirees in Hawaiian shirts. SIDE NOTE: We paid retail therapy visits to Wal Marché, Targé, and the nearest indoor shopping mall. NONE of the locals wear Hawaiian shirts. And good luck finding one on the retail racks. Result? Wherever we go, Ronnie looks like a freaking tourist. Which… he totally is…. LOL. Anyway… mosquitos in the summer? We’re told these aren’t your average backyard biters, oh no. These are kamikaze skeeters, dive-bombing your ankles with the fury of a thousand tiny vampires. Bring industrial-strength repellent just in case, or you’ll be itching like a fiend in a flea circus.

WHO’s WHO in the KEYS?
Papa Hemingway: Yeah, the big kahuna himself. He lived and wrote here, probably with a daiquiri permanently glued to his hand. His house is now a museum where you can practically smell the testosterone and typewriter ribbon. By the way cat lovers, the Hemmingway House is home to nearly sixty of those furry buggers. Many of them have an extra toe.

Tennessee Williams: The playwright who brought us “A Streetcar Named Desire” also found inspiration in these steamy islands. Maybe he was drawn to the drama, or maybe he just liked the cheap margaritas.
Jimmy Buffett: The patron saint of flip-flops and frozen concoctions. He didn’t exactly hail from the Keys, but he sure made a career out of singing about them.

WHAT to SEE CRUSIN’ the KEYS?
Dry Tortugas National Park: Seventy miles west of Key West, this place is like stepping back in time. Think pristine beaches, crystal-clear waters, and a Civil War-era fort. Just watch out for the ghost of Dr. Mudd.
Bahia Honda State Park: This is where you go to find that classic postcard-perfect beach. White sand, swaying palms, water so clear you can see your toes even when you’re up to your neck in it. It’s enough to make you ditch your shoes and never wear them again.

BELIEVE IT or NOT:
Island rebellion? Key locals once broke away from the US like those Texans threaten to do whenever there’s a Democrat in the White House. They call their movement, “The Conch Republic” That’s right, the Keys once seceded from the Union. Well, sort of. It was a protest, but they still have their own flag, their own currency (the Conch Dollar), and their own wacky sense of humor.

Fantasy Fest: Imagine Mardi Gras, but with more body paint and fewer inhibitions. This annual festival is a celebration of all things weird and wonderful, and it’s definitely not for the faint of heart.
Underwater Music Festival: Where else can you listen to Bach while surrounded by coral reefs and tropical fish? This quirky event is a must-see for any music lover with a sense of adventure.

So there you have it, loopers. The Florida Keys, a glorious, messy, hilarious, and utterly unique slice of paradise. Just remember to pack your sunscreen, your sense of humor, and a whole lot of cash. And if you see a guy in a Hawaiian shirt riding a bicycle with a margarita in his hand, that’s probably just Wimpy channeling his inner Jimmy Buffett. Offer him a cheeseburger on Monday. He’ll gladly pay you Thursday.

Onward through the fog… RH

From Saint Auggy……
To Tallahassee…
You’ll see the fire ants..
Prolificacy…
And like the bears in…
Yellowstone grassy…
Don’t look FL Man in the eye.

Ok, Loopers, next stop, Florida, that dangling chad of a state, where the sun shines so bright you half expect to see Jesus himself waterskiing across Tampa Bay! Now Ronnie has some personal experience with the sunshine state. There was that six week high-tech bootcamp in Daytona. There was that corporate convention/retreat in Orlando, and Ronnie also has friends living in various Florida locations, Ft. Myers, Miami, and some little town in the panhandle. That’s right, Ronnie is uniquely situated for van life. He doesn’t have to hunker down for the winter or desperately scrounge for shade in the summer because he has friends and family from Washington State to Florida… and speaking of…

THE GOOD: Florida, where the manatees are loose, and so are the tourists. And beaches? Oh, they got beaches, miles and miles of ’em, the kind of white sand beaches that make you wanna ditch your shoes and do the Macarena, even if you don’t know how. Springs bubbling up from the earth like some kind of primordial jacuzzi, clear as gin and twice as refreshing. Everglades? Yep, got those too, a swampy wonderland where alligators lounge like they own the place (and they probably do). Wildlife galore, from pink flamingos strutting like they’re on a catwalk to manatees cruising along like underwater blimps.

And the weather? Forget about it. It’s like Mother Nature cranked the thermostat to “eternal summer” and then lost the remote. No state income tax either, which means more clams for your pocket and more margaritas in your belly. Theme parks? They practically invented the things. Disney World, Universal Studios, places where dreams come true (or at least your credit card takes a serious hit). Toss in some cultural diversity, a dash of history, and a sprinkle of those warm mineral springs in North Port, and you got yourself a cocktail of a state. Oh, and don’t forget the colleges, little intellectual oases scattered across the landscape like so many palm trees.

THE BAD: But hey, even paradise has its downsides. Like hurricanes, for instance. Those swirling cyclones of doom that can turn your beachfront condo into a pile of matchsticks faster than you can say “Margaritaville.” Then there’s the humidity. The kind of humidity that makes your hair frizz up like you stuck your finger in a light socket and your clothes cling to you like a lovesick octopus. And let’s not forget the environmental concerns, the creeping threat of rising sea levels, the pollution, the constant battle to preserve what’s left of this fragile ecosystem. It’s enough to make you wanna trade your flip-flops for a pair of waders and join the Sierra Club.

THE UGLY: Now, brace yourselves, folks, because it’s about to get real. Traffic. Congestion. Gridlock. Call it what you want, but it’s the kind of automotive apocalypse that makes you wish you’d invested in a helicopter. Cars piled up like a demolition derby, horns blaring, tempers flaring. It’s enough to make you want to abandon your vehicle and join a colony of hermits living in the Everglades. And then there’s the high cost of living. Rent, mortgages, groceries, it all adds up faster than a politician’s promise. Suddenly, that dream of owning a beachfront bungalow starts to look about as realistic as a unicorn riding a rollercoaster.

WHO’s WHO? Florida, land of sunshine and eccentrics. Hemingway, the literary lion, holding court in Key West with a daiquiri in one hand and a marlin tale in the other. Marjory Stoneman Douglas, the environmental crusader, fighting to protect the Everglades with the ferocity of a mama bear defending her cubs. Literary seminars in Key West, where wordsmiths gather to dissect prose and pontificate on the meaning of life. And the music scene, a veritable melting pot of sounds. Lynyrd Skynyrd, belting out Southern rock anthems that make you wanna raise your fist and chug a beer. Tom Petty, spinning tales of heartbreak and highway dreams. Creed, with their angst-ridden grunge, and Yellowcard, adding a punk rock twist. Jim Morrison, the Lizard King himself, leaving a trail of poetic chaos in his wake. Ariana Grande, the pop princess with a voice that could melt glaciers. And Zora Neale Hurston, weaving her literary magic with words that paint a vivid picture of Florida’s soul.

So there you have it, loopers. Florida, in all its glory and its grit. A state of contrasts, a land of extremes. Case in point, the apparent grip Christion Fundamentalists have on the state’s politics. At the same time, voters enthusiastically embrace morally ambiguous leaders such as Matt Gaetz and Donald Trump. Cognitive dissonance at its finest. Anyway, love it or hate it, you can’t deny Florida is one hell of a wild ride.

Onward through the fog… RH

From Saint Auggy……
To Tallahassee…
You’ll see the fire ants..
Prolificacy…
And like the bears in…
Yellowstone grassy…
Don’t look FL Man in the eye.

Loopcircus

Loopcircus

This Land – Florida: Part III (cruisin’ the keys)

This Land: Florida